The Hotel Homeless

tomorrow I’ll be homeless. Technically, I suppose I’m homeless right now, but it’s easier on the eyes if I’m tucked away in a motel somewhere not peddling myself on the street making those without the worry of shelter or transportation feel uncomfortable. I agree, trust me I agree more than you know. Being outside on a curb, begging people for change, and hearing “get a job” for the ump-teen millionth time as if the piece-of-work touting it at the top of his lungs just came up with it right then and there. Well, Sir, allow me to be the first to say: well said! It stung appropriately, your bootstrap story is protected. However, I feel the need to interject, I never asked you for your thoughts on my circumstances, actually I never approached you in the sense that if you taught me to fish I could stain my Armani suit the same way you have done. Your change Mr. Sir without the unsolicited bad advise would go much further to getting me out of immediate need which, by the way, still exists immediately even If I get that job you proposed I need so badly, and find me out of your sight so you may save up your altruism for your once-a-year donation to whichever trendy charity exists with the highest advertising budget and makes you like less like the “get a job” type.

The truth, I want to be out of your sight as badly as you do. It’s not a discomfort that exists for most because of their unwillingness to help, more than it hurts because we connect with others molecularly and when need turns up in our faces like that it causes a pain that can’t be satiated. It’s a pain that is there simply because our reach isn’t long enough, our power not great enough to solve this problem, so in turn our brains cognitively rationalize the existing with the individual, only, and thereby “friendly” advise such as “I’m sorry, but, only you can help you” is a mere waste of breath and, consequently, has the advise giver in a very precarious position in a parallel universe inside my head. This a rabbit hole not to approach too closely, so I’m happy to leave it there, for now.

The thing is, there’s a whole downward spiral that we, the homeless, are trapped. Until you’ve not had one, it’s hard to imagine how deeply wound into your everyday the physical address is and just exactly what we walk away from because we don’t have one; jobs require a physical address, websites designed to help you need those numbers, even government assistance can’t assist you. This is census garbage that get the homeless wrapped up in red tape and on an eternity of wait lists for no help just to find out that not having an address means you’re not a resident and therefore do not qualify for assistance, you’ve spent whatever resources you had left on hotels, and microwave meals just to find out that “caring” is relative and you’re on the losing end.

I’ve honestly been lucky, I’ve been able to stay within the ranks of the hotel homeless for many months now. I’ve experienced nights without shelter less than a handful of times, but my support network is exhausted. I’m exhausted, and my husband, who’s done more than his share to keep us housed, is exhausted with me. But, it’s not the impending doom that scares me, or the misfortune thrust upon my two puppies that my husband and I bought before our lives fell apart. It’s the damage that being homeless does to our relationships that hurts the most. The absence of family and friends willing to look you in the eyes, strangers who take large loops to avoid you, and the constant lashing out at those closest to us simply because we need a vent. But this damage is irreversible, no matter how much we tell ourselves. The little concessions we make where we said we never would, the stress outbursts that we promised would never happen again. We see each other change before our eyes, harden, grow colder...

it isn’t fair, but come 11am tomorrow we’ll be homeless, shelters will turn us away for not drowning our puppies when we became in need, and crisis hotlines will ask if we’ve called the other hotline; churches will look at us solemnly and say they are exhausted, their resources are too thin and the need is too great. Waiting lists will be sorry to inform you, but their staffing is cut and you can only check the status of your application from 11am to 11:04am on the third Tuesday of every month.

Cynicism may not be the correct approach here, but like I’ve stated before, our reach is too short, and the problem, too great.

~Brenton H.