The Shelter

I had been homeless for a while before I ended up in a shelter. I always thought a shelter was for other people. I slept on couches, stayed at the office where I was working, stayed in dirty motels, even slept in my car for a while. Then I got to where I needed a shelter.

Walking into the large room with bunks almost wall to wall, people laying on top of their covers, some walking around, there was a place with a table and some bookshelves. It wasn't all that warm in there nor was it cold; I just remember wondering what had I gotten into coming here. After checking in and doing the paperwork, I was shown my bunk, on top it was. I thought I'd be OK, but I wasn't sure. I looked at my neighbors, thinking that I had made a big mistake. I wondered who had just gotten out of prison and for what. Were my clothes and things safe hanging from my bunk?

Was I safe? Walking down the hall to the cafeteria for dinner, I prayed that I would only be here a week. I hoped that I could survive a week. Dinner was good, which surprised me. Standing outside smoking in the small court yard that they had, I listened to all the conversations and mostly watched. When it came time for the lights to go off inside, I laid in my bunk, listening to all the noises-- men talking in their sleep, the guy in the next bunk over doing something under the cover that I did not want to think about. I don't know when I got to sleep, but come morning, I was out of there on my way to my telemarketing job. I felt helpless and hopeless.

It took a few days of this before I started to relax a little, getting used to the strange place to sleep, the noise at night and the lights coming on at 6:30 am. It reminded me of boot camp. Within about a week, I was making friends, talking to people and becoming comfortable there. Slowly, I began to adapt, but I still wanted out.

Just a few years before this, I was married, had a house, a car less than 5 years old and new cloths. Now, I was in a homeless shelter becoming comfortable with my surroundings.

It is so easy to allow your comfort zone to be lowered. It normally doesn't happen overnight and most of the steps are small steps. Then something happens and you're there. The shock is short-lived, and the memory of the first few uncomfortable days fades.

Transition Times

I got very comfortable at the shelter, I started going to the cafeteria to watch TV in the evenings, I would stick around in the mornings and have breakfast with the guys, I was making friends, getting to know these men that a few days ago I was afraid of.  The guys would ask me for a ride every now and then.  I  got to know the residents that worked behind the desk and then there was the staff, most of them were stand-offish and a little distant. 

 When people first came to the shelter they would have a breathalyzer and a urine test for drug or alcohol.  There was random testing during our stay, so every now and then someone would get booted out onto the street for testing positive for drugs.

 I found out that there was a transitional program somewhere else in the building and so I applied.  I knew that there was a waiting list, but the idea of having my own room really appealed to me.  I was getting tired of taking a shower in a big room and no privacy. 

 On the weekend, I would go to the Pike Place Market, just to watch the people, and in the warmer weather I would sit out in the park and just think.  Then a group of us would go out to a Chinese restaurant to eat at least once a week.  Now it seemed like some of my new found friends were becoming good friends.  Jeremiah went to Portland for the weekend and ended up coming back still high on “Meth” and didn’t get busted for it.   Ed who worked behind the desk OD’d on heroin and got booted out.  So my friends were changing also.  If someone relapsed, I tried to distance myself from them.  Even though I couldn’t do that all the time I still tried. 

 The day finally came when I was told that I got to interview for the Transitional Program and so upstairs I went, met a case manager and passed the interview.  Moving upstairs was easy; I didn’t have a lot of things.  I did bring my computer there from the office, since I couldn’t use it when I was doing my telemarketing.  Now at night I could play some computer games.  This meant I started to isolate more and not go out as much.  There was no formal kitchen there, so we would cook on a BBQ and label our food in the refrigerator. Food theft was an ongoing issue.

 I was doing my weekly chore, smiling at everyone nice and proper, even met with my case manager once a week, did the things she said that was a part of the conditions of being in the program.  Things like applying for housing anywhere and everywhere.  I was supposed to take the first housing opportunity that came along.  I wondered if the first opportunity would be the best one.

 After 4 months there I got a chance to rent a small room in the u-district that one of my co-workers was moving out of.  A place of my own!!  And at the right price!!  So I packed all my stuff up, it all fit in the back seat of my car, and off I went.  Don, my co-worker had told everyone at the rooming house that I was in recovery from crack cocaine and so the first night I was gone, someone knocked on my door with a glass pipe and offered to share.  I stood there with my eyes wide, thinking, just one won’t hurt, I can handle it now.  In the back of my mind, I still remembered the nightmare that I went through before.  What also went through my mind in that few seconds were the dreams that I had every night about all the stuff that went with smoking crack.  I reached out and shook his hand, and then I took the glass pipe, lighting my lighter. 

 My elation of being on my own again lasted just about 4 hours and then I was smoking crack again.  I started missing work again and was late on my rent the next month.  It seemed that there were steady streams of people coming into my room now, all with drugs.  All the things that made me homeless were back in my life, depression, drugs, isolation.  One day I had enough; I cut my wrists and lay down.  It turned out that I didn’t cut deep enough and I woke up a few hours later with blood all over the floor and wrists that were just barely dripping blood.  I walked up to the corner and call the crises clinic.  They told me to walk to the ER at the U-Hospital, and after an hour of talking to them I did.

Hospital Shuffle

Walking to the Emergency Room at the U.W. was a long walk, there I was with blood on my hand, drops dripping every now and then, and the pain in my wrist was starting to throb.  I had stopped a few times asking myself if the trip was worth it or if going back to my room and finishing the job was the answer.  I kept expecting a cop to pull over and drag me away, or even a concern citizen to say something.  I made the walk, and walking into the E.R. I was greeted with a security guard and they took me back to a locked room.  No one smiled at me, but they were courteous.  I didn’t feel like I was really there, like I was someplace else.  The Security Guard was there when a nurse or a regular doctor came in; they patched up my wrist and then another wait.  After what seemed like hours of waiting the psycriest came in and talked to me.  She told me that they were going to take me up to the Psyche ward and that the normal stay was 5-7 days.  A Security Guard escorted us upstairs and I got settled in a room with 2 beds.  The next morning I went to the morning meeting, meeting all the other patients and day staff.  I sat as far away from people as I could, feeling scared, not knowing what was going on.  After the meeting I was taken aside by one nurse and asked a lot of questions, given the basic rules of the ward and had my Blood Pressure taken.  I found out that I would be meeting with a nurse during every shift and had my blood pressure taken daily.  I was told what groups I would be going to, and then I met my team of Doctors.  Well, not all Doctors, there was a social worker there also.  So my mornings were taken up with meeting people and afternoons were filled with groups.  Between times I read books.  I was there 28 days, and even though I was feeling better I still thought of hurting myself all the time.  I ended up leaving Against Doctor Advice because I needed to find money for my rent.  Going home that night one of the fist things that happened was that I relapsed again.  The next day I called my son and had him pick up my computer and was thinking of hurting myself again, it took me 4 days before I went back into the Hospital, but this time I was sent to Harborview and I was there for 7 days, the biggest difference was that I was able to get on GAU, they also got me connected to a mental health provider for when I got out.  When I got out of Harborview I was homeless again and so I called another patient that I had met at the UW Hospital and he said that I could stay with him, on his couch.  The thing at his house was that he had cockroaches and they were everywhere.  I would wake up at night with the feeling that the cockroaches were all over me and I would scratch and scratch.  After a few weeks there I ended up taking every pill in the house and walked up to a local park. 
After getting sick and sleeping for a while on a bench I called the crises clinic and they called 911.  This time I was locked up in an ambulance and taken back to the U.W. Hospital.  Now I had to wait for a representative from the Mental Health agency that I was going to.  And they sent me to Providence Hospital.  I was there for 5 days and they did nothing but just hold me.  I got out and went back to the bug filled couch and after two more weeks, I was back in the hospital, this time it is on the Eastside.  When I got out of there the person I was seeing at the mental health provider got me into their 90 day transitional program. 

Back in Transition

Moving into the new transitional house was a lot different than the one at the shelter. To begin with, it was in a residential area with a view of Lake Union, and there were women there. There was our own kitchen there so that we could cook our own food. There were staff people on 24-7, but being a smaller shelter you got to know them and them you. I would sit in the kitchen and read and talk to people. It was only a few blocks away from my case manager, so I was able to make all of my appointments. Since it was such a short stay facility, I was required to look for other housing. At this point, I did not want to move back downtown because I liked the outlaying area. There was a new 2 year transitional housing program opening up at Magnusson Park, and so I applied there.  It was nice, my case worker drove me down to the main office to apply and when it came time for an interview, she was there, also. The interviewer was the new program director of the new place. I was told that one of the conditions of moving in there was to keep up with my case management and that if I did not follow through that I would have to leave.  Also there would be a monthly meeting, weekly chores and staying clean and sober was a condition of staying there.  He told me that it was still under construction and that there was an opening date in about a month and that would let me know if I was accepted.  So I prepared myself for a wait.

In the Lake Union program I was in a clean, safe place to live, not using drugs, on medications for my depression, seeing a case manager every week, so I decided to try the addiction recovery program that was offered. I went there once a week for a group and ended up stop going. There were more toxic people in there than ones that were healthy, and I could not deal with it.

I got word that I was accepted in the new housing program. I was given an expected move in date. My caseworker assisted me in getting the things that I would need to have my own apartment again; we went to the Fair Share Warehouse for things like dishes and bedding and all the things that are necessary to survive on my own.

Then the big day came: I was one of the first people at the new building and got to choose my own room.  It was a studio with my own kitchen and bathroom. There was a lock on my door, and I did not have to let anyone in if I didn't want to. The view was of Lake Washington and the park. The first day there was nice.  I got settled in and walked around the park, went down to the beach just to see it, but that night, as I sat alone in my room I could feel myself slipping into a depression. I wondered what I was going to do now, who was going to move in and whether I would make friends there or not. That empty feeling in my stomach was growing, and I started feeling all alone. There was a construction trailer outside my window because they were still working on the building, only a small part of it was done. I finally fell asleep and woke up the next morning to the sounds of construction noises, which brought my thoughts back to a happier time.  I knew those sounds and remembered the days that I pounded nails and sweated for my money. Trying to make ends meet on GAU of $339.00 a month sucked when I thought about the money I made working in construction.

The coffee was good, when I made it myself, because I liked it strong. I took my cup and wandered down to the manager's apartment expecting to see him sitting there, but no one was there, the door was open and it looked as if no one spent the night!! I called the main office downtown and talked to the program director and he told me that the new resident manager quit. He said that he would be out in a while and if I could, would I greet people and help them find a apartment and keep track of the ones that are taken.

This was the beginning of my stay at yet another transitional program.  I wondered inside if it was going to work this time.  

Moving forward

I was making friends in the new transitional program; I got to meet everyone as they came in.  There was a group of us that met in my apartment every morning for coffee and we would talk and joke.  Every day the Program Manager would call me and we would talk.  He would come out a couple of times a week for a while to see how things were going.  He did all his interviews at his main office downtown so we were left alone for the first month or so.  I thought that I was doing well.  I was on GAU, which meant that I was getting $339.00 a month; I was going to the food bank every week, I was keeping my appointments with my case manager, I was doing lots of things at the new Transitional housing program.  I felt that people were looking up to me, I was able to answer questions for the new people, I was in the loop of all the goings on there. 

Finally the rest of the building was done, people started moving in there, people I had met from the shelter were coming, and people I had met from the other transitional program were moving in.  A new Resident Manager was hired and she asked me to keep helping.  The Program Manager moved into his new office and he wanted me to keep on helping.  We got lots of things started, got the monthly house meetings going, now the case managers were coming here to talk to us.  And I was a part of it all. 

Being on GAU also meant that I had to apply for SSI and which I did.  SSI asked if I was a Vet and I said yes.  SSI told me that I would have to apply to the VA for a service connected disability.  I didn’t then.  SSI sent me to a private Doctor for examination and I got a letter saying that I qualified and that I would be getting checks in the amount of $553. Per month.  I thought I was in heaven. 

Being apart of all the happenings, helping out at the building, going to all my appointments, I knew I was on the high road to getting back on my feet.  I had friends, I had responsibilities, and I was doing great.  The one day, I got to feeling a little bad.  There was no reason for it, I just didn’t have the energy, didn’t really want to talk to people.  I ended up staying in my room alone.  People knocked on my door, I responded, but I didn’t feel the joy, the hope that I had before.  Finally I turned my keys in, I quit.  I gave up.  I locked the door to my room and I didn’t answer it.  I stopped taking care of myself, I stopped cooking good meals, and I watched lots of TV, played on my computer and ignored everything else.  I was thinking about hurting myself.  When the program manager tried to reach out I ignored him, even got nasty with my words.   Inside I just didn’t care, I thought more and more of dying, I didn’t keep myself clean like I should have, I didn’t do a lot and there was not a lot that anyone could do for me. 

One day, there was a knock on my door, I opened it and a older guy stood there smiling.  “Hi, I am Alan Castle and you are a vet, aren’t you?”   Was his only question.  I looked at him, and told him I was but was busy.  Closing the door, I just felt like I wanted to be alone. The next week, another knock, there he was again, “Hi, I am Alan Castle; you are a Veteran aren’t you?”    I closed the door again on him and went back to the TV.  Another week went by and there was that knock again.  “Hi, I am Alan Castle; you are a Vet aren’t you?”  This time I said yes.  He said this is what you need to do, go to the VA Hospital and get registered.  I smiled and he left.    Another week went by, there was that knock again, Alan asked if I went to the VA and I said no.  He said you have to go to the VA hosp and get registered.   This time, I did. Alan came back a week later and asked me if I got registered at the VA Hospital and I said yes.  Alan looked at me and said, “Here is what I can do for you……

Homeward bound!!!

Alan walked into my little apartment in the Transitional housing program, took a look around and asked me to come out into the lobby to talk.  We walked out and sat in the lobby, with its view of Lake Washington and the Cascade Mountains, and he said to me, “I can help you get glasses, section 8 housing and more.  I can do all this and more, but you still have to do something also.”  I looked at him and wondered what he wanted now, thinking that this is going to cost me.  But what he did was tell me that I had to go to the VA hospital and work on my depression.  We talked a bit longer and I went back into my room thinking that this was just another dead end. 

The days went by; I got more depressed, until finally I went to the VA hospital and told them that I was thinking of hurting myself.  Being checked into the VA was different than any experience that I had have before.  I was led upstairs to 5east and was assigned a bed in a double room. Like the other hospital stays that I had before I headed to the bookcase to see what I could find to read.  But before I could do that a nurse took me aside and talked to me, told me about the ward, and what would happen.  Then she started asking me about what was going on with me.  She listened and she didn’t give me platitudes like I had heard before, she told me that what I was feeling was real and that I was not alone.  That night they gave me a sleeping pill and I was able to sleep the whole night through.  They woke us up early and we were in a ward meeting at 0730 and I was introduced to the rest of the people there.  I was surprised to find woman patients on the ward.  After the meeting there was breakfast and then came meeting my Doctor for the first time and he listened and then the meds.  Groups happened most of the day, and the staff always had time to talk, actually to listen.  It took 6 days but I started coming out of my depression and I was referred to the Mental Health Clinic for follow up. 

I got back to my little apartment in the transitional housing program and started by cleaning my apartment up, did all my laundry and was starting to feel human again.  I went to the VA hospital 4 days a week, twice to meet with my therapist and the rest for groups.  Alan came to see me and he connected me with Lens Crafters and I got new glasses, he also included me in a new Dental study and I got my teeth worked on.  Alan would meet with me once a week and finally he said that I should apply for section 8 housing vouchers, which I did.  I had been told that there was a year’s wait list, but there was a special program for Veterans that was fast.  So 6 weeks from the day I applied, I got my voucher.  I decided that I wanted to live in the North end of the county and so I found a place in Shoreline and Alan was able to help me connect with agencies to cover my deposit and moving costs. 

The big day came; I moved all my things out of the transitional housing program, into the new place, got my phone, cable and internet hooked up.  I was still going to the VA every week and things I thought were going good.  I met my neighbors, they were nice, I did not have chores today, just my own.  I had a HOME!!!!

 In Home

Sitting in my new apartment I sat back thinking that I had made it again.  I watched TV at night; I went to the VA hospital and kept every appointment.  On the days that I didn’t have anyplace to go I would cook elaborate meals and enjoy the fruits of my labor. 

However I started to get depressed.   I would look out my window and see the people go by and say to myself that I am not good enough to be out here, or that all the people who lived in the area are all better than me.  Here I was sitting in my new apartment with the knowledge that it won’t be taken away from me and not feeling good enough. I even thought about relapsing.  So, instead, I went to the VA, I sat waiting for my therapist and when he saw me, we decided that I should go in-Patient again and take a time out.  After 5 days of being on 7E at the VA, I came home.  While I was there I learned that even though I am not homeless anymore that the reasons that I became homeless in the first place are still there.  That meant more care at the VA, talking to my therapist, getting my meds on time and taking them.  I learned that there is no cure for PTSD and the depression that goes with it or any of the other things I was told that I had.  I had been given tools to learn to deal with these issues. 

When I got home again, I had to clean up my place because I would allow things to go when I became depressed.  I got off the computer and went for a walk, learned that there was a library down the street, found out about the community center even further away.  I found the weekly food bank and started going.  One day I asked if they needed help.  They gave me a form to fill out and the next week I was helping at the food bank.  I would jump on the bus and go to Northgate, or to Pike Place Market just to walk around and see people.  Living behind the Crest theatre I started going there, watching some of the new movies that were playing. 

I was still going to the VA for therapy and I still take my meds like I am supposed to and I still got depressed.  There were times of anxiety and stress.  But I was coping, I was still alive, the desire to hurt myself, to relapse, to run away was still there but the desires were not as strong as before. I was told outright, that those desires will never go away, but that my relationship with them can change.   

Holiday Seasons

Every year I look upon these two months, November and December, with dread.  Holidays always bring to mind intimacy and family both of which I had lost when I lost my home.  My daughter stopped talking to me, but then she was a teenager at the time, my son distanced himself, but we stayed in touch a bit.  I started to look upon the holiday season as a time to get a better grade of food, whether at a mission, on the street or from dumpsters.  The people were willing to give a little more when I panhandled.  It got to the point that I wished I could just lose those two months.  But every year they come with all the noise and lights.  Even today I do not have the greatest feelings for the holidays, but I do have some things back.  This year will be the second Christmas that I will spend with my daughter, her husband and the first with my new grandson!   My son still isn’t as close as I would like, but we are taking it one day at a time. 

I have been in permanent housing for three years now and these feelings towards the holidays are still not good, I don’t put up a tree or any of the decorations, nor do I watch those seasonal shows on TV.  But what I do embrace is the restoration of my relationship with my daughter and now with her family also.  I think maybe one day I will get the “Spirit” back again.  The pain and guilt of years past of being alone, of the wrongs that I did to cause my children to distance themselves to me are still there, just not as strong as they used to be. 

I know that the process of becoming “all right” with everything takes time and that even though I am off the streets, clean and sober that it takes time to heal,  to heal the pains that I caused my children, to heal the hell that I put my ex-wife through and then more time to rebuild those relationships.  I cannot remarry my ex-wife, but I can ask her forgiveness, I cannot go back and be the father that I should have been, but I can be there today. 

So I guess what I am trying to relate today, is that when we are on the streets it takes time once we get off those streets.  The feelings that we have take time to change, the relationships that we had before we ended up on the street or homeless take time to restore.  I still have a long road with my daughter, I have to build her trust again and prove not just to her but to myself that I can be a daddy again. 

Holidays still hurt, the guilt will not go away quickly, and there are people out there to talk about what is going on inside of us.  But things get better, it takes time, it is a process and no process is a quick fix.  I am taking small steps with my daughter, I am not so angry during the holidays, I am working my process.  I am healing a little at a time. 

So can you!