[The blog post that precedes what this one is about, on the timeline of my life, is https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/03/my-summer-living-in-homeless-shelter_27.html and the one that would be just after this post would be https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2021/09/its-said-when-life-gives-you-lemons.html if these had been written in, chronological, order. Trusting God, regardless, of my circumstances, is what got me through it.]
The foundational Bible verse, for me, is Romans 8:28. "And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them." (NLT) It is both, the beginning and ending point, of my faith, in God. At some point, in my spiritual journey, I had to make a decision whether I was going to trust God, even when things didn't make any sense to me at the time; if ever. Or, when what was happening to me wasn't something that I wanted, or what wasn't happening was something that I deeply desired. Sometimes, the circumstances that I have found myself in have seemed to have no 'redeeming' factors, anywhere, in sight; but, God calls me to "walk by faith not by sight" (2 Corinthians 5:7), and Hebrews 11:6 tells me, "without faith it is impossible to please God." There was a point in my life that, I had looked up to the heavens and, as much as was possible, cursed God, to His face-- basically, telling Him that, if He weren't going to be, my heavenly, 'Santa Claus', to get the fuck out of my life altogether. What followed was the worst 3 days of my life. The Holy Spirit left me and at the time I didn't know if what I had done was what the Bible calls 'the unpardonable sin'. ["Therefore I tell you every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven people but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven." Matthew 12:31 ESV] I was overjoyed, when God's, precious, Holy Spirit returned to me, and I told Him, then, that, I could not promise Him, that I would never be upset with how things were, in my life, going forward, but that I would never tell Him to leave me ever again. I have kept that promise to my Holy Companion, all the years since then. NOTHING and NO ONE matters more to me than God does.
Any, of us, can, easily, find good, and bad, in every situation. It just depends, on the lens we look through, so to speak. We seem to mostly see what we expect to see, overlooking or discrediting anything that doesn't align with that, nearly-self-fulfilling, outlook on life. If we decide we're having a 'bad' day, then we grab hold of and keep a running tally on how many incidents and occurrences are evidence to support that claim. If we believe, this will be a good day, our attitude toward it can go a long way, in making that true, for us, despite, inevitable challenges that pop up in our path. I don't get it right all the time, by any means. There are days that, I don't even want to climb out of bed, preferring to hide my head under the sheets, as I try, halfheartedly, to give myself a sufficient pep talk to be willing, to risk, venturing out of bed, and meeting the day on its own terms. Some days are satisfactory, but other days seem more like a special delivery from Satan himself. It's the never-being-sure-what's-coming, or how I will cope with whatever that is, that exacerbates my anxiety. What finally gets me out of bed, come what may, is the reassurance I have that God's 'got me'; and that He's not letting go of me no matter what, does, or doesn't, happen. Without my strong, sure, faith in God, I'd have likely been 'done in' by life, by now. Destroyed, by it, some way, or another. That faith was particularly instrumental in getting me through those events of the summer of 2017; none of which, I wanted to have to go through. I had no choice.
My previous post, about my time living in the homeless shelter (the link to that is above), described how I clung to my faith, and a positive attitude, to help me rise above the situation that I found myself in. There were alot of challenges, to living in a homeless shelter, though. I encountered more of that, as time went on, and I learned how the system operated. Bringing that many, women, and children, and, men (in their own shelter just across the street), together, all of whom had ended up there seeking assistance, for, a wide variety, of reasons, from domestic abuse, to drug use, to mental illness, to homeless veterans, who did not have 'the safety net' of their former military units, providing for their basic needs, any longer, and found themselves floundering as to how to fit in with the civilian sector of society, now, and folks, like me, who were unemployed through no fault of their own, and who ended up losing the roof over our head and having to show up at the shelter, was a challenging circumstance. Add to that, the full range of attitudes, displayed by staff members as well as by other agency employees who came there in order to provide ancillary assistance, such as those from the VA who came to the multi-building-campus, of the homeless shelter, to assist veterans, like me. Some were sincere. Some wore a mask of caring and concern, that eventually fell off. I can't really fault them for that indifference of theirs, though. Given that they worked in a place where they saw new faces on a daily basis and at about the 6-week point at the longest those people they were serving had all been replaced by new ones with equally pressing needs I could understand why they might be burned out to the point that their emotions were numb, and some, of their hearts, had become calloused. I think that people who work in that field start out altruistically for the most part. But then, they see, and hear, so much suffering, from the endless line of people coming through those doors, that I think some self-protectiveness, like forming a hard outer shell on their heart, happens with them, at some point, just for self-preservation. I felt some of that at times when I worked in nursing, in my twenties. I really did care about my patients, and they commented on how caring I was with them, on a regular basis. But, my dealing with sick, and dying, people day in and day out, sometimes, left me feeling emotionally drained, by all of that. We just had to do the best we could under the circumstances to get the job done. It was the same for the workers whose task was to help each of us at the shelter.
The social workers assigned to help people, like me, who were in the shelter, also had to learn, how to make the often cumbersome and complicated social services system work more expediently for those needing their help. That meant that they were trained to look for anything, in a client's situation, that they could exploit as being an urgent need, for the assistance that they were requesting on our behalf. Without that, more timely assistance, those they were sent to help get into stable housing could fall through the bureaucratic cracks and not get the help they need. One day, one of the team of VA social workers was driving me back to the shelter, after taking me out to look for a place for me to live, when she saw a young man, walking along the roadside, in the shelter area. Rolling down her car window, she came alongside him, as he walked along, and started speaking to him, by name. I could tell, that there was some kind of history, between the two of them, that this man was not at all happy with her about. He looked, really angry, at her, and kept on walking along the road, as she drove beside him for a bit, trying, to get him to speak to her. Realizing that this was not going to happen with him, she decided to drive me to a homeless encampment in some woods, close to the shelter, to show me where he was headed. As she did, she told me that he was also a veteran and that he had been one of her assigned cases, but that, although, she tried, to help him, he had not wanted the help that she had obtained for him; and rejecting her help, after whatever that had been, that, he so disliked, her doing, was now living in this homeless camp. I felt scared, and didn't appreciate her involving me in her drive, down into the woods, where this camp was, after she told me that it was a, male, and female, homeless camp, and that, a woman had been murdered in that very encampment, shortly before, I had come to stay in the shelter, very close, to it. It was, a good location, for it, for those, staying there, because the shelter was in walking distance, to it, and offered free meals, to anyone in the community, not just those staying in the men's, and women and children's, shelters. I did not ask, this social worker, what she had done, that made that young man so furious, with her, and because of, strict, privacy guidelines, she should not tell me that anyway.
I discovered something unsettling, to me, while staying at the shelter. For reasons of funding, as it was explained, to me, the shelter did their best to have everyone coming through their door back out no later than 6 weeks from showing up there. This was a very tight timeline, for, government, assistance agencies, to work with, which are notoriously slow-moving systems. Being new to shelter life, I didn't see this happening, to person after person, who was staying there, until I had been in the shelter for about a month myself. Several women who were staying there had each gone from, smiling, to stressed, as the weeks wore on, and with each one, I had seen them being treated much more coldly, by staff members, culminating in these women being put out of the shelter; some in troubling ways that I had seen happen to them firsthand. I hadn't realized that it was even happening until I had made friends with some of the women, who had stayed in this shelter before, and they began to, hint, to me, in whispered tones, that something, quite unpleasant, would be happening to them soon, if their assigned caseworker couldn't get them into housing before the end of their sixth week there. I couldn't understand how a homeless shelter could or would just put them out at that point; even if, they still had nowhere to go. It was confusing, and concerning, to me. It scared me too, as my own time there also began to approach that 6-week-mark, when the shelter's, Welcome mat, got pulled out from under your feet, if you weren't out of there, by then. Some women were sent to stay in another shelter in Omaha, but often they were all full, with no openings. I never knew, what happened to the women, then.
I never saw them again, to find out. One that I knew well, who was in no way any kind of a troublemaker, was told by shelter staff that she had to be out of there by the very next day, or they would call the police, to remove her for trespassing!?! I was shocked at this because she had nowhere to go and they knew that! We were each assigned a social worker to be our caseworker at the shelter, upon arrival, at the shelter. (I also had the, additional, assistance, of caseworkers from the VA.) If they failed to secure housing, for their clients, by the 6-week-mark, why were the women in the shelter being penalized for that? It just didn't seem right to me. My heart broke, for these women, as I watched, one, after another, who had come to the shelter, just before, I had, being treated this way. I began to feel, increasingly apprehensive, about, my own standing, there, too, as the weeks went by, and the VA social workers weren't showing up very often, to help me search for housing. I was getting a housing voucher for Section 8 housing, through the VA, so the place I would have to live in, would be one that took this voucher, that they had for me. When they did, take me out of the shelter, for the afternoon, to search for a place for me, we just weren't finding anything, available. Every place seemed to have a waiting list. I was tired of staying in the shelter, and had even become sick at this point, with a respiratory virus disparagingly dubbed 'kennel cough' that circulated in this communal setting. The VA social workers had a large caseload of homeless veterans that they were helping, besides me. They only had so much time for any one of us, and our individual housing search. Nothing, was simple, or streamlined.
The staff at the shelter did alot to make our stay there as pleasant as possible for the most part. Even so, it was also, a very trying environment, to exist in. I am a 'Live, and let live', kind of person, who tries to focus on living my own life and let others live theirs, as they see fit. If their behavior, as they express themselves, is not directly impacting me, in some detrimental way, I tend to, not waste my time and energy, dealing with it myself. Those people just aren't a priority to me. I see them as being 'background noise' and nothing more. The fleeting moments of my life are far too precious to waste on them. People are going to act out, because of who they are. Even when they try to make it about me, it really is all about them. Sometimes, though, people will do something that makes it hard to ignore. It has to be addressed, at that point. When I was sleeping in the Mat Room on the floor, there was a young woman, who also slept in there (among, 50 or so, of us), who was having a very difficult time dealing with her natural sexual urges, who would masturbate on her mat after Lights Out, with full sound effects accompanying her orgasms. The rest of us just lay there in stunned silence left to deal with our own reactions to this very audible stimulus. Some were repulsed, some envious, some simply sleep deprived. Nothing, about living in a shelter, was 'life as usual', for us.
Another young woman who wasn't able to be verbally communicative with us due to some sort of condition, which had left her with, a mental deficiency, placed her mat just below mine on the floor each night, after she arrived. She seemed to not comprehend that tissues were available to her in the shelter and instead chose to wipe her constantly runny nose onto her hand and then rubbed that snot off onto the dingy carpet on the floor. She also picked the boogers out of her nose, wiping those off, from her fingers, onto the floor, by her mat, as well. I gagged watching this, and finally did tell the staff so that they might convince her of more hygienic options, for this, daily, ritual of hers. All to no avail. I did become very cautious of where I was stepping, when in that room. When the staff finally insisted she wash her clothes and sheets in the laundry room she went in there and locked the door so that no one could come in, even to get the cleaning supplies we needed for our assigned daily chores. She stripped herself naked and stood there that way as the machine ran, refusing to unlock the door for anyone. We clearly saw that this was the case because there was a window in the door of the laundry room, making us unsure of what she thought that she actually accomplished by locking us out. The shelter had a nun assigned to it by one of the parishes, who ran the Bingo games and set up a long table full of Catholic rosaries, icons, and prayer cards to various saints. I never heard her mention, the actual Gospel, one time, while I was there, but she often testified that the wolf was her Totem Animal. Whatever that means.
Not long after I was staying there, it was on the news that, a homeless man, that was staying at the shelter, took, two of the shelter's social workers, hostage (one, of which, had been assigned to me, when I was there). I called her and asked her about that ordeal, some time after that, and it turned out that, someone had told this man that his clothes (the only possessions that he had left) had been thrown out because he hadn't emptied the machine after doing his laundry, and someone else had needed it. They told him, the social workers, had told them to do that. It wasn't true-- they were 'jerking his chain'-- causing him to come off the chain, so to speak, but he came after those ladies with a gun, holding them hostage. Police came, there was a standoff, but he was eventually taken into custody. That social worker, that I knew from my time there, told me how shaken up she was by that, due to knowing that, she could have easily been killed. There were people huffing aerosols there, people falling out in epileptic seizures there, and, representatives, of the full spectrum of socioeconomic ills plaguing humanity. I felt, strangely safe, while I was there, simply, because of, God, letting me know, that, for, that time, I was where He wanted me to be. Learning, what I had to learn. Doing, what I had to do. I led several people to the Lord, while I was there. Even in the midst of my own, personal, situation. I am, only human, though, and as I got closer to, the 6-week-point, which, by now, I, clearly, knew, was going to, lead to, some, kind, of, confrontation, and ultimatum, if I were still there, I just disciplined myself to stay focused and stay in prayer. I knew that my very survival depended on my hearing and obeying God. My faith in God is strong and sure, and I'm pretty spunky when I'm acting out of my beliefs. Modern religion has nullified much of the truth of the Gospel by making God into a benign Blessing Machine, with no agenda of His own for our lives, among other things. If people today were watching Jesus' actions on Earth, and the behaviors of the disciples, at times, as they, stepped out, boldly, in faith, they would likely be as critical of those things now as the religious pharisees were then. It seems that people either aren't reading the Word of God themselves or, are not really paying attention when they do read it. God calls those of us who love Him, and trust Him, to walk through some of the most difficult things, for the modern mind to accept that He would ask of us, more spoiled, people, who are on the Earth today. He needs and uses 'willing vessels', that say, to Him, 'Yes, Lord. I will do as You have required of me, for Your Glory." God had already asked me, to trust Him, and go stay in the shelter, and I saw some amazing results from that. I knew that I knew that I knew, that He had me in His Hands, and that was where I needed to stay to be safe. It's said that the safest place to be is in the Will of God.
The staff had always been polite to me, except for a couple of cold bitches, one of which was a shelter manager. I didn't normally have direct dealings with her. She mainly supervised the other side of the women's shelter where the group of long-term, recovering addicts, were housed, during the program they were enrolled in. The manager, who had done, my initial intake, when I had first arrived, knew me, and my heart for the others in this place. She told me, once, somewhat ashamed, that she had lost sight of that, in herself, over the years there, and admired that I had that compassion for others, even in the midst of my own stressful situation. I made sure that she knew, all, the Glory, for my being able to do that, belonged to God, who gave me the Grace that I needed, to be able to fulfill what He asked, of me. She knew as well as I did that I was almost to that 6-week-stay point when I would find myself being dealt with harshly, if not put out of the shelter altogether, if the VA social workers had still not secured housing for me by then. I kept them posted on this, but they were doing all they could do for me. It was what it was. I continued to seek God in prayer, listening for His Lead. I felt Him preparing me for a change but I just didn't know what that was going to involve. I had seen alot, in the shelter, including, a certain amount of favoritism, by the staff, toward some of those staying in the shelter. They generally told everyone that, they couldn't bring their pets with them to the shelter; yet, a very personable young woman who was apparently a recurring customer was allowed to stay long term, on this side of the shelter, with her rather rambunctious dog. He slept inside a metal cage beside her floor mat. He was neither, a service animal or, authentically, an emotional support animal. She and I had become friends, over the weeks I was there. She would be very helpful to me, as it turned out, when the shit hit the fan, as I hit the 6-week point there. The shelter manager who knew me well went on vacation, about that time, and the bitchy one, who was always very brusque, and never smiled, was in charge, in her absence, on this side, of the shelter. I had stayed longer, in the Mat Room, than most other women, because the women with children, and those with a physical mobility challenge, were given the primary preference, on being placed in the rooms, that had two sets of bunk beds in them. I had, finally, been given a lower bunk bed, in one of those rooms, and was in there, for about, a week and a half, or so, when I got to the unspoken-but-now-obvious, 6-week-mark, to be out.
I think that He timed this to happen, to me, while the shelter manager that really knew me and respected me was on vacation, because sometimes our own human affinities can get in the way of God's Purpose and Plan for human lives-- ours and other peoples'. She would very likely have interfered to stop this from happening; but that would not have been, God's Will, for me, at this point. The next morning, the bitchy manager that was filling in for her saw me walking past and said to me in a very harsh tone, "Enough of this! You need to get your things and move back into the Mat Room. Today." I asked her if I could have just a little more time, and she grudgingly agreed to that. I used the time to go see the shelter social worker and give her my testimony as it was unfolding, that God had said this was when I was to leave, and because of that, the shelter manager (that, just the day before, this, social worker, had convinced, not, to do this, to me), was, insisting, that I go back, to the Mat Room. I thanked her, for her help, while I was there. We hugged, and as I prepared to leave her office she asked me, "Where will you go?" I replied that "God has not shown me that part yet. He has just told me to leave, so I will."
She had not asked me, "What next?", or "Where to, now?" She simply assumed I would want to go to one of the other shelters in the area so, after lunch, she took me to each one of them. I had no objection to that at all, as God had not told me what was to happen, now; so, going to another homeless shelter wasn't ruled out as disobedience, at this point, as far as I knew. She began to take me to them all. However, as we pulled into the parking lot of every, available, shelter, in turn, and she waited, while I went in, to ask, if there was space for me, there, she began to get extremely emotional, and she started crying and carrying on. She had faith in God, too, but her version of it was that, surely, God had one spot for me in one of these other shelters, if He loved me. It is a disservice that modern-day Christians are taught that God makes all the bad vanish in a puff of prayer because He loves us too much to allow us to suffer. The heart of the Gospel message is that God so loved the world, that He sent HIS only begotten SON, Whom He was well pleased with, to DIE, a PAINFUL DEATH, IN OUR PLACE, to pay for OUR sins. He SENT His Son, TO SUFFER AND DIE, when HE didn't DESERVE any of that, Himself. I heard the Holy Spirit tell me VERY CLEARLY, as we drove up to every single shelter, that they would not have room for me, there, because THAT WASN'T HIS WILL for me.
When my friend came back to the car, after going in, herself, to ask if there was a place for me in their shelter, she looked incredulous, and began to get more upset than ever. She told me that, they had told her, the same thing, and that, she even asked them to call and check with the other shelters in town-- which we had been to, already, that afternoon-- saying that her friend was a female and was basically out on the street now, without someone having, or making, a place for me to stay, there. They made the calls, for her, but it was just as God's Spirit had been telling me. None, of them, would have an opening for me, because that wasn't where He wanted me, now. He had told me that VERY CLEARLY, BEFORE I had even gone in to ASK. Their telling me that was TRUE, was JUST MORE CONFIRMATION to me. I was now dealing simultaneously with a completely freaked out friend and my own understanding, which I accepted, that I was to totally trust in God, even while His solution for this situation (as far as my next step forward, that I was to take) was nowhere in sight; at least at the moment. It was nearly supper time and I did my best to calm my friend by firmly reassuring her that I was going to be just fine as I kept my faith in God, and simply obeyed, what He told me. She was a Christian, after all, so I thought that, she could trust God, too. I also had other friends from my life before, the homelessness happened, to me, but I did not feel that I was to contact any of them, either. Clearly, this part, of my journey, was requiring that, I fling myself, in full faith, on God, alone, and allow, His relationship, with me, to be what, safely, sustained me, in this, otherwise stressful, time in my life. My shelter friend was crying so hard by this point that, I was concerned she would wreck her car. I asked her to take me to a branch of the Omaha Public Library, that I knew I could stay in until evening and the cover of darkness. She did, and I prayed, with her, asking God to strengthen her faith in Him, got some of the food I had bought at the grocery store earlier that day, to take with me, left her the majority of that, and I sent her on her way back to the shelter so she wouldn't miss the seating for supper in the cafeteria, there. Then, I went inside, the library, alone. It was much cooler in there than it was outside. We were in the middle of a summer heat wave at the time. I sat at one of the computers which were available for the public, and just surfed the internet, biding my time until dark. when the library would also be closing. I recall, taking a citizenship test, online, as I sat there, enjoying the relief of the air conditioning. It had been a long day and I was beginning to feel tired as I sat in the quiet of the library environment. I am a rather practical person, so I'd requested my friend drop me off, at this particular library location, for a reason. It was almost in view of the VA Medical Center. All I knew about that in the moment, was that, as a veteran, I had authorized access, to that building and its amenities.
She listened, to what I had to say, then expressed her concern, that, I was out in the heat, during this ongoing heat wave, which, wasn't good for me. I responded, that I knew the city well and how to stay in air conditioning, although I refused to tell her where I was staying at night. She told me that as my assigned, VA, social worker she was responsible for me as her client and that she would get in trouble with her supervisor, if she wasn't, taking care of me. I was a middle-aged, grown, woman, who had spent the majority of my life taking care of myself, so I bristled, at this statement that I needed a 'babysitter'-- even in this situation. I was doing fine, as far as meeting all of my basic needs. I figured I would get into one of the other shelters in a day or so, but not yet, because I was enjoying my summer for the first time, during, this current, couple of days, that, I had peace, and privacy, again. I pointed out to her that, she could CLEARLY SEE, that I was, CLEAN, FED, and WELL-RESTED; so, I was, OBVIOUSLY, ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. Then she started to scare me. We had a mutually respectful relationship, up until, THIS point, when she suddenly said to me, "Don't get mad at me." I narrowed my eyes and responded, "WHY, would I get MAD, at you? What, have you done?" She said, "After you called me, I arranged for you to be examined, here, at the med center, just to be sure that you are in good health. My supervisor would be mad at me, if I weren't, making sure, that you are alright. So, I just need you to come with me, down to the ER, where, they can do, a quick exam, on you, to make sure you are doing okay, and then, you can go, and I won't be in trouble, for not taking care of you." I HATE MEDICAL EXAMS, so I wasn't happy AT ALL about this. I just wanted to go on with my day-- ALONE, IN PEACE. Reluctantly, and feeling angry, with her, I went, with her, down to the ER department. When, they called my name, I went back toward the exam rooms, and the nurse there, put the blood pressure cuff on me, and looking at me, asked me, "So, why are you being seen, today?" Although the social worker was standing right there, next to me, during this, she didn't say anything, and she, was the one, of the two, of us, that knew, why, I was, there. I really had no idea except what she had told me-- which was, a quick exam would be done on me, to make sure I was staying healthy, and then I would be released after that, to go on with my day, as planned. Answering the nurse, with a mixture of, uncertainty, and annoyance, in my voice, I replied that, 'I DIDN'T KNOW, WHY I WAS THERE, but that this social worker, standing right here, had said that I had to get a quick exam before I could leave; although I WAS FINE.' The nurse looked at the social worker, then, for further clarification, but my caseworker just said, to me, then, "At least you'll be in the air-conditioning now", and she turned, and left.
I have always been, a realist, bottom line, because I have had to deal with ALOT OF SHIT, that OTHER PEOPLE have PUT ME THROUGH, in my life. As this, armed, officer, 'escorted' me, up a back elevator, straight into the psych ward, which had locked doors, and no escape from it, I felt shell-shocked. I had to, suddenly, shift gears, so much, mentally, that it took all I had to adjust, in real time, to this new reality that was now my life; whether I liked it or not. I was, equally, traumatized and curious, about this new experience that I had been thrust into, feeling a little like, Alice in Wonderland, falling through the looking glass, and finding herself, in the midst of the Mad Hatter's tea party. A male nurse, apparently, well-informed, that I was, not only homeless, but had just been, basically, on the streets, did an extremely thorough physical exam, to be sure I wasn't bringing bedbugs into the unit. He ran an EKG on me, commenting, afterward, as he scanned the print out, that it showed my atrial fibrillation, that I have intermittently. NO DOUBT! In this situation, I was relieved, that it didn't show an outright HEART ATTACK! After the thorough physical exam, he said that, it was almost time to eat supper. I was led to a dining room, within the unit, where there were other veterans, also, in these hospital pajamas who were obviously patients themselves. We were all seated at small tables around the room where we got trays from the kitchen with our meal on them. I was given a form to fill out for each meal from then on out during my stay, but this one was not of my choosing (nor, was ANYTHING, happening to me at the moment) so, I didn't eat all of it, even though, I have, a big appetite, for a slender woman. As I took my tray up to the staff, afterward, I said to them, that, "I wouldn't give people, who are in the psych ward, melon, like this." They asked me, why, and I responded, with, a slight, smile, looking them straight in the eye, "Because, it might make them, MELON-choly." I didn't want to BE there. I wasn't AT ALL happy, about what was happening, to me-- against, my will-- right now. I was, JUST GOING TO BE 'ME', though, and let it, sort itself out. I was MAD. I was SCARED. But, I have a STRONG SENSE OF SELF, and, a DEEP FAITH IN GOD, and although, it pains me, at times, especially if real heartbreak happens for me, due to whatever it is, I have a firm grasp of reality, accepting it, as best I can, as it is.
I had that large room to myself, during my stay there (incarceration, if you asked me), because they tried to provide each veteran their own, space, and privacy, as much as possible, and the large majority, of the veterans, in this psych unit, were males. There was only one other female veteran in the unit, while I was there. I'd been drawn to the med center ever since I had obeyed God and left the homeless shelter; staying in the storage unit because I was in such dire need of peace, and privacy, that being out on the street, in order to have that, was preferable, to me, to going into another shelter, at that point. It was clear, to me, now, that God had orchestrated this situation, for my benefit, but had not told me this was coming. I did not have an apartment, to call home, yet, but I was no longer in the homeless shelter, and now, I had more of what I had, deeply, needed. Needed, to the point, that, I had been willing, to stay, out on the streets, to have, those things. Privacy. Peace. Nothing is all good or all bad, in my life on this fallen planet, but I am able to be grateful, for the good things, even in the most trying of circumstances; and that, is a very important thing, to be able to do. That doesn't mean that, I wasn't, very, angry, at my social worker, who had ambushed me, in this, extreme, way. It just means that I, totally, believe that, everything about my life, is known to God, and that, He, is the One, who, ultimately, works, all, things together, for my good, because I love Him, and am called, according to, His, purpose, for me, in this life.
I was also there because the VA social worker knew I didn't want to go back into a homeless shelter, and they had no better alternative to house me in, than this, for the time being. It was, much, better, as far as, what it offered, to me, that I most needed, in an environment, being, who I am, as a person, than the shelter, full of people, had been, where, there was, no peace, and no privacy. Ever. 24/7. When, my caseworker showed up one day at the hospital, to see me, after waiting a few days, thinking that, I would calm down, from her, violating, my trust, by, lying, to me, after I saw that it was a much more pleasant alternative for me to be housed in, for now, she did not, get, the reception, from me, that, she had hoped for. She wanted to take me into a room, alone, with her, to speak, in private, which I flatly refused to do. Instead, I told her, with a firmly set jaw, due to my extreme anger, at her, that I would only talk to her, sitting out in the open, in front of the nursing staff, and the office staff, for the unit. She tried to make light of it with small talk, but, I was DONE, with her, after how, traumatized, I was, by her, actually, having me COMMITTED against my will with a LEGAL form which STATED (and was, also, SIGNED BY HER) that, I was, 'a danger, to myself, and others', which, SHE KNEW, WASN'T TRUE. I never forgave her for how she handled that and requested a new caseworker, from then on, REFUSING, to EVER deal with HER, again. My TRUST in her, had been DESTROYED. TRUST, is VERY IMPORTANT, TO ME. That may be how the social workers operated, in order to 'help' their clients, but it, ALSO, DID REAL DAMAGE, to me, adding EVEN MORE, NEW, DEEP, TRAUMA, to my life, than what I had ALREADY been through, and was GOING THROUGH, when she did this, to me.
When the social worker had suddenly showed up at the hospital that day, where I was currently, COMMITTED, because of her, I had only ONE thing, to say, to her. I got a piece of paper and a pen from the staff who were right there witnessing the entire encounter, so that, she couldn't say something else about me, which would be misleading, that could, possibly, keep me in there, even longer, than, the days that I had to stay there, for a, lengthy, evaluation, and observation, period, and I wrote down the address, of the apartment that the other social worker had taken me to see, most recently, that I had turned down, because of its poor condition. I handed that address to her and said "Since I obviously can't go out looking for an apartment, anymore, while, I'm stuck in here, take the housing voucher, that you have, for me, and just slap it on, this, apartment rental so that I will have a place to live, after I get out of here. That is all, I have to say, to you." And, I walked off.
The landlord of that apartment had a cycling accident, injuring himself, enough to need to wear a neck brace, for awhile. So, I would have an even longer wait, than it already was, to get into that apartment, which, I didn't even want, to start with. I took it, when I felt, I had no other choice, but to settle for it, and make the best of a bad situation. >sigh< In the meantime, I could not continue, to stay, where I was, in the psychiatric intensive care unit, because the bed was needed, for other patients, who actually, really required, that level of care. So, they sent me over to a live-in program, on, the other side, of the same, hospital, floor, that, I had been on, that taught coping skills for dealing better with life. When they offered that to me, I took it, because, I did not want to go into a shelter, which was now my only other option, and I figured, it couldn't hurt, to learn some things, that, I may not, already know, about dealing with the stressful situations, in life, better. Once I got over there, I had alot more personal freedom, too. I was in a locked ward, when I had first arrived, and could not leave that floor, at all. The doctors had even come there, to talk with us. Everything, we did, was limited to that area of the hospital, alone. I often stood at the windows, looking out, at the beautiful summer, passing me by, outside, while, I was stuck inside-- against my will-- in that, confined area.
Now, in the residential program, I could go outside, anytime, I wanted to, as long as I stayed on the hospital grounds. They did let me take the bus downtown, long enough to pay my storage unit fee, and then return, to the live-in program, at the medical center. Each day, I had classes to take on various helpful skills, like doing biofeedback, meditation, relaxation therapy, social skills, that helped us cope with stressful situations, and more. We ate our meals in our own dining room, there. It was a more even number, of male, and female, veterans, in this program. We also were able to wear our regular clothes-- jeans and such-- which was nice. I was so glad, to, finally, have, my tweezers, back, to be able to groom my brows, without, being, supervised, by a nurse, while doing that, after they were, taken away, from me, in the psych ward, as standard procedure, due to being considered potentially harmful to myself or others. On the weekends, we were taken on outings, that the VA paid for, to places like the zoo, or an upscale pool hall. We played each other in ping pong and wii bowling, laughing and bonding with our newfound friends. Since I do like to have, more private moments, than many people seem to, I sometimes slipped away, going downstairs to the main floor of the medical center to sit in the chapel, there, and read a devotional, or pray, or simply, work on my homework, in the quiet space, it provided me. Sometimes, the chaplain would come through, on the way, to, or from, his office, and stop, to chat with me, for just a few moments.
One day, the new social worker, that was assigned to me (after, I made it clear, to the VA, that, I would NOT accept, working with, the one who had LIED to me, and had me, COMMITTED, anymore) suddenly showed up at the hospital, to find me in the dining room, at lunchtime. She told me that the landlord of the apartment was suddenly saying that he needed me to come right away and sign the lease, or else he would give the apartment to somebody else to move into. That was strange, to me, because, he had my cell phone number, and had not contacted me, to choose the swatch for my new carpeting, that he had promised me, when I had viewed it, with him, while I was staying in the homeless shelter, weeks earlier. He met me at the apartment. When I arrived, I realized that, there was no, new, carpeting. This man, was not going to be, a man of his word, from the very beginning. He was, a jerk, the whole four years, that I had to deal with him, as my landlord. Even so, I needed, a place to live, and after looking, for most of the summer, unsuccessfully, I realized that, it was going to, have to be, this one. Like it or not. Then I went to the hospital to let the program manager know that I was leaving, to move into an apartment, that day. She wanted me to stay, a bit longer, to finish the program, I was enrolled in. But, I needed to get my things out of storage before the next bill for that came due, because I was out of money to pay for that, anymore. 'Moving Veterans Forward' helped me get my things out of storage and into my apartment and the housing voucher, from the VA, completely covered the rent, until I had an income, again. Then, it still helped, some, as, a prorated amount, of each month's rent. What it was like for me living in that apartment for 4 years, was described in a previous post which I provided the link to at the beginning of this post. God met my needs the whole way through that difficult, and sometimes daunting, summer. It wasn't easy. None of it was. But, in the mix, of some, good, and bad, times, He worked everything out. All I really did was just trust Him, and hold on for the ride.
* SNAP EBT card - The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) is the largest federal program aimed at combating hunger and food insecurity among low-income Americans. Sometimes referred to as food stamps, SNAP benefits are transferred to needy families through EBT debit cards, which can be used to purchase food items in retail stores. EBT: Electronic Benefit Transfer (a system for issuing welfare payments electronically by means of a payment card that recipients use to make purchases).
** HUD-VASH - HUD-VASH is a collaborative program, between HUD and VA, that combines HUD housing vouchers with VA supportive services to help Veterans who are homeless find and sustain permanent housing.