Why do you always want to be homeless?

That is a question I got asked in an email tonight.  I wanted to write, "I don't know."  But I do know why when I think about it.  I already suffer from a low sense of self esteem and lack of confidence.  Homelessness is the bottom rung of the ladder.  I would have no further to fall.  No more disappointment in myself and disappointment of me from my family.  I could take some twisted sense of comfort out of there not being able for this angel to fall any farther. 

Maybe I am misguided, but there seems to be much more interest and help for the homeless both positive and negative. than for just some homed, mentally ill guy in small town Alabama.  I could apply for programs not having an income.  My medications would be subsidized.  Religious people would then take an interest in my welfare and salvation.   They would also feed me and give me a cot for the night.  

Structure also plays a big role in it as well.  I am a big follower and not a leader.  Being a homeless person, the Rescue Mission would structure my day.  I would have to arrive in the afternoon to get a bed.  I would be fed, take a shower, and have a sermon to attend.  Then I would be given a mat to sleep on.  I would be awoken in the morning to eat breakfast and sent on my way.  At home, I rarely eat structured meals these days.  Some days I do not eat at all.  The mission would provide much needed structure and guidance in this avenue of daily life most people take for granted.  A aspect of life that I have a hard time grasping.  Also, my sleeping habits would be regimented and structured.  These days I just get up when I wake up with no rhyme nor reason. 

Lastly, I wouldn't be alone.   I would be in a major city filled with people on the streets.  I would blog at the library and coffee shops always around others.  I would be forced to intermingle with my homeless peers at the Mission every night.  My lonely nights would not be filled with the short visit by my father only to give me my medications and then leave.   My only bed companion a dog, which I love, but is no substitute for a human companion.  My normal isolation would turn into the other extreme of having my life laid bare for inspection.

I also suffer from the delusion that homelessness was the only thing I have ever "done right."  I was very active as a homeless person.  I was outgoing in the sense I needed to be for my survival.  Everything was raw and real.   If I didn't eat before bedding down in my tent, then I would grow cold during the long winter nights.  If I didn't gather wood in the evening, then I would not have a fire for my breakfast and to warm my hands in the morning.   If I didn't take a shower at the truck stop then I couldn't buy beer because I would have been ostracized for my lack of cleanliness.   Homelessness was very harsh, but it spurred me into living and into action.   It forced me to do the things that most homed people take for granted.   I feel like I have no reason to get up other than to write this blog or hang out down at the shopping center. 

Now, can you somewhat understand my thinking?  Why, when times get tough, I want to run to the hills, homeless?  I felt so alive and real then.  My survival was paramount and tangible.  Now, my family takes care of everything from my food to my appointments.  I am just left to live in this house idly passing my days.   I hope I don't offend anyone by writing this.  My hope was only to delve into the introspection of why I think this way sometimes.