I decided to write about my 'homeless attitude' today. Everyone's attitude changes when faced with the elements on a daily basis, and when they are more or less forced to contend with seriously exasperating people regularly. The end point of my patience was when my health began to suffer. For some reason this is always the cut off point for me, although I know it should be a lot sooner. Stress always manifests itself physically with me. My skin will become inflamed and irritable, I'll get chronic stomach pain, or in this case; when I shut my eyes, I will be blinded by flashing lights. The only way I can describe it is a constant flux of colours and flashes of light in my entire field of vision. I am not blinded by it, it's like a transparent light filled film in front of my eyes. It is very much akin to the visual phantasmagoria that is created when one rubs their eyes. It happened suddenly, and sleeping has been a nuisance ever since. I would wake up dazed and off balance, worn out by the previous night's symphony of colour. My befuddlement, soon turned into frustration, and eventually, in to fury. I was walking around the streets of Dublin, cold, dizzy, and tired. Eventually I got a more 'permanent' bed. By 'permanent' I mean, I had my own room (in a building full of drug users) and I could come and go as I pleased. However, my inhabitancy was completely dependant on how 'well I behaved myself'. The strictest house rule was no physical violence. With an aura filled head, and a building full of verbally abusive house mates, it's fair to say that I was on my arse again within a few months.
Okay, let's cut to the chase...walking around all day would make me cranky, especially when the only thing I would have to look forward to would be a damp, uninspiring room. I'd have no where to 'make my own'. I didn't have a sanctuary. So, my resentment to the people I was meant to consider friends and family grew. As far as I was concerned, if anyone loved me in any way, I would not be in this situation. So I decided to 'give up' being the 'good girl'. When someone would be rude to me, I'd tell them where to stick it, when my mother would refuse to help me financially I'd go in to a frenzy, and when I was hungry and had no money, I would shop lift. I felt like the world owed me something. My 'street trudging' anthem became 'Bitch Better Have My Money' by Rihanna. I wasn't quite sure who the 'bitch' was? It could have been my mother? It could have been the Irish government? Who knows? But, damn she owed me money! I felt like such a rebel. Generally, I tend to have an apologetic disposition, I hunch my back and avoid eye contact at these times. I am not sure where this tendency evolved from, but it seems to have gotten worse over the years. However, when I'd play BBHMM in my head my self consciousness would evaporate. Anger would become my motivator. I'd sling the rucksack over my back contentiously, narrow my eyes, and heatedly tackle the crowd. I wouldn't care if I bruised a few people, or knocked some babies out of their mother's arms. I'd lean on the pedestrian-light-button-pole and eye up my fellow halted man. They'd anxiously try to make eye contact, and then pull away before the connection would happen. I may have been homeless, I may have been mangy, my hair may have looked like a birds nest, and my shoes may have been a corrective pair of asics, but I'll be damned if I hadn't intimidated those pedestrians. My aim would be simple; to manoeuvre my way to Marks and Spencers... there, I would pop a few salads in my bag, and walk out. The choleric ambiance that'd surround me at these times would be enough to make any security guard avert his eyes.
The Homeless world - is an angry world
Okay, let's cut to the chase...walking around all day would make me cranky, especially when the only thing I would have to look forward to would be a damp, uninspiring room. I'd have no where to 'make my own'. I didn't have a sanctuary. So, my resentment to the people I was meant to consider friends and family grew. As far as I was concerned, if anyone loved me in any way, I would not be in this situation. So I decided to 'give up' being the 'good girl'. When someone would be rude to me, I'd tell them where to stick it, when my mother would refuse to help me financially I'd go in to a frenzy, and when I was hungry and had no money, I would shop lift. I felt like the world owed me something. My 'street trudging' anthem became 'Bitch Better Have My Money' by Rihanna. I wasn't quite sure who the 'bitch' was? It could have been my mother? It could have been the Irish government? Who knows? But, damn she owed me money! I felt like such a rebel. Generally, I tend to have an apologetic disposition, I hunch my back and avoid eye contact at these times. I am not sure where this tendency evolved from, but it seems to have gotten worse over the years. However, when I'd play BBHMM in my head my self consciousness would evaporate. Anger would become my motivator. I'd sling the rucksack over my back contentiously, narrow my eyes, and heatedly tackle the crowd. I wouldn't care if I bruised a few people, or knocked some babies out of their mother's arms. I'd lean on the pedestrian-light-button-pole and eye up my fellow halted man. They'd anxiously try to make eye contact, and then pull away before the connection would happen. I may have been homeless, I may have been mangy, my hair may have looked like a birds nest, and my shoes may have been a corrective pair of asics, but I'll be damned if I hadn't intimidated those pedestrians. My aim would be simple; to manoeuvre my way to Marks and Spencers... there, I would pop a few salads in my bag, and walk out. The choleric ambiance that'd surround me at these times would be enough to make any security guard avert his eyes.
The Homeless world - is an angry world
The Real world - is a sober world
When one is homeless they forget what life is like in the 'real' world, being 'normal' becomes an unimaginable fantasy. However, it is amazing how quickly we slip out of this state of mind once we click in with reality again. Sometimes, I would give myself a little break. I would book myself in to a tourist hostel, just for a few days. Being around tourists, eager to learn all about Ireland and all it has to offer, is pretty much the antithesis to wasting my life away hanging out with zombies who appreciate nothing. I would be placid and soothed as I would lay my head down to rest on a clean pillow case. There would usually be a a small amount of rummaging, but nothing too imposing. A female tourist would sneak in to the room, as quiet as a church mouse. The only annoyance would be the glare from her phone flash light, and even that would not be too bothersome. She would usually smell of dewy flowers or watermelon, her hair would always be clean and shiny, and she would have a soft, misty Spanish accent. There would usually be two of them, 'best friends' more than likely. My nights sleep would be sweetened by the company. I'd wonder why I was ever so angry? Instead of being constantly appalled by swollen faces, raspy voices and curse words, I'd be greeted with smiles and genuine attentiveness. I'd be at ease, and realise that this is what I deserve. And then... I'd mentally start mocking my previous feelings of murderous anger. ''Superwoman''s mockery of BBHMM is a good example of how I would treat my old feelings
...but then...
I run out of money...and the fear, stress, and frustration returns...
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