24 Hours Inside the Life of a Homeless Alcoholic

I spent three years homeless because of my alcohol addiction. Sometimes, when I could afford to, I lived out of motel rooms. The majority of the time I lived out of my car. I learned a lot during that time. I met so many people who were in similar circumstances and heard their stories.

So many people were mentally ill and unable to work. They made their living signing and pan-handling. Others, like myself, were homeless because of their addiction. Addiction makes every aspect of your life unstable and it can be impossible to hold down a job and an apartment when you're in the grasps of an addiction.

This is a small snippet of my story. I hope it provides some insight into what the life of a homeless addict can look like. Everyone's story will look different. Here's a piece of mine.

5:00am

It's that noise again. That shrill ringing that I've come to loathe. I hate waking up in this car. I hate knowing the day that I have ahead of me. I just hate everything.

I reluctantly turn off my phone and notice I've left it plugged into the car all night. I have got to stop doing that. I can't afford to drain this battery. I turn the alarm off and awkwardly climb into the front seat of my car.

The first thing I do when I'm upright in the morning is take a drink. First of water, then vodka, then water again. Then another sip of vodka. It's the only way to stop this uneasy feeling from spreading through my body. It's not just the classic shakes and headaches that you know an addict experiences.

It's an overwhelming feeling of being unwell. It sucks.

7:00am

I make it to work after driving 45 minutes from the rest stop on the highway where I park at night. It's the only safe place I've found to sleep in my car around here.

I go through my shift with bleary, unfocused eyes. My mind isn't on my work. It's on the 15-minute break every two hours where I run out to my car, drink a couple of shots of vodka and smoke a cigarette. I live for those breaks.

Somehow, no one notices that I'm drunk all day. I've become a master at my craft. I use eyedrops, mouth wash, mint gum, perfume, scented lotion and keep a water bottle on me so I never get dehydrated. I remember to eat on at least one of these breaks.

On my last break of the night, I take a couple of extra-strength Excedrin to get me through the last couple of hours. It's the only thing I've found that helps me feel evened out. By this point in the day, I'm craving the blissful drunken state I can only reach when I'm back at the rest stop.

4:00 PM

Finally, I'm free. I clock out of work and try not to run back to my car. Immediately I take a couple of deep drinks from my vodka-filled water bottle. The liquid burns going down my throat and settles in my stomach almost angrily. The burning sensation spreads throughout my chest and finally, I can breathe. I love it.

I make a couple of stops on my way to the rest stop every night. Once to grab something to eat and a second to grab more vodka. I'm always wary of running out, especially because liquor stores are closed on holidays and those days always sneak up on me.

Just a few weeks ago was Thanksgiving and I didn't realize that the liquor store would be closed. I ran out of vodka before noon and panicked. Thankfully, the grocery stores were still open and selling wine. It got me through the day.

5:30PM

I'm back at the rest stop and ready for my day to be over. The first thing I do is pour the new bottle of vodka I bought into a couple of water bottles. I put it in a plastic bag along with some trash from the previous night and toss it in the rest stop's garbage can.

Then, I go into the public bathrooms to change. I use baby wipes, dry shampoo, and brush my teeth in the sink to maintain some degree of personal hygiene.

Once I'm back at my car, I begin the task of making my bed for the night. I push the plastic totes filled with my few possessions in the back up against the sides of the car. I pull sunshades over all the windows for an illusion of privacy.

I climb into the back and lock the doors, feeling relatively safe. I've been living at this rest stop for six months now. I know the DOT workers who service the bathrooms and trash cans. They're all very nice to me because I've been nothing but nice to them.

There are other people who live out of their cars at this rest stop. We talk occasionally but I've managed to escape any conversation tonight. They're all usually kind to me, but I don't enjoy talking to people at this time of night. All I want to do is get drunk and go to sleep.

9:00PM

I've been drinking for hours. I am properly drunk at this point. I find myself stumbling out of my car to use the bathroom and when I return, I realize I left the door wide open.

A man who tends to park next to me is standing outside his van, waiting for me. He tells me he noticed me leaving the door open and kept an eye on the car for me. I thank him profusely and offer him a cigarette in exchange for his act of kindness.

A few minutes later I'm settled back in my car. I pull the blankets over myself and plug my phone into its charger again. I triple-check that I have my alarm set for tomorrow because I keep forgetting that I already set it.

After a few more drinks, I pass out.

The End

This is what my life looked like for nearly three years. I managed to hold a job for the majority of that time. Every eight months or so I would become overwhelmed with my addiction and lose my job. Then I would go through a period of binge drinking until I started to run out of money. I couldn't let myself run out of money because then I couldn't drink anymore. So, I would get a new job and the cycle would continue.

This is a small glimpse into the life of a homeless addict. Not every day looked like this. Not every day was so bleak. But this was an average day for me and many other people that I knew.

Addicts get trapped in the cycle of their addiction and it can seem impossible to break out of it. I am so lucky to have survived this lifestyle and come out on the other side. I still pray for some of the people I knew who were living this way. I hope they found their miracle and got sober.

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