A True Story: What It is like To be Homeless.

I have told many stories of my past. Many of which are deeply painful. This story is about my experience of struggling to survive as a young homeless person. Many people today have at least some support with homelessness, but I survived my ordeal alone. Before you read further, this is no light-hearted story. It is revealing and honest without anything hidden, but it must be told.

I have mentioned in earlier articles that I fled my hometown because of violence, and I have spoken about my ordeal of rape which led to my homelessness after staying in a place that I was told was safe.

I was in my early 20's when I became homeless. I was also vulnerable from the trauma of violence of which I had escaped, only to find myself in more traumatic circumstances with no money, food, shelter or anyone who would reach out and help me. I spent many long months alone, sleeping in parks, by streams, in seating areas and with no company at all.

I had access to water, but not food. I was practically drinking water out of the streams and I had no access to baths or showers. I would rinse my hands and face in the streams or sea, and take sips of water from there. I was practically starving but I never once turned to begging or stealing because I didn't believe in that.

When you are on the streets with no company, there is no concept of time. Day time becomes the same as night time, and you spend most of that time fighting to stay safe, struggling to stay warm and a park bench, shelters with seats or grass becomes your bed. There were many people sleeping in doorways, but I was too polite for that.

The streets are no fun, people treat you like you are the scum of the earth, and I was beaten, raped, mugged, threatened and stolen from most of the time. I was attacked with knives and on one occassion a gun. I was terrified beyond belief every day I was out there. I couldn't call the police because at that time, they didn't do much to help people like me and I was far to scared of being murdered to approach them. After many months of this, I started talking to myself, because loneliness can do that and myself was the only company I had. Sometimes I would fall asleep, but I wouldn't be aware of it, because my sleep pattern was deeply affected, because I had no sense of time.

When I went wandering which was the only thing I could do, the air would be full of food and drink smells. That would distress me and I would cry often with the pain of being hungry all the time. I sometimes got water from a pub, but eventually they started trying to get me to pay for bottled water, and the landlord did not want to know when I tried explaining my situation, so it was back to drinking water from the streams again.

You have nowhere safe to keep your belongings when you are homeless. For the first night I had £5 with me, but that was stolen from me in a brutal attack while I was sleeping on a bench.

The little clothes I had on were torn, dirty and uncomfortable. They were also covered in blood from the attacks and smelly because I couldn't wash them. My trainers were torn to shreds, and my feet bled so much because of the very painful blisters on them. Eventually, I looked like someone who had been deeply abandoned which seemed to give people the right to abuse me further.

Every day became a battle to stay alive. My entire body was painful from the blows I kept taking, and from the malnourishment I suffered. I became tired and weak. I got to a point where I didn't care anymore and I wanted my life to end. I had convinced myself I was living in hell and the world was full of evil people, all who wanted me dead. All my cognitive thought processes had diminished, and I didn't know who I was anymore. I felt like noone, just a toy for people to kick around.

I spent all my time trying to find some peace and tranquillity from the abuse which wasn't a one off incident, it was every day and every night. I felt like I was living in a war-zone fighting just to stay alive, and it became increasingly difficult the weaker I got. I had already been weakened by my past trauma and mental health issues which professionals from the town I had escaped had known about. I lived every day in hope of being found, but nobody ever came, and nobody who were supposed to be safeguarding me as I had children living in foster-care at that time, ever tried finding me. I had called a professional after I had moved to that hostel (known as a hotel but it was far from it) I was staying in, and I had asked them to tell my mum where I was staying, but my mum never got told. I felt like I had been brutally punished for going through trauma and violence, and abandoned for being 'vulnerable.'

When night-time fell, I was aware it was dark, but unaware of the time. Therefore, I hardly ever slept. The dark times were long and freezing cold, I spent most of that time shivering hard and curled up just to stay warm. I had to endure some really bad weather, heavy rain, sleet, thunder, snow, harsh violent winds. During these times, even the shelters weren't enough. There were hard benches or cold stone floors which put me in more pain than you could ever imagine. The shelters were mini-temples with seats in parks and gardens, they had no door, so on windy days the rain, sleet and snow would get in, causing me to wake up damp and colder than the Antarctic. I would get up unable to move, often crying in agony. When It got this bad, I was terrified out of my head, because it left me even more wide open to being attacked, and in the mornings I was attacked and groomed by gangs, alcoholics and drug-addicts.

I started self-harming with anything I could get my hands on. I didn't care if I bled, because the searing pain took the pain from the cold away. Some days I would get angry with myself and society and I would cut and cut.

On one of these days, I started getting searing pains that pulled me to the floor. I hadn't known about my period because physical health goes out of the window when you are on the street. In the past, I had lost a twin to a term known as Dormant Pregnancy, today it is known as Vanishing Twin Syndrome, except for me, I suffered a really traumatizing bleed with it. I can't explain this properly because professionals at the time in the 90's didn't give me a lot of information about it. However, I have spoken about it in a previous article, of which I will give the link to at the end of this one.

The bleeding had reminded me of the time I lost that baby, and as it was coming through my clothes, I crawled about 5 miles to a phone-box attempting to ask for help. I had scraped and scraped so deep into the ground all the way to that phone box, trying to find the baby I lost. I could barely talk when I got there, and my voice was stammering and weak. Nothing that came out of me made any sense. Eventually, I dropped the reciever and picked up a blade of the floor and started cutting again, even though my knuckles were bleeding from the digging. I didn't care, anything was better than feeling the emotional and physical pain I was in.

The ambulance found me regardless. They came with the police which terrified me. After a struggle and a battle with slipping in and out of consciousness, they managed to get me to hospital. I was tested for pregnancy and checked for miscarraige about a day later, because the pain and bleeding worsened. Sadly I did lose a baby but I was glad to be in a place where I was offered food and drink, even though I was ignored a lot.

As I said in a previous article, my life changed in that hospital. I met my husband, who had a very rough many years getting me through it. His name is Jonathan Townend, and in this article, I want to say thankyou but I don't have the words to describe what he has done for me. All I know is that wonderful man saved my life regardless of his own trauma, and he is my whole life. Today, I am now Jonathan's carer, and I strive everyday to get him through his own pain. His Chronic pain is something I can't take away, which I am sad about, however I can help him every day with looking after himself and that makes my life worth living, and his own life worth living because he will always have me.

If you liked this article, even though I know it is a painful read. Please heart or tip me if you can. Money made from this article is going towards getting things to help my husband through his Chronic pain and disabilities, so that I can do what he did for me, and continue to make his life worth living. I also want to say thankyou from the bottom of my heart.

Also here are the other links related to this article:

https://vocal.media/humans/i-found-love-in-a-psychiatric-hospital

https://vocal.media/families/the-story-of-my-miscarriage

I also would like you to read these article documenting my experience when my husband battled Covid-19:

https://vocal.media/longevity/my-terrifying-experience-seeing-my-husband-fight-corona-virus

https://vocal.media/longevity/my-terrifying-experience-seeing-my-husband-fight-corona-virus