Hi everyone. I have a request… please visit gofund.me/xh3sm8 and consider donating. I am praying for help with a home based business startup that I can do using materials from around the house, shop, yard, etc. I’ve been recycling and ecycling for a couple years now, but prices dropped so low that it costs me more in gas to go to the salvage yard than I get in return.
In the meantime, my creative juices got flowing and I begn to see art in the salvage.
I feel like I am coming into my own again, that the creative nature in me has returned.
I still have fear of failure. I get frustrated with not having all the right materials and equipment, because the quality isn’t what it should be. Many fails. I want to get started on the more complex pieces, but in the meantime feel like I am spinning my wheels doing the little things that wont give me the return I need to reinvest in my businebusiness. So frustrating!
Time and patience… things I seriously lack. So, I swallowed my pride and am asking for help.
Thank you for your help!
Wow, I was feeling so alone until I read this post. You wrote exact what is in my head. You described my struggle with mental illness and homelessness so accurately. THANK YOU for letting me know that although I am alone, I really am not.
Van Gogh | Self-Portrait, Spring 1887. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Today I stumbled upon a 365 Day blogging challenge and have decided to undertake it.
This, is day one…
Hopes, dreams, and plans for the next 365 days (with a picture of yourself)
Okay, I refuse to post a photograph of myself for the following reasons:
- When I was writing this blog five years ago I posted my image everywhere, and in the process destroyed any chance of employment, education and the life I wanted. I’ve always been one to learn from my mistakes and thus do not wish to do it again. After all, I’m homeless, mentally ill and unfortunately do not meet the ‘acceptable beauty criteria’ that Australia has imposed on people.
- Whether it’s true or not the abuse I suffered five years ago has made me believe I am the ugliest human being that has ever existed…
View original post 1,160 more words
It’s been a few years since I’ve put “pen to paper”. Maybe it’s a good thing that this blog is in cyberspace, because if it were on paper, it could have been lost forever.
A lot happened since my last post, and I think it was my MI that kept me from writing.
I am still living under conditions nearly the same, however, I am no longer “homeless” by government standards. I own my own 5th wheel and 1 ton Chevy dually (that I can’t afford to drive, lol). I still live on family property, but now I care for my mom because my dad passed away. Mom is pretty independent, so really, I just assumed my dad’s role. Dad was the one who did the physical labor, which included the yard work, housework, cooking, home maintenance, etc.
Needless to say, this role is daunting, especially for someone my age and with my physical disabilities.
I took care of my dad when he had cancer. That is how I ended up back here. Yes, I actually tried to start an independent life… I moved into an apartment in Tacoma, which I shared with a male friend. It was awesome to be back in the real world, socializing and meeting new people. I had (cash) side work to supplement my Welfare. (No need to report me, folks… it was never enough to require reporting to the State. My roommate was satisfied with what I could afford to pay him.)
However, when dad was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer, I knew I needed to come home. I moved back home and was sleeping on my parents couch. Our lease was up on the apartment, leaving my roommate in limbo.
That is when God stepped in, as He always has when by back is to the wall. I had been waiting nearly two years for my Social Security Disability to be approved, and had been denied twice in that time. I’d placed the appeal in the hands of an attorney but had no expectations. In God’s time, my Social Security disability was approved. Not only did my income increase six-fold, but I also got two years back pay.
The blessing from God was just enough to buy my 1991 34′ 5th wheel. Edward and I moved here and he assumed the role of my partner, helping however he could. I had a place of my own! I was excited about that, but the thrill was short lived. Dad was dying and I was the only one who really knew. I have seen death too many times and knew he was already to weak and that the type of cancer he had was serious, especially in its advanced stage.
For the next six months, I drove him to Tacoma five days a week for radiation and two days a week to chemotherapy. He may have stood a chance if we lived closer to town, but the long, long drive every day took its toll. It tool a toll on me as well, but it killed him.
When the end came, dad opted for hospice. The last two weeks (or so) were the hardest for me because dad needed 24 hour care, but there was only me. Mom couldn’t even go into his room and Edward was too sick to help (oh, right, another blind side).
Dad required medicine every two hours, then every hour. I can’t go into anymore details of his last days without breaking down… for that matter, I have forgotten (repressed) much of it because it was too painful.
I wasn’t there when he passed away. I’d finally reached the point of exhaustion and asked my sister to take over while I got some sleep. She sat by his bed for a couple hours, doing what I would do; but when she stepped out to use the bathroom, he was gone when she returned.
About Edward… he became Ill shortly after we moved here. He began a drug cocktail therapy that included weekly injections of Interferon. It wasn’t long before he was as sick as dad.
I cared for Edward as best I could, splitting my time between him, dad and all the work they would have done. All summer, I cared for both of them. Eventually, Edward’s treatments were discontinued, and he slowly began to recover (he wasn’t cured, but the treatment was killing him). Thank God. He was the one who answered the knock on the door, the one who went to verify dad was gone.
Alost two years has passed since then. That story is for another post.
Think about it; if a person wasn’t mentally ill (MI) to start with, it only makes sense one would become MI, merely from finding themselves homeless!
For example, my story:
In early November 2008, I had a thriving, 10-yr-old business as a Graphic Designer, a new Prius (paid off), awesome neighbors & friends and an 820 – yes, 820 – credit score. I had just accomplished my longtime dream of moving to New Mexico, taking my Internet-based business with me. By the end of the month, the economy had collapsed and fear caused clients to pull advertising; overnight – reduced to less than enough income for rent.
Afraid to start over in a strange town at the age of 51, I moved back to Washington, believing I had people, business contacts, etc. In January 2009, I returned to a field I’d left due to repeated injuries and my growing inability to manage the stress of the job (or the low pay). I became support staff, working with people with Developmental Disabilities & MI, something I’d excelled at before leaving because of injuries. I had a repetitive strain injury & herniated disk from this type of work in 1993 & one of my clients w/DD caused a herniated disk in 2000, plus, I have lived with (full-blown) Fibromyalgia since 1988.
I began to get sick in August 2009. Vertigo, including nausea, vomiting & weakness. Between November ’09 & March ’10, I lost 58 lbs for no diagnosable reason. In August ’09, I lost my apartment because I’d maxed out my cards on medical bills & rent, thinking this mess was all temporary, that surely, things would get better! I’d always been self-sufficient, independent; I’d never relied on the system for help, except for temporary Unemployment!
Instead, things got worse. I became Mentally Ill and knew something was terribly wrong, but I couldn’t get the help I was begging for – in time. I said & did insane things and am now a Class C Felon. They say I am BiPolar w/PTSD. All I know is that with all the stressors of the past few years, I am not the same and my recovery has been long and painful.
I’ve lived in a 1976 22′ Cabover motor home since August 2009. There is a tarp over the roof due to leaks and I have no running water or toilet facilities. I receive $197/mo in State Assistance and $200/mo in Food Stamps. I rely on the kindness of my family to allow me to stay and use their electricity, laundry & shower. At this point in my life, I see no way out, but I have not lost faith or hope.
Today, I’m focused more on my mental health than employment. I know that if I get back on the horse too soon, I will get thrown again, and maybe even injured worse. My family doesn’t understand. They think I should have bounced back by now, that it is time to leave… but, how do you find a place to live with no income and as a Felon? Few people will rent to a Felon, and few employers hire a Felon, much less a homeless person.
My next topic? Probably “The working Homeless”
Peace & Love from Dogwoodangel
homeless1wa 