Category: A story to tell

I’m writing this because I was homeless twice and hope to help homeless people who are trying to get into housing.

Everyone is an individual. The reasons I became homeless are unique to me and not unique to many people experiencing homelessness.

I have not been trained to help people go from experiencing homelessness get into housing. The following opinions I share based on my own experiences when I was homeless.

The first time I became homeless I was 30 years old. Up until then I always had a home I lived in. I was diagnosed as bipolar at 27. By the time I was 30 I had not been taking my prescription medication for several years and my mental health had deteriorated. My parents and adult sisters helped me how they could and were not willing to let me live with them because I refused to take my medication and my behavior was erratic and my communication skills were weak.

I had just moved back to my home town in Colorado coming from Los Angeles California where I was living alone and lost my job at Vons grocery store. I moved back in to my dad’s home. The plan was I’d live in my dad’s home until I found work and saved enough money to move into my own place.

While living at my dad’s home my behavior and communication problems led my dad to close his door to me. I was fortunate enough that all my possessions my dad agreed to store for me.

I had the clothes I wore, no money and no savings and viewed homelessness as something terrible that happened to other people.

That fall I slept in a shelter for the first time. Some nights there was no more room in the shelter and I slept outside. During the day I often visited the Public Library where I sat on a chair warm and protected from harsh weather outside sometimes reading or dozing off. If you find yourself in this situation you’ll probably learn that it is against the rules of Public Libraries I’ve visited to sleep in, even on a chair. Your best bet is to pick up a book and if you must sleep (everyone does) and a difficult thing to do safely while homeless is wear dark sunglasses. If you don’t cause a disturbance in a Public Library and are reasonable you might find librarians who are sympathetic and not bother you while you’re trying to rest seated on a chair.

I was fortunate that the community where I was experiencing homelessness in has a lot of support systems in place for the homeless population. A overnight shelter, warming centers, Churches and Synagogues that invite homeless people inside on very cold nights. Public feeds where homeless and hungry people and people who are barely able to make ends meet are given free meals by volunteers through charity organizations.

I did find some work while I was homeless working day labor. The work was usually outdoors and physically demanding. It didn’t pay much, but having some money helped a lot. I applied for a food benefit card. Having a food benefit card helped me very much and was replenished every month. Being able to go into a grocery store and buy food (not hot prepared foods) but the room temperature and chilled foods I wanted to eat was a big moral booster.

Staying sober is one of the most important things a homeless person can do to increase their opportunities to get back into housing.

Hygiene is very important and opportunities to bathe and wear clean clothes in good condition that fit are often scarce for homeless individuals.

Shelters often have a shower and a clothes washer and clothes dryer for homeless people.

I was fortunate that most weeks of the year there was a location in the community where lightly used clean clothes and shoes were donated to homeless individuals.

Surviving homelessness had a lot to do with knowing within myself that there was a home for me in my future.

Good Samaritans donated toothpaste, tooth brushes, shaving supplies, soap, socks, hand warmers, gloves and hats.

My clothes got dirty, very dirty. I went for weeks with out bathing. Not by choice. In the warm summer months shelters are usually closed.

How I got back into housing is an akward story. I had just left my dad outside his home where I yelled at him, and told him “I trust you as far as I can throw you” I was walking to the Public Library when the Police pulled up. The Officer asked me if I was Asa Greenwood and I said yes. They detained me and brought me to a psychiatric hospital where my recovery began.

My dad had called the Police on me after I yelled at him and stormed off.

In the psychiatric hospital I started taking my prescribed medication every day. Showering every day. Sleeping on a bed every night. Participating in group therapy with a Staff leader and other patients every day. I think I was in the psychiatric hospital for two months while my medication started working. My behavior improved and my communication skills improved. I was no longer angry at my dad.

When I recovered to the point where I was no longer required to stay in the psychiatric hospital a taxi cab picked me up and the driver drove me and one other patient who was also being released to a recovery house.

The recovery house was designed for people who had experienced a mental health breakdown or were actively experiencing mental health problems. It was staffed 24/7 by trained certified therapists with experience working with people with mental health problems and helping homeless people in their recovery. After several days of staying at the recovery house and participating in group therapy and helping with chores and being on good behavior I was allowed to leave on my own for several hours and visit a gym that donated day passes for patients of the recovery house. I could also visit the Public Library. I had been talking with my dad with use of the patient phone at the recovery house and made ammends with him. He was encouraged by the progress I was making. After one month at the recovery house I was doing much better. My dad invited me to live in his home.

It felt like a reunion of sorts when I arrived at my dad’s home and he welcomed me in to live. I had work to do. During the day my responsibilities were to help around the house, weeding, cleaning, mowing the lawn. I worked on my resume and applied for jobs. I got hired at a liquor store and was hired as a cashier. I saved my money and before long I saved enough money to rent a room somewhere.

A friend of a friend of my dad agreed to rent a room in his duplex where he lived to me. I moved in. I was the tenant with my own room and shared the common areas with the live in owner of the duplex. The owner of the duplex worked in IT for a mental health company. And I had a full time job working at the liquor store for nearly 2 years.

To be continued…

I thought I had recovered. Recovery with bipolar is not linear. I did well for about 18 months. In my heart of hearts I was not convinced that I needed to continue taking my prescribed medication and stopped taking it. If you haven’t noticed the stigma associated with mental health problems is alive and well. For good reason. Individuals with mental health problems have been known time and time again to be a danger to themselves and to others.

In some cases the only thing that keeps an individual from harming themselves or another person is physically forcing them to stop. In some cases the force used has been lethal and in some cases the individual with the mental health problem has caused harm to themselves or to other persons, sometimes grave harm to other persons before they were stopped by force. In other situations the individual with a mental health problem has not harmed themselves or other persons and are stopped before they harm anybody. When an individual experiencing a mental health crisis is approached by the police for example, the police might be able to apprehend the individual before they cause harm to anybody or damage to property.

I am very fortunate that I never tried to run from Police and when I’ve been approached by police I listened to them and was willingly detained when I was causing a problem.

A reason I am alive and well today has to do with me obeying police when I’ve been approached by a police officer. There have been numerous incidents when I was experiencing a mental health breakdown and was approached by police and from remaining still and listening to the officer and obeying their commands I arrived safe and sound(not sound) but safe in a jail cell or in a psychiatric hospital.

The times when I’ve been placed in a psychiatric hospital soon enough a Doctor injected me with a powerful sedative that put me to sleep and my recovery began.

So, there I was renting a room in my hometown from the owner of the duplex who lived in the other room of the duplex. My Grandfather had passed away when I was homeless. He left me inheritance money and after several months of renting the room in the duplex it was deemed that the inheritance money left for me could be dispersed to me. I put the money into a savings account and took some out and bought a car. I also bought a laptop computer with some of the inheritance money left to me and I enrolled in an online real estate agent course. I was working about 40 hours/week. I began drinking alcohol more and more at home. Working with alcohol 40 hours/week became a negative influence.

I had stopped taking my medication and slowly but surely my bipolar symptoms were coming back. I had not learned what I needed to, to stay housed. What made my predicament worse was one day someone I bought cocaine from before moving to live in Los Angeles showed up at the liquor store and bought alcohol from me. I asked the guy for his phone number. Later that week I called him and bought cocaine from him. Getting drunk, using cocaine and not taking my prescribed medication increased my bipolar symptoms. I was also risking my safety, straining my health and broke the law using cocaine.

My behavior at work was raising suspicions and the manager drove me straight from work for a urine analysis. I passed the urine analysis but my behavior at work was not normal. I was fired. I had saved some money but not much. One day I took the newspaper the owner of the duplex had a subscription to and when I was done reading it left it a mess in the living room. He was furious.

I was home alone one afternoon when the Police knocked on the front door. I let them in and they asked if I was ok. I said yes but they weren’t buying my answer. I was detained and brought to a psychiatric hospital where my recovery began.

I recovered in the psychiatric hospital for nearly 3 months when my improved mental health was good enough to be released. Again a taxi cab driver picked me up outside the psychiatric hospital and drove me to the recovery house I had been a patient in before. During this time the owner of the duplex said he had enough of living with me. While I was recovering in the psychiatric hospital the owner of the duplex allowed my dad in to move my possessions out. My dad brought my possessions to his home and put them in storage.

My relationship with my dad was warm and he did not invite me to live with him again when I had recovered enough in the recovery house to leave. I was very fortunate that a program through social services I qualified for. There were funds to help me put a down deposit and first months rent to a home made available to me.

I found a listing for a room for rent sharing a house with two college students. I met them and they agreed to let me sublet the vacant room. I moved in and soon found work painting houses. The school year was coming to an end and the other tenants were moving out. I hoped to renew the lease but had no one lined up to move in to the rooms that were about to be vacant. I had to move and weather I was fortunate or misfortunate I moved into the vacant room of a house with someone I called my friend at the time who lived in a room in the house.

I had a job painting houses and my car and rented a room in a house with the so called “friend” who rented a room in the house. At one point I stopped taking my prescribed medication and slowly but surely my bipolar symptoms of deteriorated communication skills and manic behaviors became a major problem. The so called “friend” I shared a home with I knew from long before I moved to live in Los Angeles. There was always illegal drugs and alcohol involved any time I was around him. The first time I used cocaine was when he provided it to me. I got addicted to cocaine quick and continued to buy cocaine from him.

There I was renting a room in a house I was sharing with someone who I called a “friend”. I worked painting houses and so did he. Once we were on the same crew of men painting a house.

We both drank alcohol. One night we went to a dance club with a DJ where there was a crowd of people drinking and on the dance floor in the night life scene. The “friend” and I wanted to get cocaine. He knew where to get it and later that night we were back at our home using cocaine. Cocaine is a dangerous illegal drug and the cause of many health problems. There I was using cocaine with the “friend” who I bought cocaine from 9 years earlier, this time we were living in the same home.

I was addicted to cocaine. On the weekends the “friend” I lived with found someone selling cocaine, then he’d bring it to me and I’d buy cocaine from him. And we were both getting drunk often. He was a negative influence on me. Winter was approaching and my work as a painter was growing thin and then stopped. I wasn’t a seasoned painter like the “friend” who was able to paint through the winter. I found a listing for a job as a roadside mechanic that looked like it paid well. I applied and got the job as an independent contractor. There was a surplus of work to do every week. I could have worked 75 hours a week if I wanted to. I didn’t. I worked about 50 hours a week and when I was home I was often getting drunk and using cocaine I purchased from the “friend” I shared the home with.

I lived with the “friend” in the home we shared for one year. During that time I was earning more money than I ever had before and spent many thousands of dollars on cocaine. I drank alcohol heavily. The house we rented became a “trap house” We were both addicted to cocaine, we experimented with crack cocaine, I experimented with meth amphetamine and became severely addicted to meth amphetamine. And I worked overtime seemingly every week and much of the money I earned at work I spent on illegal drugs and alcohol.

I had to get out of there. I remember a phone call I had with an x girlfriend before I moved out. We kept our friendship. I remember talking on the phone with her felt like a blessing. I found a listing for a vacant room for rent in a house with three other tenants. I moved in. My use of illegal drugs and alcohol continued and reduced. I drank alone and I used illegal drugs alone. As far as I know the other tenants of the house did not know I was addicted to illegal drugs. I continued to work as a roadside mechanic working overtime. I remember while living there I flew to Portland Oregon to attend my sisters wedding. It was similar to a family reunion because Uncles and Aunts and Cousins and Nephews and Nieces were there. My parents were there and all my sisters were there. And my sisters new wife’s parents and siblings and extended family were there for the wedding and the reception. It was a joyous occasion. I lived in the house for one year. The reason why I moved out is vague in my memory. Maybe they were going to rent my room to their friend. I think that’s what happened but my memory is not clear about moving out.

I put my possessions in storage and my dad invited me to stay in his home for several nights while I looked for another room to rent. I soon found a vacant room in a three bedroom house to rent. I met the two tenants and they agreed to sublet their vacant room to me. I liked renting the room in the house and enjoyed living with both tenants. There is a front yard and a back yard with lawn I enjoyed mowing in the summer. I drank less alcohol and got drunk less. I was still using cocaine and meth amphetamine. I don’t think either of the tenants knew I was using illegal drugs. My work as a roadside mechanic continued into overtime nearly every week. During this time I thought I was ready to get married. I created a post expressing my interest in meeting a marriage minded woman and published it in an online forum in Costa Rica. The woman who caught my attention was living in San Jose Costa Rica with her sisters family and from Dominican Republic. We sent email messages back and forth to each other and sent texts and video chatted. I thought I could love her and marry her. I made plans with someone I called a “friend” to fly to Costa Rica where he was going for vacation and I would meet the woman in person to get to know better.

When the airplane arrived at San Jose airport we rode in a taxi cab to our respective hotels. That night I met up with the “friend” and used cocaine with him. The “friend” was a negative influence on me. I arrived at my hotel room late that night strung out and woke up the next day with a hang over. The plan I had with the woman was to meet her for lunch that day. When I woke up I did what I could to make myself look presentable. I bought a bouquet of flowers and gave them to her when she arrived outside the hotel driving her car. I rode with her to the restaurant where we sat at a table for two. My meal was delicious and the service was good. At the table I told her I forgot. “You forgot what?” she asked. I didn’t have much words to say. I felt like I was not making a good impression on her because I was hungover. After lunch she drove me back to the hotel and that was the last time I saw her.

The next day I’d checked out of the hotel and the “friend” checked out of the hotel he had stayed in and we rode in a taxi cab to a resort hotel where we booked a suite of three rooms connected together with a large living room. The “friend” had bought a fist size bag of cocaine and we used most of it together. The woman I travelled to Costa Rica to meet in person called me the next day when I was high on cocaine. I told her I didn’t want to meet her.

I stayed at the three bedroom hotel with the “friend” several more days and we used more cocaine. The next day I hired a Tour Guide to show me historical sights in San Jose and the next day I hired her again to bring me to a Resort on a Pacific beach. She spoke English and Spanish fluently and helped me hire a taxi cab who drove us to a flotilla boat where I hired the captain to sail us to the other side of the peninsula where we docked. Another taxi cab was waiting at the dock and the driver drove us through the jungle to the beach resort. The resort was peaceful and serene and filled with mostly Central American tourists. The beach was beautiful and a paraglider flew in and landed in the sea and swam ashore to where the tour guide and I were on the beach. The three of us met at a bar later and the two of them hit it off. I went to bed and late that night the tour guide arrived in the room I rented. She went straight to sleep. I tried to flirt with her and didn’t get far. I woke up early the next morning and rode in a taxi cab through the jungle to the dock where I bought a ticket and boarded a large boat with many passengers and sailed to the other side of the peninsula. When we docked I found a taxi cab and asked the driver to drive me to the airport. About 2 hours later I arrived in the taxi cab at the Airport. I was early and waited to board the airplane. The “friend” arrived in time and we both boarded the airplane and flew back to the States.

The next morning I was scraping ice off my car and went to work helping stranded motorists change flat tires and jump start engines and so forth. I didn’t know it at the time but how I felt about my behavior in Costa Rica brought my emotions very low.

Was my plan to meet the woman in person in Costa Rica who I met online to get to know better about marriage and invite her to live with me in the States far fetched? Perhaps. Some people find love internationally and and get married and live happy lives together.

I was not taking my prescribed medication and using cocaine before leaving for Costa Rica and when I was in Costa Rica to meet her. I changed the plan. I made the bad decisions that made the possibility of creating a relationship with her bleak.

I returned the gift I’d planned to give to her after I arrived back home. A week passed and she called me out of the blue. “What happened?” I leveled with her. I told her I used cocaine the night before I met her in person and was hung over. Our conversation was short. That was the last time we spoke.

Meanwhile emotionally I was not doing well. My bi-polar symptoms piled on and it became obvious to the tenants at home I wasn’t doing well. I quit using illegal drugs at this time and have been sober since. Our lease was coming up for renewal and neither of the other tenants wanted to renew The other tenants moved out before the lease was finished and the last month I was in the home mostly alone. The new lease was going to increase by $200. I was not up to finding new tenants. I lived in the house for nearly two years. The last month I was living there a man rented one room for a month. He did landscaping for work. I closed my roadside assistance business down. I felt overworked and lost interest in the work. I could not afford to make payments on the car I financed and returned it to the bank. My emotions were remorseful for my behavior in Costa Rica. I was out of work. The landscaper got me some work helping him landscape residential properties but mostly I was out of work. Soon my savings was spent and I was out of money.

The last day of the month came on the lease and I had to leave. My dad was sympathetic to my predicament and paid the outstanding balance of my portion of the lease to the owner of the house. My dad went further and rented a room for me in a house I moved into for six months. During that time I found a job and got hired in a restaurant working in the kitchen. My mental health was not good and I was fired. I found another job at a restaurant where I worked for several weeks and was fired. I found one more job working at a gas station where I worked for several weeks. I was working alone one night and had a difficult time counting the inventory of packs of cigarettes. At the end of the shift I clocked out and locked up. The next day I arrived at the gas station in the morning and quit. I said I couldn’t handle it and returned my uniform.

I soon spent the last of my money and was relying on my food benefit card for food. I remember being hungry living in the house for six months. My bipolar symptoms were getting worse. One day I was riding my bicycle around town when I hit a curb or something going fast and fell forward onto the concrete sidewalk. I landed with both of my hands stretched out which probably kept me from breaking my nose. I was dazed and not thinking well. I left my bicycle and walked across a busy four lane road during rush hour. I’m very lucky that I crossed the road with out getting hit by a car. I collapsed on the lawn on the side of the road. Before long paramedics arrived and in my confusion I resisted their help. They had to force me into the ambulance where I was handcuffed. The next think I remember was waking up on a hospital bed in a hospital where eventually a Surgeon helped to heal my wrists. I had two fractured wrists from the bicycle accident and being forced into handcuffs. When I was well enough I was transported to the Jail where I stayed for one day. I appeared before a Judge in Jail Court and I don’t remember much of what I was told. I was given a later court date to appear at where I would be sentenced. From the Jail I was transported to a psychiatric hospital where I got back on my prescribed medication and my fractured wrists continued to heal. I was in the psychiatric hospital for several weeks then was released and went back home. At the set court date I was placed on probation for two years for my reckless behavior crossing the street during rush hour traffic. I did really well on probation and arrived on schedule to each of my probation meetings. I passed each urine analysis. I think my erratic behavior was becoming a problem to the three other tenants and the owner of the house told me she was not renewing my month to month lease.

My dad showed more sympathy to me. On the day I had to move out of the house my dad arrived driving his van and helped me load my possessions into his van. He drove me with my possessions in the van to a storage unit and paid to store my possessions.

Then my dad made a reservation for me at an airbnb for one week. That was the last time I lived in a home in Colorado. When the week was up my dad showed more sympathy to me. He rented a bed for me in a room with five beds in a Hostel in Denver. I think the rent was $15/night. I stayed at the Hostel for almost four months. During that time I found work doing day labor and earned some money. The hostel was chaotic. One day a woman staying in the hostel fell and cracked her neck and died. The neighborhood was in a rough area of town. The hostel was run down. One of the people who rented one of the beds in the room wore an ankle bracelet GPS monitor and had recently been released from prison or jail. Another person who rented a bed I think was selling drugs. One of the people renting a bed was crazy. Another older man who was renting a bed was crazy. For some reason the manager of the Hostel moved me to a different room I don’t remember why. The room had maybe a dozen beds and was always dark. The only lights were street lights and light from the hall. It was a mess. People renting the beds had accumulated heaps of possessions that seemed to litter the area of the room. One night the person on the top bunk above me arrived late at night in a terrible mood. He screamed and yelled and shook the bed for hours. I remember one man who rented a bed shared some foot powder with me for my chapped feet. My probation was transferred to a probation Officer in Denver and I remember meeting him once with his heavy caseload. The probation office was in a rough area of town. I remember taking an elevator up several flights to the Probation officers office and it reminded me of being in Jail. It’s not Jail and was intimidating to me none the less. I remember visiting the Denver public library often. I remember there was a big marijuana celebration in April 20th. I don’t smoke marijuana and didn’t celebrate it but I remember it was a big deal to a lot of people. The neighborhood was loud at night. The street looked mean. There was a library in the bottom of the hostel where I read some books. There was also a shower near the library and sometimes homeless youth would sneak in to shower. I remember one day a group of what I thought were gangsters surrounded a man and assaulted him in Public. I turned around immediately and took a long way around the neighborhood to the grocery store where I went shopping. I was getting regular work in day labor but the hostel spooked me. I decided it was time to leave. One morning I called my dad and asked him for help. My dad instructed his employee to drive to Denver and pick me up outside the Hostel. I remember waiting outside and felt intimidated by a group of people walking by. I don’t think they were trying to intimidate me. It’s a tough neighborhood and it was their neighborhood and they were being themselves. My dad’s employee arrived and I put my bicycle and luggage in his truck and he drove me to my dad’s home. My probation officer in Denver arranged for me to be put back on Probation in my home town. When I arrived something happened I was not prepared for. Becoming homeless usually happens without warning. One day you have a home and a bed to sleep on, the next day you don’t. That’s what happened. I refused to live in the Hostel and my dad was not going to let me move into his home and was done providing monetary sympathy to me.

I put my luggage in the storage unit and grabbed a back pack and filled it with clothes. That was it. I had the clothes I wore and a backpack stuffed with clothes and a food benefit card. That night I slept under a bridge. I found more day labor and was able to rent the storage unit for several more months. I could no longer afford to pay for the storage unit and found a less expensive storage unit and somehow had the money to hire a few guys to move my possessions to the less expensive storage unit. My mom came to Colorado to visit me while staying with her friend and to visit more of her friends in Colorado. I remember doing some landscaping work for my moms friend while my mom was visiting. I remember my mom helped me pay to move my possessions into an even less expensive storage unit. Eventually my mental health was so deteriorated and my ability to communicate effectively was so diminished I was rarely able to find work doing day labor. I could no longer afford to pay the rent for the storage unit and all of my possessions were auctioned off. I got off of Probation two or three months early for good behavior. I have family. My family are very important to me. My family have helped me time and time again while I was homeless and understandably were no longer willing to let me live with them. I was 35 years old and hadn’t taken my prescribed medication since the last psychiatric hospital I was a patient in where I was diagnosed as schizoaffective. Later as a patient at a different psychiatric hospital my diagnosis was changed to schizophrenic. I was in the beginning of six years of experiencing homelessness.

Being homeless for one year was not enough homelessness for me. I never wanted to be homeless. I never want to be homeless again, not for one day. Being homeless from 30-31 was a major catastrophe for me. The experience of being homeless did not leave a resounding life changing, life lesson on me after I got back into housing. It was difficult to accept that I had been homeless. I had a difficult time speaking about having been homeless. Up until I became homeless at 30 I knew no-one that had ever been homeless. Maybe I did but they didn’t tell me. No one I knew made sure I knew that they were or was homeless. No one in my family that I ever heard of or knew was ever homeless. Before becoming homeless I never associated with homeless individuals. When I was homeless I kept to myself mostly and fiercely knew that I would not be homeless forever. When I was homeless I associated with other homeless individuals at shelters and at feeds. I greeted people other homeless people appropriately. There is no standard greeting when interacting with a homeless person. Everyone is an individual and a basic nod of acknowledgement was often enough. For the entire year I was homeless my entire family (everyone old enough to understand what it meant was distraught with the thought of what I was experiencing. They all supported me and encouraged me the best they could. I was alone on the streets as they say. And in the world I have a strong healthy family who care about me very very much and are supportive of my best interest. Everything I owned was safely in storage at my dads home waiting for me to get back into housing to regain. My “home town” is a small city and an economic powerhouse in Colorado. There are lower income neighborhoods in it and most of it is filled with houses and condos that are in the many hundreds of thousands of dollars and many millions of dollars in value. The homeless population in my home town is not all over the place and not visible in every neighborhood. The community puts a lot of resources into supporting the homeless population and getting homeless people back into housing. As a homeless person in my home town there were a lot of available resources to me. The biggest impediment to why I was homeless for one year was mostly due to me refusing to take my prescribed medication for my bipolar diagnosis.

It’s interesting how when I got mad at my dad and yelled at him which he considered a threat, then called the Police on me, only then was I put in a psychiatric hospital where my recovery began.

Tough love from my family worked in my favor that time.

I was 35 and facing homelessness again. It was very difficult to accept that everything I accumulated over 35 years and owned and in storage up until that point was sold in an auction.

I never got used to being homeless in my mind. My body got used to not often having a safe place to go, rarely having a safe place to sleep,(A homeless shelter can be a violent place) being hungry often, being dirty often, wearing the same clothes day after day after day. I didn’t accept my homeless experience as my future.

I kept moving day after day, night after night. I didn’t like the idea of making an encampment. I didn’t want to get too used to being in the same public place every night. So I’d find a different place to sleep every night. Sometimes I’d return to the same public space to sleep but generally I kept moving. The Public Library in my home town is open almost every day of the year and where I spent a lot of my time reading and trying to rest, seated on a chair wearing dark sunglasses to hide the fact that I was dozing.

I did not hold a sign asking for money while I was homeless. I did not want to advertise my situation to the public. I tried to limit the perception of me being homeless by staying as clean as possible and, bathing at every opportunity, shaving daily, brushing my teeth daily and wearing a different set of clothes every day when I could. I didn’t mask the fact that I was homeless very well and did not concern myself much with it. Homelessness was what I was experiencing and I got dirty living outside, rarely having opportunities to wash my clothes. If I was sitting on a bench in public for example and a person walked up to me and handed me a few dollars I would accept the money gladly and thank them. That didn’t happen often to me probably because I wasn’t asking for money from people.

My dad bought me an inexpensive cellphone. My family wanted to keep in contact with me. The cellphone helped a lot and was a lifeline of sorts. It was often difficult to find somewhere to charge the cellphone and I wasn’t great at communicating but I could place and answer calls and get my point across when talking to people.

I didn’t rummage through trash looking for food. I was often hungry and between my food benefit card and the meals made available throughout the week for hungry and homeless people from charities and volunteers and Churches and Synagogues and meals at the homeless shelter I was able to eat enough food. I was lean, lean from being hungry often. And I was limber, limber from doing so much walking from place to place miles and miles and miles every day.

My sisters made it a point to visit me when they were in town visiting. The support I received from my family while I was homeless and to get back into housing was a big morale booster for me. I was usually alone and I was not alone in the world. People cared about me very much. People with homes of their own, with jobs and careers and cars living normal lives cared about me very much. Some close friends of my family cared about me too. That’s what our strong supportive family looked like. We all cared very much when someone we knew was sick and when I was homeless. And our closest family friends cared about our well being too.

I remember one winter night arriving on a public bus at the homeless shelter. I was getting their late and there was not enough beds available to let me in. I was turned away but not entirely. I was allowed to wait in the entrance area and a cop showed up. He offered to drive me to a church that was open that night as a warming center for homeless people. I accepted and soon I was being driven by the police officer to the Church. I thanked him when we arrived. I was still new to being homeless. I don’t know what I would have done had the cop not drove me to the warming center. The warming center was just that. A room in the church where a group of homeless people slept on mats made available by the members of the Church who stayed vigil all night while we slept. We were allowed to use the bathroom. Light from a hall stayed on all night and a member of the Church stayed awake with us all night watching over us. In the morning we left early. Those were the rules. Early to bed, early to rise, out early. A heavy blanket of snow covered the ground. I think I walked into town from the church and waited until the bus station opened where I found a bench inside to sit on and warm up.

Of the six year stretch when I was homeless the first two of those years I lived outside in my home town. Days became weeks became months became years.

From Fall to late Winter the homeless shelter was open for services. I stayed at the homeless shelter as much as I could. The homeless shelter had a large room filled with bunk beds for the men and the women stayed upstairs. There was a laundry room. A bathroom with toilets and a wall of shower heads and sinks with stainless steel mirrors that were damage resistant. There was a room with a TV in it and books and a variety of VHS movies. The news is what always seemed to be on TV at the homeless shelter. There was a main room with tables and chairs and a desk behind a glass wall with an opening in it staffed all night. I waited in a line of guests to the desk where Staff members provided me with a towel and a bar of soap and a tooth brush and tooth paste and shampoo. Cough medicine was also available at the desk and bandaids. There was also a dining room where I waited in a long line of hungry guests for a hot meal. Every night a different group of volunteers cooked and served hot meals to the guests. When I got to the front of the line I picked up a plate. The volunteers stood behind the counter and offered us a variety of the prepared food I was able to choose from. The tables were long and narrow and chairs were placed around them. The shelter was packed every night. With a full plate of food I looked for a place to sit at a table where I hoped I would get along with the nearby men and women eating their meals. There was also a hallway near the check in area of the shelter where there are offices for the volunteers who some of served as caseworkers for the guests. Lights were out early in the room of bunkbeds and I had a bunk bed reserved for me every night I was a guest.

The homeless shelter was a rowdy place. Men were often getting in fights and yelling and rough housing and getting kicked out. Many of the guests in the shelter were considered chronically homeless. A chronically homeless individual is a person who for their reasons which are often not clear remain homeless year after year after year for many years. Many people die homeless. Many of the chronically homeless people didn’t seem to shower or change their clothes. They were guests to eat and sleep. Many nights in the shelter were interrupted by paramedics arriving in the room of bunkbeds and wheeling a guest who had become sick away to an ambulance.

Lights turned on early in the morning and there was just enough time to get up and shower and eat breakfast in the dining room before having to leave. Every guest had to leave early in the morning and the shelter was closed until the evening. I helped with cleaning the dining area after meals which meant a lot to the Staff members and often secured an assigned bed for the night because of my willingness to help.

Near the homeless shelter was housing for people who worked well with case managers and got into permanent subsidized housing. I had a case manager looking after me for a while at the shelter but my unwillingness to take my prescribed medication did not go well with their plan and I remained an intermittent guest helping with chores during the cold months.

Spring, Summer and early Fall I lived outside and slept under the stars. Some days I would find day labor and most days I did not work.

Much of the time I was homeless are blurred together. Specific incidents and faces of homeless people stand out in my mind and on a day to day basis the timeline is not clear.

Writing about when I was homeless is not a simple task. It feels charged. I want to share my story and how I remember it is fragmented.

I’m sitting in a busy and fancy cafe on a booth. The freshly roasted freshly brewed coffee tastes like liquid gold. It’s a Saturday morning. I have the weekend off work from a staffing agency. I am in Oregon in the town where I am a resident. The white 2019 Kia Soul hatchback with 54,000 miles on the engine I recently financed is parked outside. I brought my laptop computer for a fresh writing perspective. A warm cinnamon brioche served to me at a table I have to myself is delicious!

Visiting the cafe helps me focus on the present. It feels good to leave my home I lease locked and secure with my pet dog on guard inside.

People become homeless for numerous reasons. An illness overwhelms them. They lose their job and are consumed with stress to pay the bills and can no longer afford a place to live. A fire turns their home into ashes and they are left with nothing, the stress is overwhelming and they never fully recover. A tornado, and earthquake, a hurricane that reaches a shore and demolishes a community. This happens often around the world changing individuals and families lives forever. Babies are born into families experiencing homelessness and grow up learning to live outside.

Whether fortunate or not my experience when I was homeless had everything to do with very wrong decisions I made and acted on. Doing illegal drugs, getting drunk, not taking my prescribed medication. Each of those decisions and actions I made and inaction I chose was the direct cause why I became homeless.

I was the director of my own undoing. My family pleaded with me for me to take my medication to no prevail.

My community these days mostly live in peace. The economy is strong in Town. There are low income neighborhoods and more middle class and wealthy neighborhoods. Sometimes I volunteer in my community and I often attend a Church I am a member of for Sunday services. In local news reports on TV problems persist and there are also solutions to the communities challenges.

When I’m in Public often I see a homeless man or woman sitting down or walking on a side walk or relaxing at a city park. Sometimes a person is holding a sign asking for donations on the side of a road. I keep my distance and from time to time I make a small money donation to someone holding a sign. This Summer is hot as usual and I’ve made it a habit to hand out bottles of drinking water to homeless people. It feels great to be able to make a difference in people’s lives with a small gesture. I knew well for a long time the difficulties of homelessness.

Wishing doesn’t stop someone from becoming homeless. Sometimes the thought counts. Wishing doesn’t stop an earthquake. I’ve learned through difficult times humanity bands together and helps the most vulnerable populations. Banding together to help others doesn’t work 100% for every person who homeless. Some people say they choose to be homeless. Live and let live.

While it might look obvious when I see a person I think is homeless I actually don’t know if that’s true. Some people get drunk and go in public and make fools of themselves then sober up before going to work Monday morning. A drunk person in public is often not behaving normally and could have a disheveled look about them. Their clothes might be torn, maybe their not wearing a shirt. Maybe they lost their shoes. Maybe their drunk and sleeping in a city park. It’s ok not to know. Will they make it to work, ready to work on time? Or will they show up late one too many times and are fired?

Many Americans live “paycheck to paycheck” with little savings. A lost job can be devastating and lead to homelessness. Getting drunk can cause many problems. People become more violent when they are drunk. People make very wrong decisions when they are drunk and their actions stress their health. A person with a mental health problem that is usually manageable exasperates their health if they get drunk. Acting on one wrong decision can lead to a number of consequences. Becoming homeless could happen from making a series of wrong decisions over time. After a while the wrong decisions acted on add up and a person can become overwhelmed and no longer able to manage their responsibilities.

I’m now at home sitting at my desk in my room late in the morning. Sounds of my neighborhood outside are pleasant. Birds are chirping. The occasional dog barks. Neighbors are chatting. I can hear the sound of an airplane in flight high above in the sky possibly on their way to land at the local Airport. My neighborhood is a residential neighborhood. There is a hospital nearby and shopping center within walking distance. I feel safe when I’m in my neighborhood day and night. “All is well” as they say.

A larger truth in response to “All is well” is that everyone is fighting a battle no one knows about. The battlefield might be in someone’s mind. Challenges a person face might be at work trying to climb their career ladder. A challenge a person might face may seem more simplistic like weeding their garden during the growing season. It takes a lot of hard work and physical effort to tend a garden and grow a successful variety of vegetables, fruit, flowers and herbs. Harvesting the bounty can be time consuming and require diligence to store the harvest appropriately so the food stays fresh longer.

Not every challenge is overcome. Overcoming a challenge might take a lot of patience and persistence and the end goal might look or seem different than what the person faced with a challenge comes to realize. When someone is knocked down 9 times, the solution is to get back up 10 times. This is a successful survivor mentality you might want to keep in mind whether its climbing your career ladder, weeding pesky weeds from your garden and when seeking out a way to move off the streets into safe stable housing.

At two years of experiencing homelessness I was sitting at a table in the Public Library in my home town one day having a conversation at a respectable volume with my mom in Oregon. I told her how I value and appreciate her. Something positive happened in the conversation. Soon after my mom offered to me to move to Oregon to live closer to her. The idea interested me. I thought about her offer and had an open mind. Several weeks later my mom traveled to Colorado to visit me. We spoke in person about me moving to Oregon. I couldn’t live with her and at the time she was more supportive of me than my family living in Colorado.

It seemed like a good idea. The next day at the Public Library at a table my dad and mom met me where we talked about moms idea for me to move to Oregon to live closer to her. Everyone liked the idea and I agreed to move to Oregon.

My dad agreed to buy me a ticket on a Train from Denver to Klamath Falls Oregon. Within days I was getting ready to depart Colorado. I remember the night before I left Colorado was a cold snowy Winter night with thick ice on the ground. I stayed at a temporary shelter for homeless people near 30th Street and Valmont Road. I remember going to sleep on the floor of a large room filled with other homeless people while a man volunteering stayed awake all night keeping vigil watching over the sleeping guests. The Train was scheduled to depart Denver’s Union Station early that morning. I woke up very early in the shelter and left. I walked through the snow and ice from the shelter several miles to my dad’s house at 20th St. and Mapleton Avenue. My dad was awake in his office when I knocked on the door. He let me in and handed me the Train ticket he purchased on the Amtrack website and had printed for me. He handed me $20 dollars to buy food for the trip which would be less than two full days. I hugged him and said goodbye. I walked out of my dad’s office into the predawn early morning snow and ice and dark night sky. That was the last time I saw my dad for four and a half years. I walked to the Public Bus Station in 10 minutes and bought a ticket and boarded the first bus of the day leaving for Denver.

When the Bus arrived in the Denver Bus Terminal it was a 15 minute walk to Union Station. I arrived early, maybe an hour before the Train was scheduled to leave. I sat at an empty table in Union Station with my backpack and a Vanity Fair magazine I bought and read while waiting to board the Train. The Train left the Station on schedule and I was on it! From Denver I rode through Utah and Nevada to California. In California the Train stopped in Sacramento where I deboarded and waited in the area for several hours while a different Train was being prepared to take passengers North to Oregon and stopping at Klamath Falls Train Station. When the Train was ready I boarded and soon enough we left heading further North through the Mountains to Oregon. I remember on the train ride hallucinating that someone who was a patient I saw in a psychiatric hospital was a passenger on board the Train. My mental health had deteriorated and my communication skills had deteriorated. The Train ride was peaceful. My mind was racing and my thoughts were chaotic. The Train arrived at Klamath Falls Train Station on schedule where I deboarded and waited for a shuttle bus to arrive. When the shuttle bus arrived I climbed in and the driver drove us passengers for what seemed like a two hour ride to the Medford Airport. At the Airport my mom met me and picked me up in her car. She drove me to her home high on a mountain near the Oregon California border in Hilt where I was welcome to stay one night.

What I remember most about that night was being able to shower for the first time in a long time and washing away layers of dirt and grime until I was clean. I remember eating a hot cooked meal my mom prepared and shared with me at her dining area table.

Early the next morning after sunrise and after eating breakfast my mom drove me down the mountain from Hilt to the town of Ashland. My mom had packed a supply of food and snacks for me and gave me some dollars and dropped me off in downtown Ashland Oregon then drove away.

I was surprised and not surprised. I knew that my mom was not inviting me to live with her and I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived in Ashland. I was 37 and had not been in Ashland for eight years since I rented a vacant room in a home from the owner who shared common areas of her house with me and I worked at a grocery store before moving back to Los Angeles California for the second time. Much of Ashland looked the same and in eight years a lot changed.

One of the best aspects of moving far and away from Colorado half way across the Country to Oregon was I left all the negative influences that had a grip on me in my past. Being homeless was difficult enough and it was to my benefit that about 97% of the people I met and came across were new to me. I know no one in Oregon who uses or sells illegal drugs. Leaving those negative influences in my past was and is to this day a major achievement. I still had a lot of struggling to do homeless in Ashland and not taking my prescribed Medication.

My mom provided me with a new sturdy backpack and a warm sleeping bag and told me of a city park with a Teepee where I could sleep. The Winter weather was cold and there was remnants of snow on the ground that had mostly melted away.

After sleeping in my new sleeping bag for one night at the city park in the Teepee my mom met me in town and picked me up and drove me to Medford. There is a place called Medford Gospel Mission where my mom said everything I needed to get back into housing would be provided for me.

We arrived outside of Medford Gospel Mission in the afternoon then my mom drove away. I checked in at the front desk where a man at work handed me a meal ticket for a free dinner that evening. I was told that if I wanted to be a resident of the Gospel Mission there was a line I needed to wait in and had to check in at a different desk and go through an interview process to be accepted. At the time I wasn’t keen on participating in a religion and declined their offer. I didn’t know Medford well. I walked around town some to get a better idea of my surroundings and soon enough it was dinner time at the Gospel Mission. When I arrived at Gospel Mission there was a large group of hungry and homeless people gathered in the chapel room waiting to enter the dining room. When my ticket was called I walked into the dining room that was filled with people seated at tables of four eating hot meals served by volunteer waitstaff. The host brought me to a table where two men were already seated for dinner and a waitress took our orders. Soon the waitress returned with our hot meals and non alcohol beverages. The food tasted very good and the service was delightful. There was no check and gratuity was not expected. The hot meal and beverages and service is all possible from volunteers and donations from the community. After eating the hot meal I left. Medford Gospel Mission is warm and bright and welcoming and staffed with members during the day six days a week and the Pastor who was living in a room in the Gospel Mission.

It was a very cold night. Cold and frozen. Not much ice was on the ground and very cold none the less. I walked through the night to keep warm enough. I didn’t know my surroundings well and kept to the main streets. Early in the morning the YMCA opened and I was allowed to sit on a bench inside the near the front desk and warm up. I was so relieved to sit down where I was warm and welcome for a while and felt safe. After about one hour a man leaving the gym walked by me and handed me a $10 dollar bill. I was so thankful. His gift meant so much to me. Dawn was breaking and soon a cafe would open where I could buy a cup of coffee and sit on a chair warm and safe for a while. I was one of the first customers in the cafe that morning where I ordered a cup of hot chocolate if my memory serves. There was a large sofa couch in the cafe I sat on and and went to sleep sitting up. I knew I couldn’t overstay my visit in the cafe. I left before long on good terms with the staff feeling confident I could return another day and order a beverage and stay for a while.

Snow fell over the Rogue Valley that day. Most of it had melted and turned to slush by the afternoon. I didn’t know Medford well at the time. Medford felt like a small city to me. Medford is a small city. I didn’t know where to go for shelter and where meals were given to hungry and homeless people. At the time I was going on two years of being homeless in Colorado and doing the best I could. I wasn’t about to apply for a spot to live in the Medford Gospel Mission and knew Medford very little. I decided I would pay for a fare on a city Bus going to Ashland. Ashland is a Town. A Town I knew from being a resident of Ashland. A Town I made many good memories in visiting my family in before I moved there from Los Angeles when I was 27 years old. I also remembered experiencing difficulties in Ashland from when I moved there and was diagnosed as being bipolar. I felt confident that I would find support while experiencing homelessness from the community of Ashland. On the bus to Ashland snow began falling. A man sitting near me on the Bus to Ashland told me there was a feed for homeless people near downtown Ashland and gave me directions to a cabin beside Lithia Park where a hot meal would be served for dinner. It was a streak of luck. I had not yet arrived in Ashland and already knew where I would go that evening to eat. I thanked the stranger. When the Bus arrived in downtown Ashland a blanket of heavy snow covered the ground and more snow was coming down. I walked beside Lithia Park to the cabin where a group of homeless people had gathered. It was obvious I was a new face in the crowd. Homeless people are often suspicious of people they don’t know and I kept to mostly to myself. In the wooden cabin a group of volunteers were preparing a hot meal for hungry and homeless people. There was no sign in sheet. No application, no interview. The setting felt similar to feeds I often went to in Colorado for hungry and homeless people. People arrived hungry and a warm and kind group of volunteers served a meal with no questions asked. I sat at a large table in the dining area with other hungry people where I ate my meal. A Volunteer informed the gathering that it was going to be a very cold night and they were going to turn the cabin into a warming center for the night. It was just my luck. I ate a delicious hot meal at a table prepared in the kitchen by the volunteers and was able to stay after the tables were set to the side and rest that night on the floor of the dining room in my newish sleeping bag while volunteers stayed awake through the night vigil watching over their guests. Early the next morning we had to leave the property and I walked away on a bright sunny morning under a clear blue sky and melting snow.

I called my mom and told her I was going to stay in Ashland. My mom was discouraged with my news. She was certain that applying to live in Medford Gospel Mission was the best way for me to get back into housing and that my difficulties of struggling and surviving homeless were ever present an real. She was right. Down to the T. I was homeless mostly in Ashland and some in Medford during the next four years.

Gradually I began to refamiliarize myself with Ashland. Gradually I found resources in Ashland that were available for homeless people. I applied for an Oregon Trail Card, the food benefit card for low income and homeless Oregonians. There was a resource center not far from downtown Ashland for homeless people where case managers helped throughout the week homeless people and low income people apply for resources and use their toilet and sink. Staff members of the resource center often gave snacks and bottles of water to people in need. There was a case manager I met with and applied to change the record of my address as a homeless individual living in Ashland Oregon. Soon after my address on file changed to the Ashland Resource Center I was approved for the Oregon Trail Card. At the Resource Center information was made available about local feeds at Church’s and Synagogues and the Cabin and at Ashland City Parks throughout the week. When a warming center was open for a night information about when to arrive and where the location was, was made available.

One day my mom picked me up and drove me to the Ashland Food Pantry where I applied for an account. From then on throughout the year during certain days and hours I was permitted to visit the Food Pantry where the Staff of volunteers worked distributing donated foods to low income and homeless people.

I spent most of my days in and near downtown Ashland and at City Parks. I have an independent nature and didn’t bond with homeless people in Ashland. Gradually homeless people in Ashland got to know me a little bit at feeds and while staying at warming centers. In general homeless people didn’t like me and were not warm towards me. I was perceived by homeless people in Ashland as an outsider. It was true, I was there on their turf, their stomping grounds and in their State and in their home town from far away. I was not trying to make friends with homeless people. I wasn’t rude and I was standoffish. My demeanor was not accepted by homeless people in Ashland in general. Rumors started to swirl and suspicion and resentment towards me from homeless people in Ashland grew. Numerous times during those four years homeless I was verbally and physically attacked by homeless people. People die homeless every day and I was lucky none of the attacks on me caused much lasting pain. At feeds sometimes homeless people who gathered made it clear I was not welcome and if I didn’t leave there was going to be a fight. I was not about to take on a group of violent people alone and left. My reputation was a person who disturbed homeless people’s peace. Church’s took notice and I was turned away from warming centers on a number of occasions understandably because the volunteers didn’t want a fight to break out.

One night in downtown Ashland two homeless men attacked me at the same time. I was lucky that a man nearby who clearly was not homeless and well dressed came to my defense. The two homeless men backed away from the man. They didn’t want to create a problem with a person who was valued as a resident of the community. His deflection of the two homeless attackers gave me just enough time to leave the area unharmed.

One night I was resting outside the Resource Center when a homeless man I recognized from a negative and nonviolent interaction a day before was approaching me and began to attack me. I had just enough time to get on top of the fight and struggle with him until I won. I left him in pain on the ground and left the area. As I was walking away I noticed a police car parked on the parking lot and it appeared as if the officer in the car witnessed the fight. It was disconcerting that the officer did not get out of his patrol car to try to stop the fight. I walked away from the homeless man on the ground in pain and the patrol car didn’t budge.

I grew stronger while I was homeless and got better at fighting. I didn’t look for fights, trouble seemed to look for me. Before long it became clear I would not back down from a fight and caused pain when homeless people attacked me.

One night I was resting on a bench near Lithia Park when a man and woman approached me. The man woke me up and offered me a to go container filled with food he likely left holding after dining in a restaurant. I was confused when he woke me up and became defensive right away. I pushed away the to go container of food and threw punches at the man. The woman stood nearby horrified. When I realized I was not being attacked by a homeless person I stopped punching the man and he left with the woman. I was glad I stopped punching him. I was glad I realized he was not a threat to me. I was glad it didn’t get worse. I left the area in the opposite direction. I was sorry I caused the person trying to feed me pain and knew to leave right away. I don’t know if my violent response to the man trying to offer me food was ever reported but it could have been and I didn’t want trouble from the authorities.

The fights subsided and I was able to live homeless in Ashland with fewer and fewer altercations.

Sometimes my mom would drive into Town and bring with her food for me. Snacks, bottles of water, a new backpack, a sewing kit for me to mend my torn clothes.

My mom helped me as much as she was able to and brought me food when she could. Sometimes we’d sit at a park bench and share a meal she prepared. Sometimes she gave me dollars when she could afford to.

My mom was a big morale booster to me while I was homeless in Rogue Valley for four years. She had friends who lived in Town and sometimes somehow they would prepare a to go tin filled with food for me to pick up at their doorstep.

One day my mom met me in Ashland and drove me to where she banked. Because I had a local address at the Resource Center and valid Identification the bank let my mom open a shared bank account with my name on it. I was given a debit card and when my mom could she deposited small amounts of money to the account. I was allowed to make cash withdrawals at their ATM up to the balance in the account and buy hot cups of coffee at cafe’s and buy some groceries with the debit card.

The ability for me to make small purchases with my debit card increased my morale. I think local business where I could afford to make small purchases began to see me as having more opportunity.

My mental health was getting worse. I was seeing things that were not there and hearing sounds that were not real. I was able to behave well enough when I visited the Ashland Public Library to request use of a public computer from the Librarian and login to an available public computer and check my email and scroll Facebook or sit on a chair and read books. I was also able to behave well enough to make small food purchases at corner stores and grocery stores and communicate well enough to be understood by the person working at a cash register. I had little money and I was able to choose inexpensive food items and pay for them from time to time.

One day I went to visit Ashland’s food benefit office where they let me use their toilet and sink. They had a public computer I was allowed to use to check my email account. And they often set out a variety of snacks that were free for their guests. When I walked in to the office I recognized a man who I had a negative interaction with at a Thanksgiving meal where volunteers prepared and served food to homeless and hungry people. He recognized me and began insulting me. We took the argument outside. He was much taller than me and would have got in some punches on me if we fought. I didn’t want to risk it and picked up a large stone from the ground nearby and threatened him with it. The man at work in the Food Benefit Office called the police and soon an officer arrived in her patrol car. I was cited as the instigator of the confrontation because I arrived at the Food Benefit Office after the much taller man was already seated at a public computer when the quarrel started. Furthermore I had threatened him with a large stone. The Police Officer detained me and drove me to a hospital in Medford where she put me as in inpatient in their psychiatric hospital. I began to recover with medication in the psychiatric hospital where I stayed in a room by myself and was served meals and was only allowed to leave to use the bathroom for one week. After my mental health improved to the point where I was no longer considered a threat to anyone including me the psychiatric hospital released me with enough coins to pay for a Public Bus ride to the Bus Terminal in Medford and then pay for a Public Bus ride to Ashland.

I slowly gained a reputation with the Ashland Police as a trouble maker. I didn’t want to cause trouble I didn’t want to get in trouble or be in trouble. I didn’t look for trouble. Trouble persistently found me.

More and more often I was stopped by Police and questioned and let go or detained. The times I was detained I was in Public in Ashland and when in custody drove to Jail in Medford where I was booked usually for being a nuisance, or disturbing the peace. I would usually be locked in a cell for one to three days then released to return to Public Property with a Court date.

At the time the Medford Court system was backlogged with other cases and my Court date was continually pushed back.

That didn’t stop me from being detained by Police Officers and brought to Jail in Medford. After one or two days, maybe three days at most I was released but first met with a Judge over Television Court while in Jail and ordered not to leave the State of Oregon.

One of my foots became in desperate need of medical attention. My big toe nail on one of my foots was so infected that I had a hard time walking without continually taking off my shoe and somewhere I could wash my foot and bandage it. Then put on a clean dry sock then put on my shoe and walk a little further. Eventually a doctor at the Hospital in Ashland sympathized with my foot problem and scheduled an appointment with him where he helped heal my foot for free. I was very fortunate and felt lucky to have received free medical attention from a Doctor.

On a frozen Winter night when I had no shelter I remembered when I was homeless in my home town and visited a hospital on a cold Winter night with no where to go to be warm enough. The Staff at the hospital let me warm up on a bed in the hospital for an hour or more and then wait inside on a chair where I was warm until sunrise before I had to leave the Hospital and go back out into the cold snow and ice. I walked to the hospital and to the emergency room front desk where a Staff Member was working at a desk behind a glass window. My approach didn’t work. I told her I needed to get warm and I needed to be inside where it was warm and persisted to ask her to let me lay down on a bed. The Staff Members at the Hospital were not agreeable with me and I was not ready to leave the warmth of the hospital. The Police were called and arrived soon and I struggled a bit with a Police Officer who quickly took me down to the floor and placed hand cuffs on me. I was brought to the Medford Jail where I stayed for less than a day before I was released to the Public. I was lucky the Police Officer did not cite me a ticket for resisting arrest.

Being in Jail was very uncomfortable and intimidating at times. Usually I had a cell to myself with a narrow window on the door and a toilet with a sink on top. Sometimes I was placed in a cell with one other person and was lucky I never got into an argument in Jail. I kept to myself and was sure to not disturb the other person sharing the cell with me. Once I was in Jail and put in a large cell with five other men. It was a lowed environment. People were yelling. I felt intimidated. Fortunately no one argued with me. Being booked in Jail involved a strip search and an anal cavity examination for contraband. Then I was issued Jail clothes and Jail slippers to wear while in the cell. I knew to not yell and scream and I knew to not distract the Guards on duty. I knew to not bother them. I was released from Jail one evening and was lucky to be given a coat to wear and told where a warming center was nearby in Medford I could walk to. It was a cold frozen night. I arrived at the Church and waited in a line of other homeless people for entry into the warming center. I signed in at the door and inside a large room was packed with people at rest huddled together. There was a small group of volunteers who stayed up all night watching vigil over their guests. Before going to sleep a woman volunteer offered to wash my feet. Her kind gesture meant a lot to me and I accepted. Early in the morning a volunteer heated up porridge in the Kitchen and served their guests hot bowls of food. I was not comfortable being around so many people and left very early in the morning at sunrise.

At the time I knew little about Medford and was soon riding on a Public Bus to Ashland. I spent most of my time in Ashland but on several occasions I traveled to Medford. I remembered where the Church was that invited me into their warming center and I was given a foot bath. Other than the Church I did not know where to go in Medford for resources made available to homeless and hungry people. I knew where the Medford Public Library was and visited it several times.

One night I was feeling anxious sleeping outside in Ashland and got up late at night. I walked to the edge of Town and out of Town on the side of the highway towards Medford. It was a Summer night and the sky was dark. Large Semi Trucks passed on the highway going very fast. I stopped on the side of the highway up on a raised area away from traffic and rested for a while. I think it might be illegal to walk along the highway and walking along the side of the highway late at night was not safe. My mental health was deteriorating. When morning came I was closer to Medford and later that morning I walked into downtown Medford. I don’t know what it was that motivated me to walk out of Ashland late at night for Medford. Having schizophrenia and not taking prescribed medication for it every day was the risk I was taking. I refused to take the medication and my behavior didn’t always make sense. Later that afternoon in Medford I walked past a Church where I noticed a group of homeless people gathered. Men and Women were waiting in line to take a shower one at a time beside the Church. I was encouraged to see people being taken care of and was welcomed to wait in line. After I took a shower I was served a hot meal outside on a picnic table. Before leaving I thanked the volunteers who made the event possible and they invited me to their Chapel room in the following day to worship. I thanked them and continued walking up the road. I have not returned to the Church where in Medford where I got to take a free hot shower and served a hot meal. At the time I still was not interested in participating in religion aside from saying an occasional prayer before a meal and thanking God for my many blessings.

I don’t know what I was looking for in Medford. Soon I was on a Public Bus to Ashland where I felt more confident navigating on foot homeless.

I don’t remember what event happened first, the Alameda fire or Covid. I was homeless during both events. One night I was resting near a fountain in Ashland when the fire started. It wasn’t near me. I didn’t know where it was but the sky was filled with smoke and ash. The fire. The fire. The fire. The whole community was up in arms. The fire wasn’t in Ashland but is wasn’t far away. The fire seemed to last for days and days and days. I kept a safe distance from the fire. Many homes and business were burned to the ground in the Alameda fire. From what I heard in nearby Talent and Phoenix there was a lot of damage from the fire. After the fire was completely put out it was possible for the community to see the damage done. There was a lot of work to be done to rebuild. People lost everything in the fire. People were forced to move away and have not returned. People became victims of the destruction of the fire and became homeless. I think FEMA helped survivors of the fire. There are people to this day who haven’t been able to fully recover from what they lost in the Alameda fire.

After the fire was put out completely I began hearing reports of the damage. I owned the clothes I wore and my backpack. I was dependent on volunteers and donations from the community to eat. The fire took a toll on the whole environment. Tourism took a nose dive. The local economy was struggling. Some weeks after the fire was completely out I was walking on the side of a road in an area where the fire burned every house and building and trailer. It was no longer inhabitable land. Not for years. The ground was black and ash covered. It felt like a no mans land. I didn’t stay long. I’d seen enough and went back to Ashland.

I think Covid started in 2019. It was called Covid19. I remember being at a Starbucks on the patio in Ashland and news spread that an invisible flew was spreading around the country and world. I didn’t have a job and didn’t have a place to shelter in and was not effected in ways many Americans were by the Covid pandemic. I noticed people started wearing face masks in Public and while driving. Face masks were given out at the Ashland Resource Center and at feeds and everyone was encouraged to wear a mask. There were strict rules to not stand too close to other people in Public and when shopping only a certain amount of customers were allowed in a store at a time. News of people dyeing from Covid spread. The scare lasted for a long time and many people died from Covid. Businesses closed, shut down stopped operating and went out of business. Covid was a major problem for the economy. It seemed like less people went out in Public. Less people shopped at stores. People began to work from home and home school their children. People ordered products and services online to be delivered. The economy transformed and some people say the economy has not made a full rebound from the effects of Covid.

These days Covid seems comfortably in the past. Now and again I see some people in Public wearing a mask and wearing a mask while driving and don’t think much of it. Someone has a cold and it feels like the considerate thing to do to wear a cloth mask over their mouth when in Public.

It was 2021 early Spring and I was feeling terrible. I had been homeless for nearly six years. It felt like few homeless people respected me and some of the Churches continued to refuse to let me attend their feeds. That’s how it went for me the whole Winter when some Churches refused to invite me in to their overnight warming center to err on the side of caution and avoid the possibility of their guests getting into a fight.

The times I was detained by the Police and brought to Jail in Medford and was placed in a cell continued to grow. Police Officers seemed to know me by sight and already determined that I was a problem. I kept going to Court on TV where a Judge repeatedly told me not to leave the State of Oregon before I was released into Public. It felt like a cycle with no end in sight. I felt like Police were detaining me and hand cuffing me and putting me in custody on the back seat of their Patrol car and driving me to the Medford Jail and booking me with little to no reason. I was and am schizophrenic and was refusing to take medication that would have been prescribed to me and given to me and my not normal behavior and suspicion grew.

In retrospect I was not in a sound state of mind to determine that Police were singling me out and booking me in Jail for no valid reason. Not taking medication for my schizophrenia remained the largest barrier for me to begin to recover.

I arrived at a feed during the lunch hour one day at an Ashland city park where homeless and hungry people were receiving meals to go. I had visited the same park during feeds many times during the four years and assumed I would wait in line and when I was at the front of the line I would receive a prepared meal in a package to take with me. One of the volunteers giving away meals at the feed I recognized from when she volunteered to feed people at the Cabin my first night in Ashland. Later at a Thanksgiving meal I misbehaved and the same woman who was volunteering feeding people never forgave me. When the woman saw me she recognized me and told me I had to leave and could not have a meal. I got upset. The gathering was on Public Property and I was told where and when to go there for the feed where I would be given a free meal. I yelled at her and didn’t leave for a while. Eventually I stormed off hungry without a free meal as the feed continued. Little did I know but the woman who volunteered at the feed at the Ashland City Park that afternoon felt threatened by me and reported what happened to the Police. I didn’t know it at the time but she filed a stalking report against me.

Several days later one morning I was walking in downtown Ashland when a police car pulled up and stopped behind me. The Officer got out and detained me. He placed handcuffs on me and put me on the seat in the back of his Patrol car. On the drive to the hospital in Medford where I was put in the psychiatric hospital the Officer told me I was in big trouble. He told me I can’t come in contact with the woman who was a volunteer at the feeds and that charges were being pressed against me for having threatened her. I was not thinking clear handcuffed on the back seat of the Patrol car and I got the point the Officer made. I was in big trouble.

Later that morning when I was put in the psychiatric hospital my troubles got worse. A Social Services employee visited me in the room I was locked in and told me I was in trouble for exposing my penis in Public. I was surprised and felt shocked I had no memory of exposing my penis in Public. There was a report on my file that I exposed my penis in Public that morning and I was in big trouble. As a homeless person I didn’t always make it into a public restroom or porta potty in time to urinate in private. I never counted the times I had to go behind a bush to urinate. So technically I did urinate in Public when I went behind a bush. That wasn’t the point. The point was that on my report was a statement that I exposed my penis in Public. I was not told where or who saw me, it was irrelevant to the statement on my report and record in the Psychiatric Hospital. The Social Services employee told me we can’t have people exposing their privates in Public and that it was unacceptable. That I understood. There was no arguing with the Social Services employee.

When he was finished sharing the statement in the report with me he concluded the meeting and left for the time being. I was where I needed to be, safe and secure locked in a room with a mattress I could rest on. I think I was in that room for the better part of one month. I was allowed to leave only to use the toilet and sink next to the room. After several days on medication and reasonable behavior I was allowed to walk escorted to a bathroom and take a private shower. I was allowed to be in the bathroom for five minutes and had to be dressed and ready to leave the bathroom and walk escorted back to the room with the mattress five minutes after I was let in the bathroom. I was given shampoo and a towel.

I did good and left the bathroom clean and dry and dressed in five minutes and escorted back to the room. I continued to receive shower privileges every few days always with an escort to and from the bathroom where I showered in private. I was reasonable enough and at times in that room I was protesting. I was mad. I was yelling insults and screaming at Members of the Staff working 24/7 behind a desk in the main room. The same Staff Members are the ones who brought me meals and let me use the bathroom. My behavior had a long way to improve. I remember banging my fist on the door of the room I was locked in demanding to be let out.

I was in that room for about one month. The medication gradually improved my behavior. I had stopped yelling and screaming and guards took turns stationed outside the room for hours every day making sure I didn’t harm myself or anyone bringing me a meal. One day they let me read a Bible. There were National Geographic magazines they let me read. That was it. The lights went off at night and were on all day. During the day I set the mattress on it’s side so I would have room to exercise and run in place for a while. Slowly but surely my daily medication improved my behavior. Eventually the guard outside the room was not necessary and it was just me in the room and members of the staff at work in the main room. There were three or four rooms in total connected to the main room where psychiatric patients stayed until they improved to the point where they were brought somewhere else. I could hear from the room when a new patient was being put in a nearby room. I could hear when a patient was screaming or misbehaving and I could hear when a patient was moved out of their room somewhere else. And that’s what I did. I waited as patiently as possible while my medication continued to improve my behavior. During the day sometimes I was served snacks and late at night sometimes I was able to order a meal from a menu. Sometimes during the day I was given an extra meal. Members of the Staff did not particularly like me in their. That was not their job. It is a serious environment and they took their job seriously. I felt a little bit intimidated by two of the members of the staff and there was nothing I could do about it.

At around one month it was determined by the members of the staff that my behavior, the treatment and my recovery taking my medication every day improved to the point where I could be released to somewhere else in the hospital. It was late at night and a member of the staff woke me up. He told me they were moving me. They brought in a wheel chair and I got up and sat on the seat. I was tired and had no energy to object and they knew it.

A Staff Member wheeled me out of the main room into a hall and to an elevator. Several moments later we arrived on a different floor and the Staff Member wheeled me into a hallway where two Staff Members I did not recognize greeted me and welcomed me. I was encouraged to stand up and walk to an office where I sat on a chair and a member of the staff asked me why I thought I was there. In my compromised state of mind I told him to the best of my ability I was there because of politics and there were politicians out to get me.

The staff member made notes about my statement on a piece of paper and welcomed me to the more residential area of the psychiatric hospital. We walked to a room and he told me that the room is where I would be staying. And that in the morning a member of the staff would open the door and bring me a meal for breakfast and that I could eat the meal in the room. It was a private room with a private bathroom with a toilet and sink and shower and a curtain. In the room was a large bed made with a blanket and sheets on top of a bed frame. There was a sofa seat in the room and a large window that didn’t open with a view of outside. It was clear to me I was on the third floor of the hospital. Across from the bed a television was mounted on the wall. I was allowed to turn the lights on or off as I pleased. There was one or two pieces of art on the walls in the room. He told me if I needed anything to push the button beside the door and a Staff Member would come to the door. When he left he shut the door behind him. I turned off the lights and went straight to sleep.

At dawn sunlight began streaming in through the window. I got out of bed and took a shower, dried off with a towel and got dressed wearing a underwear a pale blue pair of pants socks tennis shoes that were given to me and a pale blue shirt. I pushed the button next to the door and before long I met a member of the staff for the first time who opened the door. She explained to me that soon another member of the staff would bring me my medication and watch me take it. I was used to the staff members watch me take my medication at that point. She also explained that I would have to stay in the room and that a member of the staff would wait in front of the door sitting on a chair. I was not allowed to leave the room. That’s what happened. Soon a member of the staff arrived at the door and watched me take my medication. There was a video recorder above the bed mounted to the ceiling I assume monitored me at all times while I was in the room. At one point I met with a Psychiatrist who prescribed me a different medication. I don’t know what medication they gave me and it made me feel light headed and care free. I was in a happy mood. I was allowed to watch television in the room and breakfast was delivered to the door. I gratefully accepted the meal and ate it seated on the bed. The utensils I had to eat the food with were sturdy paper triangles I used to scoop op the food to eat. I think I had to stay in the room for several days. After a few days I was allowed to leave the room with a member of the staff and walk the hallways together. We walked beside a dining area and beside the front desk where more members of the staff were working behind the counter. There was no longer a glass window above the counter separating the Staffs work area from the hallway. Private rooms were on both sides of the halls. Some of the patients were sitting on chairs and walking the halls. At the end of one hall there was a room where I was told group therapy sessions took place every day several times a day. In the group therapy room were two couches and several chairs and a piano and a coffee table. There were some books and magazines and a newspaper on the coffee table. There were windows looking out to the hospital grounds below in the group therapy room and I noticed an enclosed area outside in the open air with walking paths and a lawn and several trees and bushes. Later I was told the enclosed area of the hospital outside on the ground below was where us patients got to visit for a while some days guided by a member of the staff.

Later that day I was allowed to leave the room on my own for the first time and walk the halls where I met several patients. Some patients were outgoing and seemed nice and other patients seemed upset and said nothing to me. Staff Members were continually in the halls monitoring how us patients were behaving and interacting with each other and the inpatient environment. For lunch I was allowed to eat at a shared table in the dining area with other patients. Later in the afternoon I was invited to attend group therapy where I sat on a chair in a circle of other seated patients led by a member of the staff. We took turns talking and sharing something with the group. I introduced myself. I don’t remember what else I said.

Later in my private room I was given colored markers and paper and created some pieces of art. In the evening after dinner us patients were served snacks. Later that night I had plenty of energy and was allowed to walk the halls with a member of the staff.

Those were most of the activities I participated in for about a month every day in the more residential area of the psychiatric hospital. One day I got to go with the group of patients led by a member of the staff outside in the open air and enclosed area by a tall solid fence. The Staff member brought some soft nerf balls I played pass with another patient with. It felt great to be outside in the open air in the sunlight on the benches, paths and lawn. We were in the enclosed area for about 15 minutes before the member of the staff guided us patients back inside the hospital in to the elevator and up to the more residential area of the psychiatric hospital.

From then on every time a group of patients was brought outside for a while to the enclosed area I was allowed to join them. We went outside several times a week.

One day at lunch I was given a regular fork and regular spoon and regular butter knife (all plastic) to eat my meal with. It felt good eating with normal eating utensils. Then for some unexplained reason we went back to eating meals with the thick paper triangular scoop utensils. We went back and forth. There was no way for me to tell what utensils I would be eating with until a meal was served.

My behavior continued to improve taking my medication every day. I was allowed to call my mom on a phone at the front desk and speak to her for while. One day I was told by a member of the staff that I was being moved into a shared room with one other man.

Patients left to where I don’t know and new patients arrived. Some patients were talkative and happy, other patients were reserved and rarely said a word. I continued to participate in every group therapy session.

One day I was told I was going to be move to a different residential rehabilitation facility. The Psychiatrist told me she wasn’t sure which facility I was going to be moved to. The Psychiatrist showed me photos of it and it looked good to me. It was in Medford and I said I wanted to go there. Later the psychiatrist said that the residential rehabilitation facility in Medford was not an option. Maybe there wasn’t a room available there for me, I don’t know. I felt a little bit let down but not overly worried. The Psychiatrist told me I was going to be moved to a different residential rehabilitation facility in Grants Pass. Several days later after arrangements were made for me to be transported to the residential rehabilitation facility in Grants Pass in the afternoon I gathered the papers I had with my families phone numbers on them and was escorted outside by an armed guard. The members of the staff all said goodbye to me and wished me well. I remember some of them and how they helped make my stay in the residential area of the psychiatric hospital better. The armed guard walked me to a waiting car parked at the entrance of the hospital and opened the back door of the sedan and I stepped in. A driver was ready and drove me to Grants Pass. I think the doors locked from the outside. I didn’t test them. I didn’t speak to the driver much. There was a window separating the front seats from the back seat. The air conditioning was on and I was comfortable. He was a professional driver. We didn’t listen to music. I told him I am from Boulder Colorado and he replied that he went to College in Boulder at Colorado University. We didn’t have much else to say.

About 45 minutes later we arrived at the residential rehabilitation facility in Grants Pass and a gate closed behind the car. He parked and opened the back door and a member of the staff I met for the first time greeted me at the entrance.

During my intake process at the residential rehabilitation facility, I was told by a member of the staff that I can leave whenever I want. It didn’t make sense to me at the time. I still had a lot of recovering to do. During the day I participated in group therapy sessions, ate three hot meals a day, exercised, got fresh air outside, read books, watched TV and was able to keep to myself when I didn’t want to be around other people. I stayed inside the residential rehabilitation facility and went outside only on the residential rehabilitation facility property. My recovery was going well. A member of the staff watched me take my medication every day. I was allowed to shave with an electric shaver. My mental health was steadily improving.

A representative with Social Services contacted me while I was recovering at the residential rehabilitation facility. I was told that I got to choose where I would go when I was scheduled to leave.

There were two options available for me. At the time I had no possessions other than the clothes I wore and a backpack with supplies in it for living outdoors. I had no money and no savings then.

The residential rehabilitation facility was located in Grants Pass Oregon. I knew nothing about Grants Pass and knew no one in Grants Pass other than the other patients I met while I was in the residential rehabilitation facility and the members of the staff.

I had never visited Grants Pass before being placed in the residential rehabilitation facility and for this reason I did not know my way around the community.

There is a foster care Mission for adult men in Grants Pass that gave me an invitation to live at their Mission. The Social Services representative scheduled a time when I could take a tour of the Mission and met me at the residential rehabilitation facility then drove me to the Mission and went on the tour with me.

The Mission in Grants Pass was very large and seemed extremely religious to me. I was open to religion, but it felt like too much too soon. I didn’t want to live in the Grants Pass Mission and told the Social Services representative. The representative with Social Services had one more option for me in Medford but he didn’t know how it would work out because I had an active warrant in Medford.

There is a foster care Mission for Adult men and women in Medford, the Gospel Mission I was a little bit familiar with from the free hot meal served to me in the dining room several days after I arrived in Oregon from Colorado that gave me an invitation to live at their Mission. The Social Services representative scheduled a time when I could take a tour of the Mission in Medford and met me at the residential rehabilitation facility then drove me to the Mission in Medford and took the tour with me.

I liked the Gospel Mission in Medford and could see myself living there. I had more recovery to do. I was told that I could move to the Gospel Mission in Medford but first I had to have the warrant for me dropped. I needed to go to the Jail in Medford and have my fingerprints taken before they could drop the warrant. The option was to rent a room in a motel for me in Medford to stay while I was getting the warrant dropped. The Social Services representative was less certain about how it would work because I would be in the motel room and on my own with no rules or curfew and no schedule and responsible for getting the warrant dropped. It was a risk I was willing to take.

It was late in the month of May. Soon enough the day came when I would be released from the residential rehabilitation facility. The Social Services representative met me at the residential rehabilitation facility and before I was released a member of the Staff gave me a care bag with things I would need that included a supply of my prescribed medication and toiletries and snacks.

The Social Services representative drove me to a motel in Medford and paid for a room for me for one month. The next day the Social Services representative met me at the motel and drove me to a pantry that donated food to me. Then the Social Services representative drove me to a Good Will Store where he bought me some cooking equipment to use with the microwave in the motel room. The motel room had a minifridge where I kept perishable food.

I had some credit on my Oregon Trail food benefit card and a Medford Public library card and during the day I bought a few snacks at a Store near the motel and walked to the Medford Public Library where I looked at books and found one I liked and checked it out.

I had been in psychiatric hospital areas of a hospital in Medford for two months and then in a residential rehabilitation facility in Grants Pass for one month and not used to making my own schedule and having a place to stay and being able to stay and leave when I choose. I was not used to staying in a room where there was no security camera mounted on the ceiling continually monitoring me, I was relieved. My prescribed medication was helping me a lot and I still had recovery to do. I was not used to having my own room and kitchenette and bathroom all to myself. The neighborhood the Motel is in felt unsafe to me particularly at night. I arrived back at the motel room before dusk every day I stayed there and stayed inside all night. During the day I stayed in the Motel room most of the time. I had a lot of getting used to living indoors again and was content inside the Motel room for most of the month.

I was not used to feeling safe and secure and having privacy at the same time while inside. My mom drove to the motel and picked me up. We stopped at a city park and just sat in the car eating snacks and reflected on the good things happening in my life. Then we went to a restaurant and she bought us lunch. The timing couldn’t have been better. My nephew was graduating from Ashland High School and my dad and stepmom flew in to attend the graduation ceremony. My half-sister also drove from Portland to attend the graduation ceremony. My dad drove in his rental car to the motel and picked me up. Then he drove to Forage Coffee where we ordered two coffees and enjoyed each other’s company at a table on the patio. I hadn’t seen my dad since the cold snowy winter morning I arrived at his office in Colorado before moving to Oregon. Later in the evening I met with my dad and stepmom and step-sister at a city park and we walked on a path around the park together catching up. It was a small reunion for our family but a reunion non the less. One day I walked to Medford Jail where an Officer fingerprinted me and the warrant for me was dropped. I was given a court date later in the Summer when the stalking charge against me would be the front and center topic. I was told because I could not afford to hire an attorney one would be appointed to me to defend me in Court.

Soon after the warrant for me was dropped I checked out of the Motel and on July 5^th 2021 I walked to the Medford Gospel Mission under the hot summer sun with my backpack on my back which felt very heavy where I applied to be a resident, was interviewed, repeated to the man interviewing me that I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior and was accepted to live in the Gospel Mission right away.

Living at the Medford Gospel Mission was like nothing I had ever done as an adult. It was the first and only time I lived in a religious environment. Technically it is an adult foster care facility. I had a cot in the men’s dorm room assigned to me where I slept every night. The Staff was welcoming to me and helped me feel at home. It was made clear to me that every resident of the Gospel Mission was to study the bible every day and attend a Sermon held in the Chapel room 5 days week and attend Church services at a local Church every Sunday. There were also Bible classes I was expected to attend and attended. Every night of the week the Gospel Mission opens it’s dining room to hungry and homeless people in the community. Soon I volunteered in the kitchen helping prepare meals every night. I also helped with chores everyday assigned to me helping to keep the grounds clean and welcoming. All the residents of the Gospel Mission were in recovery. Many of them were homeless before being accepted into the Mission. Many of them were recovering alcoholics and recovering drug addicts. Rules for residents to the Gospel Mission included no use of drugs or alcohol or marijuana. Everything was donated, food, clothes, toiletries and as residents we were not allowed to seek employment. Residents were allowed to leave the property during the day and had to check out at the front desk before leaving, indicate where I would be going while I was out and indicate when I planned to return. Residents all were expected to be celibate. There is a vegetable garden on the property I helped weed and harvested food from. I was gradually getting used to living indoors in community. It was a welcome relief to have the same cot to sleep on every night, see, interact with and eat with the same people every day. It was clear to me I could leave whenever I wanted and not return but I was glad to be a resident and on my path to recovery.

On the day I was scheduled to appear in court I woke up early and wore dress pants and a dress shirt and a tie donated to me at the Mission and checked out at the front desk and walked to the Court. I met my Attorney before Court started and we spoke for a few moments. I had already met him in his office several times before my Court date where I had opportunity to tell him about myself and he asked me questions related to the charges that were going to be brought up against me in court. He was very helpful. Stalking is a serious offense and my attorney made that clear to me. He wasn’t sure what would happen in court or if I would be found ineligible to stand trial because of the severity of my mental health. I was doing well as a resident at Gospel Mission and that showed to the case manager who was assigned to me by the City and to my Attorney.

I remember in Court the Prosecutor seemed aggravated about me and my attorney did an excellent job defending me. The judge told me that I needed to take prescription medication for the rest of my life. The judge also told me I was not allowed to possess a firearm. The judge told me I had to meet with a Psychologist and a Therapist for as many sessions they deemed necessary. The judge understood that I was doing well and showing signs of improvement as a resident at Medford Gospel Mission and ruled that I could continue living there. I was placed on Bench Probation.

The Prosecutor brought up in court to the judge and everyone present that I exposed my penis in Public. I felt very embarrassed. I had an opportunity to speak to the Judge and expressed my regret for anyone I had harmed due to my misbehavior and thanked the Judge for allowing me to continue to live in the Gospel Mission. I agreed to every requirement the Judge made for me. After court was over I met with my attorney one last time for several minutes and he wished me luck.

I walked away and continued on my path to recovery. On the way back to the Mission I stopped in a barbershop where a woman, the owner shaved my head. It felt like a new start. Back at the Mission life returned to normal, as normal as a recovery center for adults is.

My mom helped me apply for Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) I waited patiently while my application with Social Security for SSDI was being reviewed. One day I received a call from an agent with Social Security who told me that my application for SSDI was accepted and I would receive a lump sum payment and monthly payments starting the following month and that I could start looking for an apartment to move into.

I was so relieved and grateful that I was awarded SSDI. I told one of the counselors at the Mission that I wanted to get married and the Mission was not were I wanted to live for a long term. She listened to me and agreed to help me get into housing.

Months had passed and I was eager to move out of the Mission. I had bought my laptop computer and started looking for housing opportunities. I wasn’t finding anything. I had an idea which in retrospect was crazy. I thought I’d buy a minivan and move into it and live in it, traveling from town to town. With the money I received from SSDI I bought a minivan and started searching for equipment I could order online to equip my minivan to live in.

I was getting close to moving out of Gospel Mission into my minivan when I got great news. A room in an apartment in Medford was vacant and available for me to rent. I was delighted at the opportunity. I scheduled to meet the property manager to look at the room right away. The day of the meeting I drove to the apartment complex and met with the property managers. They were glad to meet me and showed me the apartment. Three other adults lived in the apartment and shared the common areas. The vacant room was clean and bright and had a window looking out into the neighborhood. It was low income housing and I could afford to rent the room and pay my share of the utilities. I accepted their offer and moved in that week. It was the third week in December 2021 when I moved into my room in the apartment. I had lived as a resident of the Medford Gospel Mission successfully for nearly 6 months and was glad to be moving out and on with my life. I was grateful for living in the Gospel Mission and glad to check out for the final time. I moved from a cot living side by side 2 dozen adult men in various stages of rehabilitation into my own private bedroom in the apartment. Wow!! I was thrilled. It was a much better, safer and wiser decision than moving into my minivan. I had a physical address at the apartment and in a residential neighborhood for the first time in 6 years. I had a regular mailbox for the first time in as long. The 3 residents I shared the common areas with were all recovering from various issues and experiencing mental health difficulties. I lived with two other men and one woman. We shared the two bathrooms and the kitchen space and two fridges and living room. The apartment was already furnished accept my room was completely empty. I bought a bed frame and mattress right away and a desk and lamp. I found a used clothes dresser on Craigslist and bought it for an affordable price.

I got along with the other residents ok, I kept to myself mostly in my room. In the living room was a TV I watched sometimes. I cooked meals for myself every day. I had more recovery to do. I had come a far way from living outside under the stars every night to renting a private room in an apartment in a residential neighborhood. It was official, I was a valued resident and tenant of the apartment and of the community.

I had ongoing meetings scheduled with a psychiatrist and a therapist and attended every meeting that was required of me. I didn’t like the other tenants I was living with much. I have my own mental health issues I struggle with and between my mental health issues and their mental health issues it was a lot to cope with.

After about 7 months living in my room and sharing the common areas with the other tenants I went back to work part time. I got a job with a Temporary to hire employment staffing agency. Most of the work I did was helping their customers move. It was a lot of heavy lifting, loading large trucks, driving to the new house and unloading the truck and bringing their things inside their new house. One day I went to a craft store and bought materials for painting pieces of art with. An easel, a large book of blank white thick pages and pastel and acrylic paints. I’ve been painting pieces of art since and decorating my space with my art.

I needed help, emotional support. I was new to the community in many ways and knew very few people. I searched online for a Therapist and found a local Therapist that accepted my insurance. Our first meeting was a telehealth session and it went well. It felt great picking out a Therapist for the first time ever. I had many issues from my childhood that reached into my life as an adult I wanted to talk with someone about and going to therapy regularly helped me a lot.

I was living in the room in the shared apartment for one year when the property manager approached me and said that I was doing well and asked if I would like to move into my own apartment. I was ecstatic! I delighted in the idea of living on my own and having a whole place to myself. It was December and the property manager showed me several vacant apartments in town. I chose to live in a different apartment building at the same apartment complex where I live. I moved into my own apartment I live in to this day.

It felt so good moving out of shared living into my own apartment I lease. Later that winter the Therapist I was meeting with regularly stopped by my home and brought me several house warming plants. She contacted me soon after and told me that if I wanted she was willing to meet me for sessions in my living room. I was happy to have the sessions in person in my living room. It felt great meeting with her in person face to face in my living room for my Therapy Sessions. My Therapist signed off on papers for me to get a therapy dog and soon after I adopted my pet dog Sage who lives with me since.

I’ve furnished the apartment I lease and live in with all my own things, a TV and TV Stand, a couch, a coffee table, my own dishes and pots and pans and cooking supplies and utensils. I successfully completed Bench Probation and have had 0 tickets and 0 negative interactions with Police since I was placed in the Psychiatric Hospital in March 2021. I stay away from the defendant who pressed stalking charges on me. After waiting 4 years from when I was sentenced I hired an attorney to help me with my background record. My background report was expunged and is clear and clean and I have no negative public record.

Living in my apartment is great! Sometimes I get lonely and I’d rather live alone and share my home with my pet dog than live with other people who are experiencing mental health difficulties.

I pay my rent and gas and electric and internet and phone bills, everything in my name. I go grocery shopping regularly and keep the fridge and freezer and kitchen cupboards filled with fresh nutritious foods.

I keep my home clean. I like it clean and welcoming. I don’t like being in a mess and it feels good living in a clean home. There are 5 windows in the apartment that open up for fresh air. Sometimes I open the curtains and enjoy looking out to the neighborhood. I feel safe in my neighborhood day and night.

The apartment I rent is 2 blocks from a hospital and shopping center. My neighborhood is usually quiet and the homes on it are modest and well kept. It feels like a safe neighborhood. I have so much to be thankful for and grateful for. So many professionals and volunteers and health care workers have made the life I live possible. I live in peace, safe and sound. I have a good heater in the winter and air conditioner in the summer. The plumbing works good and water pressure is strong. The electricity works good and is solid. The roof is solid and the walls are solid. The apartment complex is maintained well throughout the year and when I need something repaired on the property I call the property manager and they repair it in a timely manner.

I am living in the apartment on my own for nearly 4 years. I’d like to move to a different place. Somewhere with neighbors that are not experiencing mental health difficulties. But for the time being I am content living here. I’ll move when I can afford to move. I’ve gone on 4 vacations since moving into my own apartment. I flew to Colorado and Florida where I visited my family and swam in the ocean. Two Summers ago I rented a car and drove to Vancouver to visit my younger sister and her wife and my nieces in their home. I stayed in an Rbnb. This Spring I went on a fishing trip with my dog to the Upper Rogue River and we stayed in a hotel room. I just got back yesterday from camping and fishing beside Upper Rogue River with my dog. I caught a fish and cooked it. It was delicious. I continued meeting with the Therapist for sessions for nearly 4 years. Late last Winter we moved my Therapy session’s to a local cafe. I discontinued Therapy this August. It feels good to not be in Therapy and enjoy living my life. I still work part time with the Temp to hire employment agency doing a variety of labor shifts. I like to paint, mostly abstracts and take my dog on walks at a nearby park throughout the week. I’ve volunteered locally for 8 months with an organization working hands on helping people escape poverty. Late last Winter I started going to a local Church for Sunday services. I’ve been going to Church regularly. Attending Church almost feels like a home away from home.

I dated a women for 2 years after moving into my own apartment. I left her, It was’nt meant to be. I would like to get married and am keeping my eyes and heart open to meet a woman. Life is good

While this post might not be the advice you need to go from experiencing homelessness to get back into housing, hopefully it gives you hope that it is possible. It definitely is. Never give up. Stay in the light. Seek out the people who want to help you succeed. Be open to healthy opportunities and live your best life.

It’s interesting to realize that because of psychiatrists and psychologists and therapists and mental health workers and chemists who created medicine for individuals with mental health issues from minor to severe I am healthy and strong.

Because these men and women dedicated their education and their careers to helping people who struggle with their mental health I was able to receive the treatment I needed and support and the prescribed medication I need to live a happy and healthy life.

While I don’t interact or come in contact with the men and women who make up these professions on a daily weekly or monthly basis or at all, some of them I meet with regularly like the therapist I schedule appointments with to talk to. She is a professional who listens to me and supports me and gives me advice when she sees fit.

As a man living with my pet therapy dog I don’t take everywhere, to the dog park mostly it is good to speak with my therapist from time to time at our meetings where I tell her about my life and am listened to. I can ask for advice and she’s happy to give it to me. It is good that I can afford my medication. It is good that refills are sent to me in the mail regularly. Taking the prescribed dose every day helps me manage my responsibilities, keeps me on an even keel and at 48 enables me to live an independent productive life in the apartment I live in and lease.

I have received direct support over the years from every professional I listed above. While I have not met a chemist I have met men and women working in a pharmacy who helped fill my prescription.

I am not alone in my community. The professionals I mentioned work hard to help many people in our community and beyond. They went to College and graduated and got careers in their field of study. I don’t know them by name. I know my therapists name.

In general if I come in contact with the professionals I mentioned it is by chance, at a grocery store, at Church, while doing errands. They don’t know me like they did when I was receiving their direct support but they might remember my name from when they worked with me.

These professionals work with a lot of people to improve their mental health. People in my community are directly benefited from their work and indirectly benefited from their work. People in my community are in all stages of mental health, from good to needing hands on support safe and secure in a hospital behind locked doors where they are best cared for and have the best opportunities to recover.

This is difficult for some people to accept that they need to be placed or put or to stay in a psychiatric hospital for the opportunity to recover. Often the patients in a psychiatric hospital are there because they are considered a threat to their own well being or a threat to other peoples well being. They need to stay in the psychiatric hospital until it’s determined that they are not going to hurt themselves or anyone else.

This is a reality of living in society. Not everyone is safe to be around. Not everyone gets the help and support they need to recover and live a healthy happy life. There are many homeless people in my community for many reasons.

Some people were born into families experiencing homelessness and grew up homeless. Other people became homeless later in life for many reasons.

Some people lost their home because they lost their work and were not able to afford to pay for a home to live in.

Many people live paycheck to paycheck and have very little savings. If something happens such as a car accident and they are injured and unable to make a full recovery and are unable to return to work sometimes they become homeless.

Sometimes members of a persons family dies or their whole family dies and the people they needed most for support and care are gone. This can be devastating and without receiving the support and care they were used to they become homeless.

A natural disaster can be devastating such as a fire or and earthquake that leaves peoples homes burnt to the ground or rubble and sometimes they are not able to recover and become homeless.

Sometimes American Veterans of foreign wars are injured defending American interests and the Veterans who survive and who made it back to the United States are not always cared for enough and have become homeless.

Sometimes people make poor decisions such as taking illegal drugs which seriously compromises their mental health and their physical health and their safety and the safety and well being of others and they become homeless.

Sometimes people who have a good home and live a stable life have a mental health weakness and need support and prescribed medication to be able to manage all their responsibilities that enables them to maintain their home and stable life. Sometimes these people with a mental health weakness refuse to take prescribed medication and their mental health deteriorates. They no longer make healthy and wise decisions and could become homeless.

I grew up in a home and had a home to live in until I was 30 years old. At 27 I was diagnosed as having bi-polar disease. At one point I refused to take medication prescribed to me and slowly but surely my mental health deteriorated. I could no longer hold down a job. I had no savings and the little money I had was soon spent. I could not afford to rent a home and at 30 became homeless. I was homeless for one year when I was put in a psychiatric hospital where I began to recover.

When I recovered to a point where I was able to leave the psychiatric hospital on my own my family took me in where I continued to recover. One season later I was living in a home I shared with the landlord I rented a room from and went back to work full time at a liquor store in my home town.

Having grown up in stable housing for 30 years mostly with family and then on my own where I turned 18 the memories of being homeless for one year were very difficult for me to accept. I wished the memories would disappear like a bad dream. Instead of learning what not to do from being homeless the sad fact that I had been homeless ate away at me.

From 31-35 I remained housed and employed. I had a very difficult time accepting that I had been homeless. At one point I stopped taking the medication that was prescribed to me. During that time I also started using illegal drugs. The decisions I was making put me in danger physically, mentally and legally. I took risks that were not wise. My mental health was strained and I was working too much, overtime almost every week. I was addicted to illegal drugs, methamphetamine and cocaine and I drank alcohol regularly.

I could no longer manage my responsibilities. My mental health broke down. I closed the business I had started and soon spent all my savings. Before long I could no longer afford to pay for the room in the house I leased and became homeless a second time at 35.

From 35-37 I was homeless in my hometown of Boulder and in Denver Colorado. I refused to take the medication that would have helped me recover. I lost all my possessions other than the clothes I wore and a backpack with supplies for living outdoors. My family helped me as they could and were unwilling to let me live with them because I was not taking the prescribed medication. My ability to communicate was limited. I hallucinated visions and sounds that were not real. I had a difficult time understanding people.

At 37 I got in contact with my mom in Oregon. She invited me to move to Oregon to be closer to her. My mom did not let me move in with her and she did help me get some medical help for my feet that I desperately needed. My mom met me from time to time with gifts like a new backpack and a new sleeping bag and meals and water. I was nomadic, traveling every day rarely sleeping in the same place. I trusted few people and did not make friends with other homeless people. I was very stubborn and still refused to take the medication.

At 41 I was still homeless living outside most nights and sometimes at a warming center for a night. I had become a public nuisance and often was placed in custody for disturbing the peace and stayed one two or three nights in Jail. One day the police took me into custody and put me in a psychiatric hospital where my recovery began. I started taking my prescribed medication every day. After three months in two separate psychiatric hospitals I recovered enough to leave.

I still had a lot of recovering to do and Social Services paid for a motel room for one month for me to stay in. From living in a motel I moved to a Mission where I lived for 6 months. During this time I attended Church services every Sunday and studied the bible every day. I helped doing chores every day keeping the Mission clean and volunteered in the kitchen helping prepare meals for the residents and guests of the Mission.

During this time my mom helped me apply for SSDI. Several months after my application to Social Security for SSDI I received an award letter. Social Security awarded me SSDI. Soon after I moved out of the Mission into a shared apartment with three other adults. I lived in the apartment for one year. During that time I went back to work part time. I also sought out a therapist I found at psychology.com who agreed to work with me. I’ve been meeting the same therapist regularly since.

One year later I moved out of the shared apartment into my own apartment where I live. I have lived in this apartment for four and one half years. My apartment is in a safe neighborhood. I have a pet therapy dog. I take my prescribed medication every day since my recovery began over 5 years ago. I manage the money I receive as SSDI payments on my own and I manage the money I earn from my part time work. I have a car and am able to drive around town to do my errands and go to work. Recently I went on vacation with my dog and drove to where I went fishing for three days on Upper Rogue River.

I’ve come a long way since experiencing homelessness. I am physically strong and my mental health has improved very much. I will need to take my prescription for the rest of my life and I agree to taking it. I wouldn’t want to be homeless for one day.

 From time to time I remember when I was homeless and am compassionate with the memory. I don’t avoid the memory of being homeless. Sometimes the memories of when I was homeless enters my thoughts during the day. Other times a memory of when I was homeless enters my thoughts when I’m in bed. They are not pleasant thoughts. In fact they are thoughts about survival and of what I’ve overcome. I don’t dwell on those thoughts. I sit with them or lay with them in bed then let them pass.

Sometimes I see a homeless person in public and hope they make it safe to where they are able to recover. Seeing a homeless person sometimes reminds me of when I was homeless and I know that the person I’m looking at is a unique individual with their own past and present circumstances that have nothing to do with me other than visual proximity. Me having been homeless was not a character flaw, it happened to me because of an accumulation of poor choices and unwise actions.

I would only be telling part of the story if I didn’t mention the many men and women and even young adult volunteers who fed me meals and opened up overnight shelters and warming centers where I received life sustaining support. Many people donated socks and shoes and all the clothes I wore when I was homeless.

Since the first time I was placed in a psychiatric hospital I’ve returned to different psychiatric hospitals 8 times if my memory serves. I don’t have a clear memory of every time I was a patient in a psychiatric hospital. Some of those memories are vague and blurred together. My best guess is I’ve been a patient in a psychiatric hospital 8 times. I was always happy to leave every psychiatric hospital I was a patient in when I recovered enough and released. During those stays I was diagnosed as schizoaffective and then later as schizophrenic.

The last time I was released from a psychiatric hospital was May 2021. I have been in recovery since. I’m grateful health care workers are on staff in psychiatric hospitals every day and every night of the year. Mental health professionals at work have a lot to do with why I’m alive and well. If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health, please contact a psychiatrist or a therapist for help. Life is better with you.

 I hope my words will help people who want to understand some of the reasons people become homeless and will help people who are struggling with their mental health or with homelessness, giving them hope that they can recover and live a happy healthy law-abiding life in peace and in comfort.