Musings on being without a home at Christmas

So, this is the third Christmas I've spent in a homeless hostel. Now, this is not so much to do with the fact that my family have abandoned me, but more so with the fact that everyone has a barring order against me, for example; I'm not allowed visit my grandparents (it's a long story...and it has little to do with me...don't ask). So, the closest I've gotten to my two little cousins in the past three years is a phone call at Christmas. I suppose it gives them an excuse to talk to me. That is the wonderful thing about Christmas after all; people put their grudges aside and decide to be nice, just for that one day. I only wish it was kept up the remainder of the year. Love isn't restricted to one day after all. My mother booked me into a hotel for Christmas, and was planning to leave me there, eating up her money, while she spent Christmas eve and day with her boyfriend. I walked out of the hotel, and returned her gifts. That, as far as I'm concerned, is not the purpose of Christmas. Basically, it's a celebration of Jesus Christ's birth, and traditionally it's a time when family and loved ones correlate and get together, yet somewhere along the way, people like my mother think booking her daughter into a cold hotel on Christmas day, and then pissing off is 'more than enough'. Her company is all I want and need at this time of year. So, I went back to the hostel, got my free dinner, watched the TV in the empty communal area, chatted to the staff, rang my dad, and as the song goes had myself a 'merry little christmas', well, as merry as is could be.

Yes, it's a pity that I can't invite anyone into my room to spend a few hours with me, and that feeling is intensified at this time of year, I suppose, and it is that thirst for human interaction that riles you right up when muscly Pavel at reception starts flexing his biceps behind the desk. I'm not the first woman who's admitted to wanting to drag him into their room, arms flailing, to have their wicked way.

And, that's another trend I've noticed, unrelated to Christmas, being in this situation riles men and women up in all the most unmentionable ways possible. There is an undeniable trend that runs through the veins of my fellow homeless compadres (apart from heroine), and that is a high level of promiscuity. It's obvious, in many ways, why this would be the case, yet, so many people are kicked on their arses by their parents or spouses without a seconds thought given to the fact that this person is inevitably going to seek comfort in the arms of a creepy Pavel or Stefan (who'd be more than happy to fake affection in order to satisfy their need). I've been homeless for three years, and innumerous men have picked up on my feelings of isolation and desperation, and tried very hard to take advantage of that. Thankfully, I am not a stranger to using the word 'fuck off' and can put it to constructive use where necessary. However, not everyone is that strong. I know girls, who've had dozens of men since entering these places. It's a high threshold environment, and it makes for 'high threshold' girlfriends. I know a woman who, out of desperation, initiated a relationship with an ex convict from Latvia, who took advantage of her warm heart, and drained her of the little energy she had for herself. He would follow her to the social welfare office and steal her money, he also broke both of her legs and jaw at one stage, all because she gave him her time. She already struggled with alcoholism, and he came along, and just made sure to break her entirely. It's a bit like Irish college, where they're all sheep shaggers, but you're so desperate that even farmer Joe starts to look appealing. Only instead of farmers, you have zimo heads, and instead of 'specky four eyes', you have an ex convicts from Poland (with two phones held together with duct tape). I suspect that many girls are off spending their Christmas with these duds, as most people end up losing their friends once they catch wind of their situation. Most people don't want any kind of association with a homeless friend, as it brings to head what a mess this person's life is. My friend *Jen literally dropped me like a hot plate once she discovered where I was. So, it's no wonder long term homeless people find comfort in other homeless people (who are also in dire straits). It's really quite nonsensical; two stressed out and exhausted individuals, stressing each other out even further. It starts out with imposing what you need on a person, on this struggling (probable criminal), and it ends in an inevitable disappointment when you realise there is nothing to them, but pain and grief. It's almost as if you're not high on drugs, you're high on delusions.

So this brings me back to the current moment, it's 1.30am and Christmas is officially over. I spent it like any other day, but I had some peace of mind, and got a free meal from the restaurant around the corner, and a big ole hamper of clothes and food. Coming from the people who have been looking out for my welfare for the past three years, it means more to me than a cold empty hotel room that's costing my mother a bomb. I got to talk to my family, and that means a lot to me, and tomorrow I'll ring those I didn't get a chance to ring today.

A stoner's cheap thrills

Well, it's been a while since I've updated my blog, partially because every day life here is fairly mundane, and equally as intolerable as it was the last time I reported on anything. My bed sit has felt more like a prison cell for the past year now...and that feeling only mounts with time. The floor is a highlighter shade of orange, which has a tendency to overwhelm me at the best of times. My lamp broke, so my only option is to light the Christmas lights, as the glare from the ceiling light is enough to blind the strongest of men. Since I have an eye condition, when exposed to bright lights I start seeing a lot of floaters and orbs of light in my field of vision. Therefore, the light switch remains untouched. I've also really stopped finding this whole homeless ordeal 'funny' or 'educational' in any way. It is degrading and disgusting, there are no two ways about it. It is a breeding ground for stoners and substance abusers with a chip on their shoulder, to let off steam at unsuspecting people. An 'apparently' friendly girl in here slowly but surely took a dislike to me. It started when I hogged two washing machines to do my washing, then I asked her if she had food (never ask a heavy girl for food...lesson learnt the hard way), and that was the breaking point for her. It was all down hill from then on. She very rudely called me a 'drain' to my face, exclaiming I 'drain the energy out of a room'. She didn't take too kindly to being told to 'piss off' after that, and started spreading rumors about me. Some that have made their way back to me is that I watch porn on the computer and that I cut my hair myself. She also told another resident that his face looked 'orange' to his face, and that she felt like getting a baby wipe and wiping it off for him. She claims that she just 'says it as it is'. Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think there are some things better left unsaid, and being rude is never necessary. I'm sure that without a shadow of a doubt her irrational and rude behaviour is down to her drug use. She's stoned all day long, and openly admits to it, then she walks into the communal area, and takes over. It's the social equivalent of giving your car keys to a monkey. Yes, she's highly functioning, but in all the worst ways possible. If the only way she can get through her life, is by intoxicating her body, than she has my pity. My mind boggles when I think of how she is passing all her exams, and working part time...while stoned. Although, in retrospect, she does function very well...she's well able to speak her mind, and work hard...but there's a trade off...and that is her sanity. She's turned into a crazy artist...well able to create wonderful things and achieve great outcomes, but from a very sad and corrupt place. I'm sick of this, and I'm sick of people like her in my life. I want out. Thank God the HAP scheme have raised the budget to 960 euro per month plus two months deposit. The rent is depressingly high in Dublin at present though, but I'm sure this will secure me somewhere...anywhere...that's not related to homelessness.

The humour in being homeless

Now, I'm not saying being homeless is in anyway a nice experience. However, it certainly is a very sobering and maturing experience. Sometimes all you can actually do is laugh. It was literally so bad sometimes, that I would end up in a heap of laughter. Call it nerves...or call it the need to keep myself sane...but here are some of the things that made me lol.


                                      

The conversation about fannies

So, I was sitting in the kitchen in Cedar house talking to an ex-writer who fell on hard times. Despite this, he always maintains a very cheerful attitude (although I think he does have the odd sneaky alcoholic beverage every now and again). Out of nowhere, I decided to share the fact that I couldn't wait to buy wax strips 'to wax my gee'. This writer (let's call him John) asks 'what would you be waxin fuhr?', I told him 'I'd never shave'. John then goes on to say 'I don't mind if she has has hair on her arse'...I shot him an indignant gaze. He then pointed out that I could 'actually lead a good life' if I wasn't so 'OCD'. He was very right. Wisdom comes in the strangest forms. I only recently figured out that I do suffer with severe OCD.

Some greasy man strung out on 'the gear' hurtled towards us from the corner. We started talking to him about waxing ones gee...trying to coax a non-drug related conversation out of him. 'My burd is as smooth as a baby's bum' he said, stirring his styrofoam cup of tea, after adding six teaspoons of sugar. He then continued 'I don't like hairy bitches full stop...hairy bitches are knackers'. Despite the fact that his veins were so polluted with toxins that he could barely function, he still managed to clearly communicate his feelings of pure disgust on the matter. I told him that 'some men have a fetish for hairy women', 'Fuck that!' he spluttered and, disturbed by this information, walked away and drank his sugar-saturated tea elsewhere. Me and John were in a heap of laughter at the hilarity of it all.

The chat about the arch in my foot 

Two hours later, myself and John were still sitting in the downstairs watching the sea of junkies ebb and flow in and out of the kitchen...some bearing cups of coffee, others paper bowls of cereal. Finally the flow stopped. They were all (probably) in a drug induced slumber. The staff then left us alone in the building for an entire half hour. I decided to tell John about the arch I was trying to develop in my feet. I'd been wearing orthotics for a few months at that stage, and was convinced I was seeing an arch develop in my duck feet. 'I have to call my friend Comac' John proclaimed 'about a girl writing a blog, with an arch in her foot'. We continued to sip tea, while discussing all the intelligent people in homeless hostels. He went on to tell me about all his past jobs, and that he met 'yer man morris Nelegan' who got the first heart transplant in ireland. He then told me that a friend of his has her 'whole gee pierced' and that 'the airport scanner goes mad when she goes through'. This is classic 'homeless hostel' banter, you wouldn't find anywhere else. Finally John reached the conclusion that I was indeed insane. He then came up with an ingenious solution to all my woes. This is a direct quote from him: 'I'd get you a fire hose and spray you until you're very agitated, and then I'd give you a punch bag to kick the shit out of'. He then told me that if people ever ask me where I'm from I should just tell them: 'I come from the little house with the bars on the window...but I escaped'. Later on, a toothless man from Belfast came downstairs and insisted I had a 'bee in my bonnet' because of my attitude. I told him I didn't, and that I'm simply 'highly strung'. We collectively decided that yoga would be a good option for me. 

The conversation swiftly moved on to the furniture in the room. There were six square tables, six chairs, and a long seating area running around the room. It should also be noted, that there were three brown chairs, three purple chairs, and two red chairs (in an effort to mix things up a little). John pointed out that they 'only had the money to buy six square tables', and once Christmas day arrives 'it'll be like coming down, seeing santy, and looking under the table for presents'. The conversation was a bit nonsensical, but it was something to laugh about...and I'm glad we did. 

5 month update: Back in Peter's Place

I have been working part time as a cleaner now for about a month. I've already saved 600 euro, and have a goal of 6,000 euro in mind. I have lie ins 4 out of 5 days, and I'm sleeping pretty well. So, what has made all of this possible? Well, I'm back in Peter's Place. I am still in the homeless system though...which means things are still quite strenuous. I may be cleaning people's houses during the day, however upon returning back to 'the room' (I can't call it a home) my own bedsit is a mess. I am greeted with a blaring 'Hi! Key card?' at the door, and there is a very strong sense of ones privacy being encroached. I shall be discussing the good and the bad that comes along with being back in Peter's Place STA in this blog post.

I finally got this six month bed after spending eight months trawling the streets of Dublin, and after all that, I end up back in Peter's Place. They kicked me out for eight months for misbehaving, only to take me back in a few months later. Just to clarify, I was kicked out for throwing a bottle of water at someone who had been threatening me, and using abusive language towards me for weeks. Had I been living with him in private accommodation, I would have knocked him out. I can't even repeat the things he said to me...as it was so vile. One thing is for sure though, anyone with any amount of self respect would have done the same thing (if not a lot worse), and I was the one who got the boot? I think they knew they over reacted, and decided to take me back (after shamelessly traumatizing and humiliating me for 8 months). If you think about it, 8 months is the equivalent to one academic year. In fact, it's been over a year since I first moved into Peter's Place.

My scoliosis has gotten significantly worse after carrying a bag on my back every day for so long

I briefly described what I had to endure in my previous blog post. Looking back now, I still can't believe I went through that. Carrying a heavy bag around on my back every day for that length of time severely worsened my scoliosis and posture. I now suffer from constant back ache and strain, not to mention the absolute state of my posture. I find it very difficult to sleep, as waking up at 7am seven days a week really takes it's toll on ones sleep cycle. I still get panic attacks walking around town, as I associate it with all that trauma. I still bump into the drug addicts who would stalk me and shout at me while I was sitting on street corners, looking like a fucking street walker (yes, I cursed...but it's my blog, and I'll write what I like!). Just today, I was buying a packet of sanitary towels, and one of the ghosts of homeless days past emerged behind my shoulder. He's a Russian guy who verbally attacked me on several occasions because of how 'ugly' he insists I am. He seems to be genuinely offended by how I look, and has absolutely no qualms about letting me know. I'm angry, mainly at my mother for not even raising an eyebrow. She's an awful person, and didn't even offer me solace on Christmas day. I'll never forgive her for letting me go through that. This entire thing was far too dramatic for my liking. Having somewhere to live is the most basic of human rights...which no one should ever ever be void of (let alone for 2 and a half years!). I feel like the subject of a fucking sop-story Christmas carol! If you want to read about some of my time on the streets, see my previous blog post.

Anyway! Back to my current situation. I am so very glad all that crap is out of the way! I met so many appalling people in my time on the streets, from rapists and murderers, to American hillbilly xenophobes. I finally have a 24 hour bed where I can come and go as I please, all that is behind me...and it is, to an extent. However, I am still very much in the 'homeless system' which means I am still viewed as disposable to those in authority. I still very much feel patronized by the staff. They feel like they have an automatic reason to look down their noses at me...simply because I am homeless. In their eyes, there is always a criminal reason for my homelessness, and I really feel like I am being treated like a criminal. To them, being homeless and being a danger to society are synonymous. After all, I must be a danger to society for why else would I end up in this situation? There is one particular staff member in here who treats me like absolute dirt, and then denies it completely when confronted. He perpetually gives me dirty looks, and even straight up shouted 'stop asking me questions!' while I was mid sentence one day. I understand that they are stressed out, and have a lot on their plate, but it doesn't take a lot to take the emotional state of the people living here into consideration. There is a real feeling of walking on eggshells when around the staff. Every one is scared to speak up or defend themselves for fear of being kicked out. The rule is basically three strikes and your out. One can only hope not to be in a room with someone who is going to rile them up. You are basically forced, one way or another, to find a way to deal with some seriously horrendous human beings. There are a few characters (like myself) who have a quiver in their voice, terrified of a zombie who may jump down their throats out of nowhere. It's a disabling  feeling, which makes me (and others) feel sick to our stomachs. The same people who are there to help you with all your problems, are the same who will kick you out on your arse with the drop of a hat, for defending yourself against these pigs.

   The flooring in Peter's Place is similar to this (in the rooms)

The room itself is pretty dank. Yes, I have my own cooking facilities, but when you're as miserable as I am in here, you don't feel like cooking. The only thing I feel like shoving down my face hole these lonely days are Starbucks and greasy takeaways. I was just discussing the bright orange linoleum floors with a fellow mad-house dweller today. It is absolutely rank and gives the entire room a feeling of weightiness. I also took the curtains down because they were so disgusting, only to have them replaced with a pair of curtains with a great big blob of white paint on one side. They literally couldn't care less about the mental health of the people living in here. The fan in my toilet has been broken since I arrived, and the place stinks up after a shower, and there is absolutely no sign of it being fixed. The fire alarm was broken on my arrival, and it took them five weeks to fix it. Apparently my life isn't of much important to these people. The light is also far too bright, and as someone who suffers from ocular migraines, this is not appreciated at all. It is overbearing and sometimes feels like the light of a thousand suns is illuminating the room. The one good thing about this place is that you can come and go 24 hours a day. My room is also at the end of a corridor...on the top floor. This is great, because I do appreciate the peace. However, the entire building is shoddily located on the noisiest street in the entire world! I have been woken up on more than more occasion by someone just screaming their head off in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason. One of the biggest downfalls is the fact that you can't invite anyone over. I mean, I understand that to a degree...what with the drug use. However, it is pretty obvious the people who are users and who aren't...and it's going to happen anyway...whether its in the room or not. Why am I not allowed invite my granny over for a cup of tea? I get very very lonely, considering I am not allowed to visit my family due to various safety orders they have put against me (mainly caused by their abuse towards me...not visa versa).

Luckily, in the past few months they have introduced something called the 'HAP scheme'. This is something I just wish they had introduced 2 and a half years ago when I first became homeless. It basically means that if you have been homeless for over two months, your rent and deposit will be paid for you by the government, once you find somewhere to live. This is making the move on infinitely faster then before. I am still in the process of looking for somewhere...but once I do...I'll be out of here faster than you can say 'HAP'.

I'll let you all know how I get on!

A quick update on the horror that is my life

I have been staying in a roll on bed for the past few months. It is called Mount Brown, and is located about a mile away from the city centre...where there are no amenities. It is actually not too far away from where I used to live at home. It is run by DePaul, and although it has plenty of staff, none are key workers that work with you as an individual. The move on is relatively fast here...but only for people looking to share a room (probably with a drug addict). I however have specified that I want a single room. The move on is tiresome! Most of the people who have been going through the process with me have been moved on already. I am still being kicked out at 8.45am every morning to wander the streets aimlessly until half five. You'd think Christmas day and New Year's day would be an exception? But no. On Christmas day I spent 2 hours drying my coat under a hand drier in apache pizza, as this was the only place that was open. It was a depressing ordeal...there were only a handful of places open and it was pissing rain. Mount Brown's excuse is that they have to close the building during the day...as the staff need to go home. I think it is a question of finance, and they are not bothered to spend the money on hiring more staff...even for the mental health of real human beings like myself. It has become so depressing at this point that I am numb to it. The staff on a whole are okay, but only because I have gotten in to the habit of putting them in their place. I never leave on time...because I have been wandering the streets for seven fucking months now! And there is no sign of a single room STA (for someone who is not on drugs???). It makes no sense at all.

Anyway, while I am here I would like to briefly summarise the various trauma I have gone through.

The first thing to note is the condition of the place. Mt Brown is in fact notorious for ODs. Many many people have taken an over dose and died in this place...and I can see why! Sleeping in the place is a depressing experience of the highest order. The bed sheets are ancient, and are covered with cigarette holes, and I am constantly pulling long blond hairs from them (I have short brown hair). The duvets are covered with dried in blood and tea stains, and stink. In fact, I have thrown up on more than one occasion because of the smell. I can't imagine the skirting boards have ever been cleaned as the dust seems to mount ever more every week. The crevices in the shower are also filled with dust. They have a cleaner...but I don't really know what she is good for. All she does is replace a shitty smelly duvet with another shitty smelly duvet. And she always fucks all my clothes under my bed if they are lying on the floor..does she think she is doing me a favor? Now all my clothes are covered in 'under the bed dust', and they smell.
When whoever is in charge decided to finally paint the depressing walls...all the residents were forced to sleep in the room with the astonishingly toxic smell...the smell lingered on for weeks. And guess which color the 'experts' decided on? Green. Yes, that is the same color as sick, hospital rooms, and diarrhea. As a trained interior designer I want to cringe. They put absolutely no thought in to this and did not take the advice of any expert. They then went on to paint the walls in the hallway...wait for it...dark blue and bright yellow....two completely contrasting colors. Idiots. I finally decided to step in and offer my advice before they made any more dunderheaded decor decisions...so I suggested a light blue color for the office. Then, before I made any other decisions it was settled that the rest of the rooms would be painted light blue as well...to save money on paint. Unbelievable. Interior decor could literally save someone's life as it has a palpable impact on how one feels about oneself...but do they care? Nope. Not at all. They don't have to sleep in these rooms and live in this environment when they are groggy after walking around fucking town all day. They cling to each other in the safe haven that is their office...where there are no toxic smells or blaring travelers.
They put a traveler couple in the room next to me by the way. They never stop arguing...and the smell of their weed travels through the walls.

What next? A carpet on the toilet seat? Hire an interior designer Mt Brown!

Someone threw a cup of coffee in my face a few days ago, and the staff still suggested it was a good idea to go down and socialise with 'people'. Their advice is bizarre at the best of times. Then, this morning, when i was getting dressed I asked for a pair of underwear (as there is no laundry facility) and a male staff member suggested I 'go commando' and then sniggered. Very professional. I do wonder about the people they hire to deal with homeless people.
Finally, I would like to describe the morning 'routine'...as it is written on paper that you are to be gone at 8.45...which is a fucking ordeal. However, the wake up calls begin at 7.15am...and I don't know about you, but when a big burly man enters your room and shouts 'IT'S 7.30'...that's gonna keep me awake...shaking...for the remainder of the morning. They continue to get people to invade my room every 15 minutes after that. So, they may as well say...you are out by 8.45...but you will be awake and buzzing by 7.30am. That's why everyone in there is ready to kill every evening.

That's all for now! I am really tired.