Dealing With Riff Raff…

I locked my front door and was about to start my walk for the day. Down my front steps I went. This black fellow was walking by my house just at that moment.

“Hey, Man!” he said brashly. “Give me a ride over to the housing projects.”

“Can’t,” I replied. “I am going for my daily walk and don’t have my car keys on me.”

He was giving me bad vibes anyway and I wouldn’t have given him a ride even if I was fixing to drive somewhere.

“It is cause I be black!” he callously retorted reeking of racism. “I see how you is going to be.”

“I wouldn’t give you a ride if you were a pretty Caucasian woman!” I replied with a harrumph.

I zipped up my jacket this chilly evening, tucked my hands in my pockets, and headed out for my walk. I hope he freezes his ass off on that long walk from my neighborhood. He was rude and uncouth.

On Loneliness…

I read the “The Homeless Guy” blog for a good many years. I don’t think I’ve read about a more lonely man than he and he was surrounded by people being homeless. He was always at odds with himself and the people around him. Millions read his blog and I don’t think he garnered not one lasting friendship out of the endeavor. People would try to befriend him, but he would eventually push them away. He was always so paranoid and suspicious of others.

When I was drinking, I never got lonely. John Barleycorn was my best friend and he kept me company. John Barleycorn was also the jealous type and I ended up not having one soul in my life who cared about me there at the end of my homeless career. I could understand what loneliness Kevin Barbieux felt. I later found George and the gang and they embraced me drunkenness and all. I had finally found some friends who were like me.

When I sobered up, I could no longer hang out with my drinking friends. We all went our separate ways. That’s when loneliness really hit me. When I sobered up.

I called my father tonight and asked him when we were taking his car to the shop to get a headlight fixed. I easily get lonely these days now that I do not drink. I was trying to get up something constructive to do this afternoon that would involve fellowship and comradery.

“I got it fixed earlier in the week,” he told me. “You must be lonely.”

“Yeah, a little bit,” I replied. “Tracy has class tonight after work.”

“I’ve got to go out to eat with a friend, Dave, and I will call you when we get back,” dad told me. “You can come and hang out with me and Samantha and drink you a Coke.”

I told him that sounded like a great deal! That sounded wonderful!

Inner Peace…

I feel at peace tonight – not the always inward conflict I feel on a normal basis. I am very thankful for all the many good things in my life right now. I’ve come a very long way from that drunkard homeless man back in 2003. I will never forget the night my mother turned on the heat in my deceased grandmother’s house – wonderful, glorious heat. I had called her and told her I was homeless. I had a warm bed to sleep in that night and was so very, very thankful. I had been sleeping in a tent by a pond on some land we owned. The month was December as it is now.

“I don’t care what your daddy says you’re not sleeping in a tent tonight,” my mother told me over the phone. “It is freezing cold outside!”

That was the spark that lit the fire that got me moving towards recovery, stability, and sobriety. I finally had stable housing living in an apartment under my grandmother’s house. It took a few years, but I finally got sobered up as well and started to take my medications. The medications were useless while I was drinking. The medications are the key to my recovery. My father always likes to say that I am a different person on my medications than I was before. He said the same of my mother as well. My mother was a mean, stern, chaotic, and obstinate woman growing up and she turned into this gentle and kind creature when she started to take Zyprexa for her schizophrenia.  I actually got to be friends with my mother in the last few years before her death. We were no longer at odds with each other. 

Looking Back...

I would have never thought four years ago I would be where I am now.  I remember those cold homeless mornings so vividly.  I would crawl out of my tent to a frost covered world as I got a fire started.  Freezing cold, I would stamp my feet on the ground to warm them.  I would immediately crack open a beer as I ate my usual gruel breakfast of grits or instant oatmeal.  Lunch time would find me drunk as a warming sun would rise high in the sky.  I remember that warmth vividly.  A nap would follow in my tent and more drinking would earnestly start in the afternoon.  Nightfall would find me three sheets to the wind. 

I discovered homeless blogs then.  I would sneak over to my deceased grandmother's house every night to use the computer.  The house would be cold and I found a little space heater to warm my feet.  I discovered The Homeless Guy and hung on his every word.  I wanted to move to Nashville and live in the shelters there, but I drank so much I couldn't sober up enough to go.   All my money went to beer. 

One night I called my mother...

"Mom, I'm cold," I replied.

"Where are you?  You just disappeared!" she replied.

"I am over at Memaw's house.  I'm homeless."

She drove over to turn on the heat and help me make a bed to sleep in. 

"I don't care what your father says," she told me. "But I'm not letting you be homeless."

I remember writing on my blog how excited I was.  I was so cold and forlorn.  I thought my life was at an end.  Fate had other plans for me.  I had a home, and now the hard work was upon me to get sober and straighten out my life.  What a journey it has been!

Got Till it's Gone...

There was a homeless man at tonight's AA meeting.  He was scared, had been drinking, and didn't know what to do.  He used his time to speak tonight to ask for help.  Several people came to his aid after the meeting.  I spared him my information about Clara and the Rescue Mission.  AA people do take care of their own. It made me think tonight how lucky I have it, even though I might bitch and moan about not having a job and financial independence.

• I have Maggie and Rosa and they are both healthy.
• I have my own health these past few weeks. 
• I have a home.
• I have plenty of food my mother buys for me.
• I have warmth.
• I have a very reliable car that should last me for many years.
• I have plenty of furniture including a soft bed.
• I have a reliable computer and steady Internet access.

There is not much more a person could ask for is there?  I should be content with what I have, but I want more for myself.  Is that bad of me?  I want independence from my parents and control of my finances.  I want a paycheck and the pride that stems from getting one.  I want to pay my own bills and know how much I spend a month.  I want to have the ability to buy things when I need them, and to not have to pester my mother and father for something as simple as Diet Cokes or smokes.

Seeing that homeless man tonight trying to better himself made me feel shameful for wanting all that.  My life has come full circle throughout the life of this blog.  From homelessness to being homed in a house of my very own!  A car!  A dog!  And the love of my life!  I should just be glad I am not back in that tent over at God's country drinking myself silly every night with no direction what-so-ever in my life.   I owe my parents a huge debt of gratitude despite all the many misgivings I have about them!  I am so ahead of the game it's not funny. 

Mission of Mercy

Ferret asked me this morning to drive him down to Perlis truck stop for a shower.  I think the shower cost $7 dollars he said.  It was a long drive down the interstate without my radio as it says I need to enter a code to get it to work (some anti-theft bullshit).  They unhooked the battery when they changed the locks on my car.  I suspect I will have to take it to the dealership and fork out moolah to get it fixed.

Ferret looked like a new man after a shower and shave.  I dropped him off at the laundromat in town so he could launder the clothes in a big black plastic trash bag he was toting around. 

"I am still going to get a home," he told me fiercely as he got out of my car.

"Keep talking like that and you will," I replied as I bid him goodbye.

I drove off as Ferret was carrying his bag inside.  He was on his own for the rest of the day. 

I would always shower at the truck stop as well when I was homeless.  I would ride my motorcycle over from God's country, carrying a daypack of clean or almost clean clothes.  They would give you a bar of soap, wash cloth, and a drying towel.  You would have to enter the code they gave you to open the door to a small room where you would shower.  I always remember the water being very hot.  I was no stranger to truck stops being an over-the-road truck driver for almost a year.      

Laughable at Best...

Listening to Coast to Coast AM this morning out of Portland, Oregon as I drink my coffee and smoke cigars.  George Noory has on someone who claims to build time machines and sells them.  I couldn't help but smile at the amount of bullshit being bantered about. I can imagine George trying hard to keep a straight face as this guy talks and George has heard it all.  I know he wants to burst out laughing. 

I went for another long walk this morning.  I just haven't been able to sleep at night lately -- mainly the early mornings.  This afternoon will find me curled up in the bed with Maggie sleeping no doubt.  I did stop by my favorite convenience store this morning for some hot chocolate, and heard some disheartening news about Ferret.

"I had to quit serving your friend," my favorite clerk told me this morning.

"Ferret?" I asked.

"Yeah, that skinny black dude.  He was sloppy drunk and trying to buy more wine.  I told him to come back later when he sobered up."

No doubt Ferret walked down to the other convenience store owned by the middle eastern men.  They will sell alcohol to anyone with money as long as you can stand up.

It was freezing cold this morning after a clear and windless night -- classic radiational cooling scenario for the south.  I worried Ferret was going to catch pneumonia in this weather.  When I was homeless, I would sleep with my beer in the sleeping bag with me so it wouldn't freeze and burst.  I would lie there drinking beer after beer for hours, listening to the radio as I waited for the sun to come up.  It seems I was always waiting on something to happen then. Now days, I am more into making things happen.    

Storms Pass, Life Goes On...

The storms last night came in with a whimper by the time they reached Eastern Alabama. We didn't even get much rain. I was relieved for Ferret's sake. I walked down to the shopping center this morning to check on him. He was no worse for wear.

"My mother is buying me a tent," Ferret told me after I had sat awhile. "I talked to her today."

"Why don't you move in with your mother?" I asked.

"I'm not moving in with that alcoholic bitch," he replied.

Alcoholism tens to run in families and Ferret's is one of the best examples. According to Ferret, his grandmother was a severe alcoholic and so is his mother. I've met Ferret's mother once and she was drunk out of her gourd. I don't blame Ferret for not wanting to live with her as he has done in the past. She is a drunken drama queen. They end up in chaos and fighting all the time.

"What did you do last night?" I asked.

"I sat and listened to the radio as I drank beer," he replied.

"God, you must have been pretty drunk by last night."

"Yeah, I was," he replied. "I was still drunk this morning."

"You know, in a way, I envy you," I told him. "You are living life much like I did when I was homeless. I was free to drink and do what I wanted. The only thing that was harsh was the cold and trying to stay showered."

"George always said you were crazy," Ferret replied. "I think he was right."

I laughed and agreed. I am pretty crazy for thinking that, but I just can't help it. I will always harbor a certain fondness for my homeless days. I was actually relieved my family wouldn't have anything to do with me. Life was much simpler then.

Adolescence

I've known a lot of homeless people. Ferret and Clara come to mind as the most pertinent examples. There seems to be common themes. Substance abuse and/or mental illness are the most glaring causes of homelessness. I was homeless mainly because I was an alcoholic who couldn't get sober no matter how hard I tried. I lived to drink and lived for the next drink. I couldn't afford rent with my drinking problem when confronted with my paltry income. I made a conscious choice to be drunk and homeless, than sober with a home.

Another thing I have noticed with homelessness, is the petulant and childlike qualities a homeless person will exhibit. It is as if they never grew up. I've been reading The Homeless Guy for years and it never ceases to amaze me what he will write and say being a 46 year old man. I often have to remind myself that this man is not much younger than my father yet he cannot feed or house himself. Like Clara and Ferret, The Homeless Guy is blown around on the winds of change subject to the charity of others. And get this... he still complains constantly about it. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.

I saw these same patterns in me as well when I was homeless for six months. Everyone else was to blame. I loved to blame my ex-wife for my problems. Things like... I wouldn't be homeless if she didn't divorce me and took our house. Go ahead and get out the world's tiniest violin and play it. Luckily, unlike Clara, Ferret, and The Homeless Guy, I had a wealthy family who bailed me out when things got too rough. I had to pay a dear price though. I essentially gave up my autonomy and freedom to have a home. My behavior is carefully monitored and controlled by my family through conditioned responses. If I try to go against the set established rules then I am threatened with various aspects of my life taken away. I am sure Pavlov would find me an interesting subject to study much like his dogs.

Screams of Mental Illness

I was on the phone with Joyce. I had just finished a volley of emails when the phone rang. I extinguished my cigar and picked up the phone.

"Hey, neighbor," was the excited greeting.

"Hey there, neighbor," I replied.

Joyce wanted to know all about Maggie and told me what they had been concentrating on in therapy.

"Joyce, what are your main symptoms?" I asked her in a moment of seriousness after our conversation had settled down.

"I think everybody is watching me. Even the walls," she replied. "If I scream, they go away. They quit watching me."

"Well, the screaming scares people," I told her. "I know it scares me. I think something is terribly wrong with you."

"I know everybody just thinks I am crazy as shit," she replied. "I woke up last night screaming and they gave me an injection of a sedative. It knocked me out."

That didn't sound good. Joyce is going to be in the hospital for the long haul.

"Do you think I can come home?" Joyce then asked.

"Follow your doctor's advice," I replied, much to my chagrin.

I think my psychiatrist is a bumbling idiot and don't hold him in very high regard. My father loves him because he will prescribe any old medication my father asks for. That is why all the comments of advice telling me to listen to my doctor and to talk to him fell on deaf ears. I felt like a Jew going to the Gestapo for medical advice.

I finally got off the phone after talking Joyce into staying a few more days. "At least, the food is delicious," I told her, trying to put a positive spin on things. And B.I.T. (Brief Intensive Treatment) has some of the most wonderful food. I know. I have been in there three or four times.

How do I handle my mental illness when the paranoia strikes? I shut down. I can lie for hours on the couch staring at the walls as I am tormented with fear. Used to, I would drink heavily to squelch those feelings, but no longer have the money to drink.

I was thinking this morning about the most peaceful time of my life. It was when I was homeless and lived in the woods near Waverly, Alabama. No one knew where I was, or how to get me. My only companions were the birds, deer, and the squirrels. My social anxieties melted away. The cold was harsh, but it taught me a valuable lesson -- a lesson that modern life as I had been conditioned to believe in and live since childhood was just as crazy as the violent throes of turmoil when dealing with my mental illness. I would come under the delusion that the rest of the world was mentally ill, and I was the only sane one left. And the many medications they were forcing me to take made me comply with that strange, crazy world and life I was brought up to believe in and to live. There were obvious parallels to the medication, soma, freely given out to citizens in Aldous Huxley's Brave New World -- a medication used to keep the citizens blissfully placated and unaware of larger issues and of higher thinking. My soma is Risperdal, Lithium, Luvox, and Lexapro,

Restless Thoughts and Feelings

I am feeling sad and out of sorts today. I am deeply worred about Ferret. I walked downtown to watch a train pass hoping it would lift my spirits. It did little to help. I feel restless and as if I am about to jump out of my skin.

The last leg of my walk found me over by the shopping center. I ran into Ferret and found him sober, but cold.
I had to bite my tongue when Ferret said that. Luck had nothing to do with it. Ferret was homeless because he started back drinking. I wanted to tell him so, but decided to keep that to myself.
“What did you do last night to stay warm?” I asked. “It was cold as hell.”

“I walked down to Krystal’s and sat up all night drinking coffee and reading newspapers ,” he replied.

“Don’t drink Monday,” I told him. “Remember, we are supposed to go to Opelika to talk to social security.”

“I got another tent and sleeping bag,” Ferret then said dodging the subject, proudly. “I set them up over by the river.”

“Well, maybe this cold snap will not last very long,” I replied. “It is supposed to warm back up the middle of next week.”

“Having this cold would just be my luck,” Ferret said. “Just when I get to be homeless again, Mother Nature decides to be a bitch.”

I had to bite my tongue when Ferret said that. Luck had nothing to do with it. Ferret was homeless because he started back drinking. I wanted to tell him so, but decided to keep that to myself. My relationship with Ferret can be tenuous at best these days when he is not taking his medications and I felt I could damage it with being too honest and blunt with what I have to say.

Ferret so reminds me of my homeless days as well. My only goal in life was getting my next drink and a pack of smokes. Even eating came secondary. I shuddered to think that my life used to be like that. It shows how debased alcoholism can make your life and you begin to be one of the dregs of society.

I then walked home, sad and wistful, as I thought of my homeless friend. I and Ferret have been through a lot together and I view him as my kindred spirit. I am not a very religious man, but I said a small prayer for Ferret on this Easter Sunday that God would see fit to find him a home. God speed, Ferret.

The Rainbow Room…

A cold northwesterly wind blew across my yard sending my baseball cap flying and Maggie chasing after it. Thus sets the scene of me sitting in the backyard this morning in the sun with a cigar in my mouth as I watched Maggie play. Today brought back a flashback of my homeless days in vivid form. I could picture myself sitting by my campfire as such a cold wind blew as I drank beer and smoked cigarettes. The cold wind would make the fabric of my tent flap like wet laundry hanging on a clothesline on a briskly windy spring day. I shuddered as I thought of those cold days I spent over in God’s country in the woods. I would drink enough beer until I became numb to the elements and my surroundings and would eventually retire at dark fall to my warm down sleeping bag. I would hesitatingly awaken once again to a frozen landscape in the morning to build another fire and start another day of waiting for the sun to rise high enough in the sky to warm things up. That was one cold winter in 2004/2005. This winter pales in comparison.

The noon sun shone brightly as I climbed in my car and headed to the nearby town of Lagrange for an A.A. meeting I had found on the internet. I drove past sprawling West Point Lake as I traveled up the highway on into Georgia. Nice houses lined the side of the road and I wondered who lived there and what their lives were like. I have often found my own life to this point in time to be far removed from what would be considered normal. It would be interesting to compare my life to theirs.

I arrived in town and got a quick burger at Wendy’s along with an order of fries and a coke. I rarely eat fast food, but was in a hurry today and hungry for greasy burgers and salty, ketchup slathered fries. I then made my way over to the old Catholic Church that is now the local A.A. meeting hall. The parking lot was empty and it was only ten minutes away from when the meeting was supposed to start. I sat quietly in my car as the minutes ticked by until it was about time. I almost cranked up my car to head for home when four cars came pulling into the parking lot at the same time.

“Excuse me,” I said as a person walked by my car, “You wouldn’t happen to know if there is a meeting after lunch.”

“I am the chairperson for today,” She said. “Good to meet you. My name is Karen. Come on inside and have a seat.”

I followed her on inside to find beautiful woodwork adorning the great hall of the now defunct church. Stained glass windows with vibrant panes of colored glass splayed a myriad of rainbows across the floor from the winter sun. The room smelled of furniture polish and stale cigarette smoke. I took a quiet seat near the rear of the church as more people arrived. It was now five minutes past when the meeting was supposed to start.

“Most of these people work and take a lunch break to come. We wait for a few moments to start so everyone can arrive,” The chairperson told me.

Before long we had maybe thirty people in the room and the meeting began. Today we talked of being powerless over alcohol and turning our will and our lives over to a higher power as we understand him. I quietly sat and listened as many people spoke. I didn’t get much out of today’s message, but it felt good being with people who understood what I was going through and had been were I am at. I was also given a few more phone numbers that I will never call, but it is a comfort to have them in my wallet.

I drove on home feeling an inner peace these meetings seem to bring me. As I neared the Alabama state line, I came upon a railroad crossing just as the crossing gates were coming down and the warning lights started to flash. Soon, a train was roaring by in front of me rumbling down the tracks. I smiled again like a little kid and waved at the engineer as the locomotives passed. He waved back heartily with his arm hanging out the open window. My little world had come full circle today and it felt good.

Restless Nights and Rambling Ideas…

It is 12:30 A.M. according to the clock resting upon my entertainment center. I have yet to set it back from the time change. Time is such a relative thing.

I just took a long drive out into the countryside while listening to WWL 870 AM radio out of New Orleans. I stopped at the end of spring road and was greeted by a crisp and cool fall night; a myriad thousand stars shone upon the sky with nary a cloud to obscure them. Far off, the distant hoot of an owl could be heard. It was such a lonesome sound. It is times like these I so much enjoy. Nothing stirs my soul more than experiencing the wonders of Nature and the world we live upon.

I have been reflecting upon my life a lot lately and thought long and hard on the drive home after turning off the radio. Things have been going pretty well. I am content with my life and that is a good feeling. I have a warm home and plenty to eat and drink. All my basic needs are met and that is all that really matters. I am also no longer in that disastrous marriage that kept me so miserable for years. Bless Rachel’s dear soul, but she was a horrible wife and not a very good friend or companion. That whole ordeal seems like some bad dream or nightmare these days as if it were all in my mind. Carolyn makes Rachel pale in comparison as far as a woman and a friend goes.

My social life has been vibrant these days as well. I have Carolyn for my emotional and sexual needs and desires. I have George back and the gang is slowly regrouping due to his presence once again. I do so much enjoy our interactions and the unorthodox lives of the gang. If we can just keep George out of jail, it will make for interesting social interactions for me and an interesting blog as well. I know that sounds so selfish. That is not the real reason I want him to stay out of jail. I want him free because he is a friend and deserves the best. Friends want what is best for each other.

My heart goes out to Ferret tonight. I did manage to take him my fleece sleeping bag liner yesterday afternoon. The temps are supposed to only get down to forty degrees tonight so he should stay warm enough. I know what he is going through via first hand experience. I have been homeless and spent many a cold winter night out in the woods in a tent. I can remember lying in my sleeping bag on subfreezing nights longing for the warmth of the sun to arrive in the morning. One of the biggest lessons homelessness taught me was to live for the day. You never know what will happen tomorrow. Yes, it is wise to plan ahead sometimes, but you really truly only have the day or only an hour on hand before you.

I don’t have much planned for tomorrow. As usual, my schedule is free so I can do whatever I want to on a whim. I will make my daily hike. I will cook breakfast, lunch, and supper. I may even head down to see how Ferret fared overnight in the morning. I guess I kind of live a charmed life not having to work, but I do have to pay a dear price for it. That is the price of an unwell mind that is as fickle as the wind. One day’s glory and good can be tomorrow’s tormented madness. C’est la vie as the French say; such is life.

I am extremely excited about having a digital camera again and an extremely nice one to boot. I won’t be able to use it until Christmas day so you all will have to wait until then for pictures of my daily hikes and other discoveries along the way. I have so many ideas of things I want to photograph and share. I hope to be a right shutterbug in a month or so. From the reviews I have read of the camera I ordered, it is a gem of a photo taker. It can also record movies.

Well, I have rambled enough and must amble towards the bed. I doubt I will sleep though. I will lie with only Maggie and my thoughts to keep me company for many hours ahead most likely. Stop by in the morning and I will write an update on Ferret for ya’ll to read if he is at his camp when I walk down there. Hopefully, he will be in better spirits tomorrow. And what would a day be without George? Maybe George will make himself known tomorrow as well. I do hope so. Good night and sweet dreams.

Journaling from my Homeless Days…

I kept a notebook with various writings during my homeless days. Luckily, I have saved this notebook, but have never got around to publishing much of it upon the web. Here was an entry from December 27th, 2004.

______________________________________________________________

Describing the cold: It seeps into your bones. You start looking for excuses to exercise to stay warm. You dream of those easy days when you had a warm home to go to. A roaring fire can be the most wonderful thing ever discovered.

Those were my thoughts this morning as I lay in my warm sleeping bag dreading climbing out to start my day. It was brutally cold this morning with a low of 27 degrees according to the little clip on thermometer upon my backpack. I don’t know if I can take much more of this. I do take comfort in that you do somewhat get used to the cold although I doubt you will ever get used to subfreezing temperatures.

I always took having a home for granted. It was second nature to wake up in a warm bed after a cold winter’s night to turn on the heat and bask in its warmth. Comfort was just a mere walk across the room and a push of lever to adjust the thermostat. I will never take having a home again for granted if I ever gain another.

I finally crawled out of my sleeping bag this morning to a heavily frost covered landscape. The woods were so quiet in those cold early dawn hours. It seemed I was the only thing stirring. All the animals had enough sense to hunker down until the sun had risen enough to warm the winter air.

I built a small fire and the got my camp stove lit. I boiled some coffee and then boiled a pot of water. I know Ramen noodles aren’t exactly the most orthodox of breakfasts, but that hot broth is so comforting and soothing on a cold morning such as this.

I plan on riding into town upon the Bandit around lunch to get supplies. I need more beer and cigarettes and something to cook for supper. I think I will just buy a loaf of bread and some luncheon meat and forego cooking and dirtying up all my camp cooking gear.

I still have a terrible buzz from last night’s drinking. Before bed, I downed twelve beers in quick succession hoping it would knock me out. I wanted to do anything to escape my reality. The only time I ever feel good is when I am drunk these days and it helps you feel warm and comfortable. I know I shouldn’t drink so much, but when life gets this low things stop mattering. You live only for the day in front of you and not for tomorrow.

Well, let me make myself presentable and ride on into town. I have grown sober enough where I am starting to dread life once again. The only remedy for this malady is another twelve pack of very strong beers. Good day.

My Turning Point

I think this new medication is starting to help me. I am more sociable and outgoing. Take yesterday for instance. I got out and spent all day with a family member. I usually sit in this house alone and am perfectly content with it. I wanted to get out and be with someone else yesterday (other than the groupies) and that is odd for me. So far, no manic episodes, but sometimes I can’t tell when that happens.

It is also novel that I am actually taking a medication in pill form. I am horrible at taking pills. I just don’t remember to do so. Before I started getting risperdal in an injection form, I would miss a few days and it was like a snowball rolling down hill. My life would degrade. I would stop taking showers or shaves. I would go for days without eating. I would be obsessed with weird ideas and things such as God sending me messages through the local newscasts on the television. My father always called it my “Wildman syndrome.” I would get completely nuts. My then wife wouldn’t know what to do with me and would call my father. It usually ended up with a hospital mental ward visit.

For the first time in my life, I feel a little peace finally. I lived in turmoil for so long I became accustomed to it. It seemed I was always in trouble or the shit was about to hit the fan. Money problems plagued me; relationship ones as well. It seems my whole life was always fucked up and it is nice to have some peace and quiet for a change. I revel in the boringness of my life. I had far too much excitement (of the bad kind) for too many years.

My homeless months taught me some very important things. I was at my lowest and I could go no lower. I lost everything and had nothing left to lose. Nothing really mattered any more other than my base instincts of trying to eat and stay warm. My only companion was that twenty four pack of ice beer and I drowned my sorrows many a day in it. Time slowed down and I lived in the woods by the cycles of nature. When it got dark and cold, I went to sleep in my warm sleeping bag. When the sun rose and my stomach grumbled, I would awake and fix something to eat and build a fire. I was in complete isolation. It was the most simple of existences and maybe it taught me a lesson. I think it taught me that life is too short to live in turmoil all the time. It also reinforced the importance of taking my medications.

You know what I appreciate the most in life these days? Warmth and warm feet. That numbing cold during my homeless days was hardest thing to endure. I enjoy the fact that

Now, I try to take it one day at time. Some days I falter. Other days I excel. I live for those excellent days and hope I have many more left. I still have to hike the Pinhoti trail someday which is my dream and a goal I long for. Maybe some day that dream will come true.

Eight Years of a Life

I just finished reading the complete The Panther’s Tale. It has taken weeks and was no small endeavor. The Panther’s Tale is a journal written by a voluntarily homeless man in Honolulu, Hawaii. He has been keeping this journal going on nine years now. He wrote with such honesty and candidness that it was compelling reading. You actually got to find out what life really is like on the streets of Honolulu. Only one other homeless blog did this and it was Michael Hussey’s Last Day of my Life and he only writes about politics these days.

Albert’s tales involved things that “The Homeless Guy” would never write about as they would have scared off donators and readers. He wrote of the drug use on the streets which he also partake in from time to time. He wrote of the young homeless boys who stole from shops and pawned their takings to get money for drugs. He wrote candidly about the sexual lives of those on the streets as well. He ate discarded food, rummaged through ashtrays to get cigarette butts for smoking, and slept outside in the park for years. It was a much more realistic take on homelessness that what I have read on other homeless blogs save a few.

What a far cry from “The Homeless Guy!” I still firmly believe that “The Homeless Guy” was just a carefully crafted experiment in pro-homeless propaganda and cyber-panhandling to only benefit the author. Kevin would talk about crazy things such as how important Religion was to homeless people and that was just not truthful and was written to appeal to the sensitivities of the many religious people reading his blog. In other words, be Christian and give me some of your good fortune. When the donations quit coming in and he had milked that cow for all it was worth, he quit writing on a regular basis and the blog withered and died. A lot of nice and generous people got duped by him. A Mr. Cheng once gave him a thousand dollars in one day and he bad mouthed the poor fellow publicly on his blog and then spent Cheng’s money on cheap hotel rooms and fast food. How Christian is that? I am just glad that his blog no longer gets much readership and people are no longer being misled by his ideas and writings. “The Homeless Guy” would have made a fine if somewhat dullard politician in the way he was able to take people’s money and obfuscate the realities of homelessness.

I know I don’t write a lot about my homeless period these days. It seems like such a distant memory now. From what I have read though on many homeless blogs, my experience now would be completely different. I have learned through the wisdom of other authors about how to make homelessness much more comfortable and doable. Sometimes the thought is even appealing with what I know now. I have had many fantasies this week of buying a four hundred dollar plane ticket and flying to Honolulu to live in homeless paradise. Don’t worry. Those are just fantasies that help quell my constant wanderlust. I am content to experience it through the writing of others. My experiences with homelessness still do make me passionate about the subject.

Moon Shine

I had turned off all my lights in preparation for bed. I walked back into my den for one last pipe. It was illuminated by the ethereal light of the moon shining through my closed Venetian blinds. It was a moment in time and distinctly caught my attention. I stood there noticing the dark shadows juxtaposed amongst the bright light. I opened my blinds slightly to let the light come flooding in. I looked out to see a full moon greeting me.

Oh, how I longed for a full moon during my homeless days. That light during those cold, dark nights was comforting. It made me feel not so alone. I had a companion who traveled the vastness of space above me.

This moment tonight made me reflect on those cold, early mornings where the frost covered the ground. The only light to illuminate my way was the moon and a thousand stars. I remember looking up into the sky as my breath in the cold air obscured my view. Moon shine; you still bring me comfort.

Journal Entries from another Life

I started my first blog on December 7th, 2003. At the time, I was homeless and living in a tent on some land my family owned way out in the country. I didn’t get a home until later that February after a desperate call for help to my mother. She moved me into where I live now that same night I called. I will never forget her turning on the furnace and feeling that warm air flowing from the vents. It felt like heaven.

Those few months before I got a home I kept a journal everyday and would write my experiences so I could later transcribe them into blogger when I could get access to my computer. Many of those journal entries were just ideas and never published. Nothing really happened today and I don’t feel like writing much so I decided to share one of my entries that captured what my experience was like. I have done some editing to make it more coherent and readable as I transcribed it.


Cold Comfort

This morning was brutally cold. It was well below freezing when I woke up still wrapped in my sleeping bag. I looked at my thermometer on my backpack and it read 27 degrees. I could see my breath when I poked my head out of my bag. No way in hell was I getting out of my warm sleeping bag for that. I got a book and my flashlight and pulled my head into my sleeping bag and read. I was waiting for the sun to get higher in the sky and to warm the air up some. I had read several chapters when hunger overcame my urge to stay warm. I was also very thirsty.

I have learned to sleep with my clothes on or in the sleeping bag with me. That way they are warm when I get dressed. This is especially important with my shoes. The hardest part of this cold is keeping my feet warm and already warm shoes and socks make a world of difference.

I crawled out of my tent to check on the fire I had prepared the night before. It was covered in a thick frost. I had forgotten to put something over it the night before. I can normally get a fire started with just kindling, wood shavings, and pine straw. This morning I cheated. I tore many pages of paper out of my notebook and crumbled them up. I pushed them under the frost covered wood. After several tries and an almost depleted notebook, I finally got a fire going. I took off my gloves and warmed my hands.

After warming up some, I pulled out and lit my camp stove. I made a pot of coffee and boiled some water for ramen noodles. I am so fucking tired of eating ramen noodles though. The thought of another cup of those things makes my stomach churn. The hot coffee is awesome though on a cold morning. It really warms you up from the inside-out.

I need to head into Waverly today and check my PO Box for mail. I also badly need a shower. I haven’t showered in four days. I will probably ride over to the truck stop and buy a shower, but that is a long, cold ride on my motorcycle. I kept hoping that the weather would warm some thus why I have put off bathing for so long. My hair is so greasy it is driving my crazy. God, I am such a fuckup to be in this mess!

Our Homegrown Third World

I guess I live life from a unique perspective. I have known great wealth and have also experienced destitute poverty. My family is very wealthy, but by most standards I would be considered poor by my income.

I grew up in your typical upper middle class family. I and my siblings had opportunities that most children never get in a lifetime. My brother and sister both went on to become successful physicians of internal medicine. I tuned out to be this simple man who likes to read and write, and who works quietly in his father’s business in a modest position.

When I was in college the first time, my father bought me a brand new car, a nice apartment, paid my tuition, and gave me two credit cards; one for gas and one for expenses. I lived the charmed life, but there was a dark cloud on the horizon called schizophrenia.

My disease hit with full force in my early twenties, just as the best opportunities were being afforded me. It filled me with fear, apathy, and complacency. Life became a nightmare of delusions and paranoia. I could no longer go to college and I struggled for years with keeping a job

I finally ended up a broken and beaten man just out of a failed marriage and homeless; scorned by my once loving family. My disease had robbed me of everything in my life I had held so dear. All my opportunities had long since gone and had disappeared; pulled out of the grasps of my hands by this devastating disease that I had inherited, but didn’t ask for.

I had thought that my life was over. I spent six months out in the woods in the cold drinking tepid beer everyday and smoking copious amounts of cigarettes. These were my last comforts; my last tenuous holds on sanity. It was a slow crash and took about ten years, but I had finally hit bottom. I lived in the kind of poverty and destitution that you would think would only occur in Third World Nations. Not America, the land of the brave and the free; a nation where millions of poor people flooded in through Ellis Island as immigrants at the turn of the century lured by opportunity and new lives.

Normally, I stay away from main stream media, but I have been reading and catching glimpses of something amazing happening through other blogs. There seems to be this momentum going in the main stream press where the poverty and the “Third Worlds” of our great nation is being talked about and exposed. Katrina was just the catalyst.

I read the proceeding article and have read many others like it lately. Will this catalyst that caused so much damage and destruction bring about some good and change in our modern world? I do hope so. So many people could and can be helped if this momentum I am noticing continues to spread and grow.

I’ve Never Met a Homeless Republican

I rarely, if ever, talk about politics. The will be one of those rare moments. I just got finished reading a few politically charged exchanges on a blog and it spurred this post.

I have read thousands of political debates and discussions/arguments on the internet and each of the individuals in these debates is solidly entrenched in their respective corners. I don’t think I have ever read anyone concede defeat in such encounters. I do find reading these debates amusing from time to time but always find most of them pointless in that no middle ground is ever reached.

During my first college days back in the early nineteen nineties, I was solidly in the Republican camp. I listened to Rush Limbaugh every night and cheered on my republican constituents to take control of the senate and the house. This was before my mental illness established itself and before I had an experience with homelessness. I had plenty of money. I had a nice car. I had a stable living situation. I had inherited my family’s middle class status. I also inherited their politics.

When my mental illness established itself in my early twenties, my political landscape started to change. I realized that if it were up to the right, I would be thrust upon the streets and left to fend for myself if I were unable to take care of myself due to my illness. I realized that people would run to the aid of those with physical ailments such as diabetes or cancer but mention schizophrenia and people shied away. I fear most people see mental illness as a personal weakness of character and not an actual disease of one of our most important and major organs, the brain. It is easy to look at an MRI or X-ray and see a tumor but you cannot do this with a mental illness. That is why mental illnesses are so hard to diagnose.

My experience with homelessness was the final nail in the proverbial coffin for me as far as any right wing leanings I had. I realized that there is very little help for those of us in situations not of our making. There are safety nets for entities such as large corporations and businesses but little to none for those average citizens who are besieged by a debilitating mental illness. If you do not have a family who will support you or help you then you a quite frankly shit out of luck.

There IS help out there but it is not easy to find and often takes months or years to get. You have to become adept at maneuvering a complicated series of red tape, appointments, and interviews; most of the time you have to be destitute to finally receive this help. There is also the catch-22 when mental illness is involved in that if you are too sick to take care of yourself or think rationally then how in the hell are you going to fill out all those forms and make it to interviews and appointments? That is where your family becomes your last defense against insanity, poverty, and homelessness.

I have never met a homeless republican. I could be proved wrong and shown one but I seriously doubt that they are rational or possessing a sane mind. All the homeless people or formerly homeless people I have met online have been solidly left leaning and liberal many of them radically so. Your social and economic status greatly influences your political leanings.

Memoirs of my Homeless Days

An old journal entry from my journal when I was homeless...

I have found that I can drink all day on light beer. Normal beer or ice beer fucks me up in a matter of hours. I can drink 18 light beers over a 12 hour period and only be moderately drunk. I can drink 6 ice beers and I will be slurring my speech. I have found 18 packs of keystone light for $7.99. A twelve pack of ice beer is $5.99.

I guess one of the main reasons I drink so much is the despair over my divorce and the boring, stale nature of my life at the moment. I absolutely have nothing to do all day other than to go over to Memaw’s house and get on the internet. I have all this bitter pain inside and a few drinks lessen it. I forget my ails and woes and feel better for a few short hours. Luckily, I don’t have hangovers like I did when I was a young man.