Homeless. For Real.

So here it is: I’m actually homeless as of November 1st. While I’m writing this sentence – and in English, a language which I chose to communicate in although it’s not my mother tongue – I immediately think of my readers, most of whom will likely live in the US or UK. And in particular in regards to the US, becoming homeless is probably as frequent and hence mundane a thing as grocery shopping. Ok, maybe not all that mundane, but fairly frequent, nonetheless, isn’t it? So what’s the big deal here?

Well, the thing is: It was never like this in my country of birth and residence in past decades minus the last one and coming from that place in addition to having been given false information for all those decades, I don’t think I had any chance of seeing any of it coming, hence couldn’t prepare myself the latter of which has been a coping strategy for just about all of my adult life in order to arrive at the closest approximation to something like “peace of mind” – or some peace at all. Never was it like this or at the very least not until the past 10 years or so, when a formerly almost lavish social system got stripped down to mere necessities by the Chancellor Schroeder administration and with background processes in place that once you start collecting those meager benefits the system works in such a way that they gradually continue to strip an impoverished, disabled, needy person of access to health insurance, place to live and ultimately – food (and not just me, many, many more and it is beginning to look as if it was a programmatic thing in order to “save public money” at the expense of exactly those who’d need it the most…). It may not look like this on the outside, but since having landed in this system about some 10 years ago – ironically almost coinciding with said stripping down of benefits, talk about bad timing, huh? –  I had to witness the gradual and hence all the more painful deterioration and dissolving of everything I thought I had built in half (?) a lifetime prior to this personal cataclysm. And when I say everything I really refer to not only material things, but relationships, business affiliations, friends, in short: My social network and ultimately the identity I had thought to have built (and the latter already coming from the debris of a childhood that for the life of me I can’t describe as “happy”. And it didn’t feel safe at all, either). And another bit of irony and adding to the feeling of unhappy and unsafe when growing up: Whenever I was supposed to be brought “back in line” (often violently using emotional, verbal and mild physical violence), the drill code was “If you don’t do [this or that], you’ll wind up sleeping under bridges.” Well, lo and behold – that’s exactly where I would be now. How funny is this? (and all this despite having conformed to the consumerist-materialist mainstream as best as I knew and could do.)

I’m currently accommodated a.k.a. “couch surfing” on the ground floor in the place I grew up in as a boy, which was formerly where my paternal late grandparents lived. Yup. Crazy, I know, and I can only hope this is going to be very temporary, but I truly didn’t have anywhere else to go for now. So it’s “trigger parade” like never before. I swear to God, even the Buddha would feel pressed hard to reincarnate again and set the essence of his teachings straight or revoke Buddhism altogether was he in my position… (It’s o.k. to chuckle … 😉 ) Of course I’m grateful that I don’t have to roll out an arctic grade sleeping bag below inner city underpassages or in doorways at night to find make shift shelter and sleep for only a mere few hours until the cops or municipal employees chase me away so that regular (working) folks don’t have to take offense from looking at me and my situation. Of course I’m grateful I get to slip into a comfty bed at night, have heating, fridge, bathroom etc. But the reminder of where it is that I’m coming from and the gargantuan disruptions I somehow had to maneuver as a kid and now again couldn’t be any more pronounced. WOW and then some!

So was this me whining in public again? Yes and no. On one hand I feel a need to once and for all give myself permission to cry for the boy whose only fault was to … I don’t even know, what “his” fault was… Being different? Complicated? A little introverted at times? Sensitive? Too “conscious” for his immediate bio family? What?!!! Growing up felt like I must have done not only something, but everything wrong! So finally getting to grieve properly is still something I didn’t have a good opportunity to do (I tried to do this on my own, but I learned that this approach always falls short of one crucial aspect: Getting validated by another person and thus giving all the bottled up pain its due acknowledgement so that it may finally be released and thus hopefully wreak less havoc on my body and mind! Grieving properly still hasn’t happened yet… You might say all the evolution I thought to have manifested falls away at this confession and turns into a mirage quickly dissolving into thin air…). On the other hand I get reminded of the almost insane – and I do mean “insane” verbatim! – amounts of resilience I must have been mustering until here (forgive me for a bout of self-flattery here). Or was it really resilience and wasn’t it closer to the truth to say I turned violent bullying into an “art of masochism” and self-punishment which I tell myself comes out as resilience? Like testing how much more insanity I might be able to take until I finally and then maybe irreversably break?

I don’t know. Really don’t know. At times I can’t help but think that my psyche, my persona, my true core self has already died and I’m a mere body walking the earth like a zombie (and wasn’t it for some pretty pronounced physical pain coming from yet another bout of gout inflammation in my right foot that would probably be a fairly accurate description). Looking myself in the mirror at times seems to confirm this and I now seem to have entered a realm where it’s beginning to feel like the body might follow suit any day. I have no intention of killing myself, but in any case, this entry as well as the entire blog is meant to be here as some sort of eerie documentation as to how it is people get broken. And I’m not the only one whom this happened to, I’m acutely aware! So again – whining in public? That is not my intention. It is truly meant as some morbid documentation for whatever it’s worth and where I still hope to cross over into calmer, brighter waters at some point in the future. Again, wish me luck, if so inclined. Thank you.

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2 thoughts on “Homeless. For Real.

  1. Catching up on your blog. I’ve been here with you for years now….5? Can it be 5 years already?

    Life changes so much and, as you know all too well, often in ways that makes everything else harder than before; as impossible as it may seem at the time.

    I have no advice. I’ve been where you are, in many ways. I just wanted you to know I was around and stopped in to see how you are.

    • If it wasn’t for people like you, Grainne, if it wasn’t for knowing I’m not alone in and with all that… I’d have pulled the plug much sooner. Maybe there’s still a spark of curiosity left in me? A masochist spark alright that keeps burning so long as there’s at least a potential for things changing for the better? Strike that and make it: Changing for SOMETHING ELSE! As you have been there – and no offense intended – you tell me? (Maybe?) Thank you. I appreciate your stopping by and checking in. I do.

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