Reflections on my experience with homelessness, Part 1

I was inspired to share my experiences by a post by @hickorymack that was resteemed into my feed by my pal @kafkanarchy84. Thanks to both of you.

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I haven't been able to keep up with Steemit for the past few months, which I regret, given the awesome people and content I've found here.

My absence is a result of the time and energy drain that is my daily struggle to survive my new-found homelessness. Indeed, I have joined the ranks of the estimated 12,000 un-housed people in Seattle, Washington, the third highest number of homeless in the United States behind New York and Los Angeles.

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How did I end up in this situation? Why am I relegated to the untouchable caste of society in a modern, booming city full of successful tech giants?

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The "hows" and "whys" of my situation are as complex, simple, convoluted, and clear as any of the other stories I've heard from fellow "un-housed" people I've met and gotten to know. I plan on writing about some of my encounters with said people soon. But the "hows" and "whys" become a peripheral concern when one is desperate for a few hours' sleep on a rainy, 35 degree night on the gloomy streets of Seattle.

Getting sleep has definitely been the single most difficult issue to wrangle with in my experience. For the first few weeks, I thought I could just power through days and nights with just short 30 minute naps here and there. That didn't work out so well. After a few days of this extreme sleep deprivation, I began hallucinating and falling asleep constantly throughout the day. That led to the embarrassment of awakening in public places to the constant chorus of "Excuse me, you can't sleep in here."

I have come to believe that the public libraries have a specific job position dedicated to waking people up in the library.

I've slept or attempted to sleep in some of the most bizarre places and situations I never would've imagined I could. My favorite so far was dozing off for a couple hours right in the middle of a busy food court in a damn shopping mall.
I eventually was forced to try out a shelter, which I had been trying to avoid, due to the crazy horror stories I've heard from others about them. One man I met on a bus told me that a shelter he once stayed in reminded him of a concentration camp. But the shelters can at least offer a decent amount of sleep in a place that's out of the rain and cold. Usually.

Unfortunately, the drawbacks of many shelters can still outweigh that benefit. The threat of violence, theft, and disease keeps many homeless people, including myself, from staying in shelters consistently. Especially for someone who is quiet, introverted, and socially anxious like me, dealing with the realities of the shelter environment can be too much to handle. After lengthy days filled with stress and emotional anguish, going to a shelter can feel like the least relaxing thing possible.

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Being too broke to buy myself food has been an incredibly humbling experience.

Another opportunity for me to experience things once unimaginable. Early on, I resisted the need to reach out to anyone for assistance, and instead opted to sit in diners, seething with anger at people ordering plates brimming with food, only for them to leave more than half of it uneaten. I'd watch hungrily and helplessly as the employees casually dumped the sustenance in the trash. When I got the opportunity, I'd get up, swoop in, and grab some uneaten food left at a table before the bussers could clear it. Cold sourdough toast never tasted so good. I guess I became a seagull.

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It took me a few weeks to swallow my pride and go to a soup kitchen. I chose one from a list of several churches and charities around Seattle that offer meals to those in need. Walking to the church on a cold, cloudy morning, I felt apprehensive about what this meant for me.

Am I now "officially" a homeless person?

I felt ashamed for letting myself get to this point -- becoming a charity case. But the food bank volunteer had a kind and welcoming attitude that put me at ease. He smiled as he handed me a cup of hot soup and a bag lunch. The thought of this man getting up in the freezing, early morning to serve food to people he doesn't even know made me suddenly quite emotional. I looked up at the Space Needle looming just a few blocks away against the gloomy gray sky, and fought back tears. A group of second graders from a local private school approached the church; their teachers were explaining the process of donating and the purpose of the food bank. I longed for a return to such an age of innocence.