- Joined
- Nov 10, 2013
What follows is a purely anecdotal retelling of days living as a young homeless man, purely the instances occurring at a local mission. If any mods feel it to be too personal, feel free to remove it. I have things to tell and have never had anyone to hear it.
Shortly after graduating from high school at the age sixteen, I had little place to go. No money, my mother and stepfather were losing the piece of shit trailer they were renting, and my real father hates my guts. I didn't have many skills aside from carpentry coming out of high school. They lost the trailer before my official graduation ceremony ever happened, and I left.
What followed were wilderness experiences. Between beating me making my life a living Hell, my father taught me a few things. How to survive and how to work with ladders, saws, and hammers. I knew how to live in the forest and did so while the weather permitted. Yet the winter was something I could never overcome, even with what was taught to me and what came naturally.
When the October chills came I swallowed my pride and moved up north where my family was, the city. I've never really liked cities. The glaring lights, constant sirens, and moronic populace have always set my teeth on edge. They were in the city mission, a homeless shelter.
I was denied access at first, told my any stay of mine would have to bear entrance into the mission program for men. I accepted, of course, having nowhere else to go but the harsh Ohioan winter outside. I bid farewell to my common values and what I held dear. Upon entry to the program I had my valuables confiscated, my tobacco withheld, and was told I was follow Christian doctrine and such as I went along the program. I was asked if I was a warlock or a gay by the program director, a young man named Dewey. A gay warlock? No...not really. I passed the 'stringent' test and continued onto the main program. I was a new initiate...
More to come in a second
My first show around the dormitories was almost draw dropping in their differences. The men's program had television that while old was still leagues ahead than the one television shared by the common dormitories, and w had a fridge, sink, microwave, coffee pot, ect. We were basically living large in the mission yet we still wore the same tired, hopeless expressions. I met guys named Larry, Bob, and Rob. They may sound like fake names used to fill a space but they were real. Old alcoholics and drug addicts who had lost their wives, their jobs, everything. They told me stories as if they were veterans in war. I listened intently, newly eighteen and wanting to fit in with the guys. We shot the shit, and yet...
I came to realize they were just like me. Older, maybe, but the same cut. Tired sunken eyes, hopeless expressions, they were one in the same. They lived their days doing the 'chores' the program expected. Everything from mopping floors to knocking down dry wall I quickly came to learn we mission men were the mercenaries of sorts the mission beat into submission and used as casual funding.
My first day at the program, officially, was spent cleaning lines of shitters and showers which had been trashed by the population. For five dollars a week I did so, thoroughly believing at the time that God gave his believers challenges to overcome. Little did I realize, these men and women were nothing but cheats...
Feel free to comment as I write. I've got a lot to say and am willing to detail and expound upon any questions.
Shortly after graduating from high school at the age sixteen, I had little place to go. No money, my mother and stepfather were losing the piece of shit trailer they were renting, and my real father hates my guts. I didn't have many skills aside from carpentry coming out of high school. They lost the trailer before my official graduation ceremony ever happened, and I left.
What followed were wilderness experiences. Between beating me making my life a living Hell, my father taught me a few things. How to survive and how to work with ladders, saws, and hammers. I knew how to live in the forest and did so while the weather permitted. Yet the winter was something I could never overcome, even with what was taught to me and what came naturally.
When the October chills came I swallowed my pride and moved up north where my family was, the city. I've never really liked cities. The glaring lights, constant sirens, and moronic populace have always set my teeth on edge. They were in the city mission, a homeless shelter.
I was denied access at first, told my any stay of mine would have to bear entrance into the mission program for men. I accepted, of course, having nowhere else to go but the harsh Ohioan winter outside. I bid farewell to my common values and what I held dear. Upon entry to the program I had my valuables confiscated, my tobacco withheld, and was told I was follow Christian doctrine and such as I went along the program. I was asked if I was a warlock or a gay by the program director, a young man named Dewey. A gay warlock? No...not really. I passed the 'stringent' test and continued onto the main program. I was a new initiate...
More to come in a second
My first show around the dormitories was almost draw dropping in their differences. The men's program had television that while old was still leagues ahead than the one television shared by the common dormitories, and w had a fridge, sink, microwave, coffee pot, ect. We were basically living large in the mission yet we still wore the same tired, hopeless expressions. I met guys named Larry, Bob, and Rob. They may sound like fake names used to fill a space but they were real. Old alcoholics and drug addicts who had lost their wives, their jobs, everything. They told me stories as if they were veterans in war. I listened intently, newly eighteen and wanting to fit in with the guys. We shot the shit, and yet...
I came to realize they were just like me. Older, maybe, but the same cut. Tired sunken eyes, hopeless expressions, they were one in the same. They lived their days doing the 'chores' the program expected. Everything from mopping floors to knocking down dry wall I quickly came to learn we mission men were the mercenaries of sorts the mission beat into submission and used as casual funding.
My first day at the program, officially, was spent cleaning lines of shitters and showers which had been trashed by the population. For five dollars a week I did so, thoroughly believing at the time that God gave his believers challenges to overcome. Little did I realize, these men and women were nothing but cheats...
Feel free to comment as I write. I've got a lot to say and am willing to detail and expound upon any questions.
