Choosing to be Homeless in San Francisco

How it started...

Growing up surrounded by people can make one feel as if the concept of “alone” is more than foreign, possibly even unrealistic in actuality. Is it possible to feel alone if you’re never able to experience the reality of being left to one’s self? And yet, loneliness is a notion I understand quite intimately. In fact, I can claim that I have spent the greatest majority of my life operating from this particular viewpoint, regardless of the fact that I have resided and traveled within some of the biggest and busiest cities in the world. I, in no way, consider this to be an accomplishment, but again, wish to convey the idea that being lonely is possible for anyone regardless of outward appearances and situation.

Whatever the circumstance, and as painfully difficult as the reality may be, the truth is that loneliness is merely one option in life; one which tends to stem, not from the feeling of disconnection, but rather from the vital and desperate need for connection. I dare not say, however, that this is a choice of the conscious mind because to make such a claim would undermine the pain and efforts of the many wonderful people whom I’ve met throughout my life, who share this silent disease of the mind (myself included) regardless of the time, effort and money they’ve invested in the treatment of said condition.

Let it be said that if you aren’t able to understand the debilitating imprisonment which could possibly keep you from reaching for and attaining your greatest life’s desires and fantasy’s, even those as simple as having relationships may appear to be, it is because you have not yet suffered from this particular illness; but keep a weary eye on the lookout because it may be just a matter of time before you find yourself suffering from this silent, deadly killer of dreams.

By all accounts, my life may have appeared quite idealistic when, in my early 30’s, I made the move from Washington, DC to San Francisco, California. Lots of friends, a great big family whom I loved and loved me, moving between two of the most expensive cities in the US...from the outside looking in, it could have looked as if I was steadily walking the path known to so many around the world as “The American Dream”. The reality, however, wasn’t anything like it appeared.

Having been wrongfully terminated from my job two years earlier (after more than 2 years as a dedicated employee), I decided to try my luck as a life coach when a friend of mine mentioned it as a career possibility as I coached her through some of the issues she was facing at the time. It was an idea I hadn’t considered before, but felt like divine inspiration as it was perfectly up my alley of interest and practice in the field of psychology and offered the ability to serve and empower others, which was everything I had been searching for without even realizing it. Two extremely unsuccessful years into my business, still unable to fully pay my bills or grow the company, I decided that a coaching business wasn’t the best bet at this point in my life, and it was time to find a corporate job again.

Sadly, the events I had experienced over those two years had left me in a terrible mental and physical state. I had dealt with massive weight gain, depression and a host of unexplained health issues which made it almost impossible for me to maintain relationships or simply get out of bed. I felt beat up, battered, pushed down and was highly suicidal much of the time. To make matters worse, I was living with 5 girls whom I had once been friends with, but with whom I was no longer able to connect with even though I so desperately wanted their friendship and support. But the more pain I felt, the more difficult it became to live with me and some of those friends turned into bullies, adding fuel to the already raging fire of disconnection within me.

Now, I won’t claim for a moment that I was easy to live with during that time. Part of the overcorrection from not having control in my life was to clean the house to a level equal to that of the strictest obsessive compulsive behavior. I understand that for my roommates, this was unpleasant as we were all meant to be equals in the house, but had varying levels of cleanliness...so without being asked (and with it being surprisingly unwelcome) I kept the place OCD, hospital-qualified clean. This behavior, instead of warranting positive feedback and gratitude as I expected, seemed to be somehow insulting to the roommates who, in return, alienated me even more from the group. Thus, the cycle continued with me trying harder for acceptance and getting less and less of it until, finally, it became so abusive and painful that my only foreseeable options were to kill myself or leave.

At the same time, I was also dealing with some pretty severe family issues where my beloved hero and father was left in the position of no longer being able to take care of himself or my mom and family with whom he’d always helped support. His career as an honest, hard-working, loving, family doctor was suddenly over and our family was left devastated and trying to work through the kinds of issues which would tear any family apart. I took a great majority of responsibility upon myself to help keep my family together during the difficult years which resulted from this time...and in turn, the stress from not having local support amongst my friends and roommates in DC and not having anyone to talk to about everything, kept me going deeper and deeper inside -- mentally attempting to hide from the big, bad world which seemed to be trying so hard to push me over the edge.

During this time of darkness, I also had my heart broken and lost many friendships as the condition worsened, in spite of my numerous efforts to cleanse, eat healthily, and work on myself internally. I spent the majority of my days psycho-analyzing myself, digging as deeply into the pain as I could muster before it became too unbearable to stomach. Every possible moment was spent doing something (traditionally or non-traditionally) to try to “fix” what was broken inside. Every minute of the day was filled with the internal torment which plagued me with the thoughts that I was somehow different, inhuman and unable to live life as so many around me appeared to be doing so easily.

Even now, these things are terribly dark for me to recount, but necessary for you to understand that when I made the decision to move from DC to San Francisco I had nothing to lose. I was at my mental breaking point and far beyond being capable of massive change through minor actions. I needed a new start. A new job. New friends. A new life. A new me.

Some months later...

9 o’clock pm, sitting on a bench overlooking the San Francisco Bay from my favorite park at the top of the hill in Pacific Heights, next to me laid a backpack and a fuchsia pink roller bag stuffed to the max with all of my earthy positions necessary to survive in a new city. My phone clenched in my hand, prayer in my heart and a tear running down my cheek as I quietly considered where I could spend the night inconspicuous enough not to be bothered or assaulted, knowing that there would be no chance of sleep and that the temporary job I was supposed to start in the morning would be gone if I was unable to get ready and show up in time for my first day. I can still see myself sitting there as if it was yesterday.

How did I get to this place? How in the world could I have let it get this far? What on earth was I thinking?

I knew the answer to those questions. I’d thought about it a million times already in the month I’d been living homeless in the most expensive city in the United States, during the worst housing crisis in it’s history. But knowing the answer didn’t do anything to negate the level of fear I was experiencing thinking of the possibilities which could befall me if I were to continue down this route.

Two months earlier, I sat tormented in my room in Washington. I had almost nothing to my name. My belongings were mostly hand-me-downs which weren’t worth much, so I donated most of what I had and sold anything that would fetch a price. When I left, I had $1,000 in my bank account, no place to live and no job when I’d get to San Francisco...but as I said before, I had nothing to lose...and no idea what I was getting myself into.

I was so miserable that the thought of killing myself was more of a constant companion than a fleeting thought. The only thing that kept me alive was my deep love and affection for my family. The thought of putting them through so much more difficulty than they’d already recently been through, with the effects possibly causing many of them to deal with what I was then trying to escape from...that thought was only slightly more painful than what I was dealing with, but bad enough to keep me from doing something which I would have undoubtably regretted.

So when one of my friends suggested that I move across the country without having a definite plan, and to believe that it was possible if I really wanted it, I considered it very seriously...as if my life depended on it...because it did.

To give you just a little more background, as I was trying to self-heal and run a coaching business, I spent many hours and days in conferences and using alternative healing and energy techniques -- one of which was meditation. I had also come to understand and trust the knowing voice within me when I asked questions about what to do next. On this occasion, I knew I needed divine guidance to make such a risky move. I asked if I should go and the answer I was given could only be described as a fully audible, “YES!”, the power of which was so strong that it physically knocked me off my feet. I immediately told my roommates I was moving out at the end of the month and started packing my bags.

Back on the bench again, this moment replayed in my mind and I knew that whatever happened, I’d be ok. I hated the possibilities and options in front of me, but I knew that I had received the clearest guidance I had ever gotten and there was no denying it. I committed in that moment, once again, to doing whatever it took to be there. And then the phone rang.

The first four and a half months I spent homeless in San Francisco were amongst the most excruciatingly painful days of my life. I thought I had experienced a lifetime of hardship already, but the moment I made that commitment to move to California, I signed myself up for the most difficult learning course I could possibly imagine. Seeing this time through hindsight and reflection, I still feel the treacherous torment of the unknown, the unforeseeable blackness of the future...with every moment teasing my mind with the thought of defeat and utter failure to move forward and become a regular functioning member of the community again.

The times, although filled with stress as you might imagine, weren’t always terrible. I was able to see a side of humanity that I had stopped believing existed when everything went down a couple years earlier. In 4.5 months, I never slept a single night on the street, in a park, under a freeway or in a shelter...and miraculously I only ended up paying for 2 weeks of housing during that time. Every step along the way, from the first night I arrived, I was somehow led to someone who would help me out. Some of them were much better situations than others, but all of them were tender mercies which I would not have survived without.

That night on the bench, I had come from staying with a girl who had drug problems and lived in a flea-infested apartment on the basement floor where I was sleeping on an old sleeping bag directly on the cement, covered in fleas. The upstairs neighbors were drug-addicts who never slept and often moved furniture at all hours of the night, as if I needed more reasons to keep from sleeping. I ran out of money while I was staying with her and received local charity from a church for 1 small grocery run and to pay my cell phone bill once, so I could use it to get a job. They made it very clear that this is all they would do to help my condition and highly advised me to go live with family in another state, but I knew if I did that I would never have the ability to overcome what I was facing, and eventually the mental illness would cost me my life. So, I decided to stay in spite of the overwhelming odds. The girl I was staying with was suddenly evicted and quickly moved to a new place, which didn’t have room for me, so I got my things together and headed toward the park. I didn’t know what to do or how to do it, but I felt deep down inside of me that it would all work out...that something had to work out.

When the phone rang with the unexpected news from one of my best friends back in DC, I was beyond relieved. She had connected with some of her family who insisted they were completely against allowing a stranger to live with them, but after finding out that I’d be sleeping in a park that night, they conceded and opened up their home to me for the promise of 1 night only. I ended up staying with them for 3 nights and again for a week some time later. They displaced their little boy, so I could take his bed. Without them, I wouldn’t have been able to start working and who knows where I would be today.

Would life change from this day forward? Would San Francisco be the dream I'd hoped for it to be? To be Continued...