Diary of a Homeless Man Pt IV

Days five and six in the bedsit...

I am tired. I think my wfe is too. The only person that is wide awake and full of energy is the little man who is blessedly oblivious to everything. As for the cause of this fatigue I think it is due to a combination of factors of which having a baby is the smallest.

It was good to be visited by a friend today although we think she came more to see Little Man more than us; but we will claim anything that will remind us that we exist and are not forgotten. It was also nice to be sent some messages of support and have offers of help from people even though there is little that can be done to help us at present. Well unless you feel like cooking us dinner...

Since moving into this bedsit our diets have rapidly gone downhill. Cooking in such a small place in a room that serves as a bedroom, a kitchen, living room, dining room and everything in between is far from pleasant or even comfortable. Your clothes end up smelling of food and come the end of the week you end up with a scent reminiscent of your local take away. But don't get it twisted there is nothing wrong with my cooking or the way it smells, I just think that when it comes to fragrances I would rather leave that in Jean Paul Gaultier's hands.

I also think that be treated like children is beginning to weigh heavily on us adults. In fact even as a child I had more respect and responsibility. Whenever we leave we have to hand our room keys in at the reception desk. Maybe my memory serves me wrong but as a 12 year old child my parents gave me my own house key which I kept and was my responsibility. It is requirements like this that belittle and in some small way dehumanise people that are forced to stumble down this path. I don't think it would be so bad if it was not for the fact that you are painfully aware that there is a lack of privacy and that you are not afforded basic rights. In many ways we have be come less than a second class citizen.

Let me explain that last statement. If you were sitting in your house would you expect the post man to attempt to barge into your house without knocking and say, "Oi, Mate. I am here to deliver your mail, oh and I need you to sign for it.". Well something very similar happened not once but twice yesterday. The first time the man was unsuccessful as the door was locked. The second time we were not so lucky as the person had keys for the room. So there was my wife sitting there breast all out of doors feeding the baby when the door is just flung wide open and a stranger proceeds to enter into what to all intents and purposes is our home. Such things would not happen if I was living in a detatched house in suburbia or even a council flat on a ghetto estate in an inner city. And thus you have it: Britain's third societal tier.

This experience has shown me thus far that the needs of the different groups that are homeless are vastly different and as things stand unless you are young, single and "at risk" your needs are not met, considered important, or yet worse even identified. Sadly I think the latter is closest to the truth.

The challenge for me now is what can I do about it when I am in a position to divert energies into attempting to make a difference to status quo.

Diary of a Homeless Man

Day two in the bedsit. (Imagine that said by the narrator of Big Brother!)

Well I guess its pretty apparent that nobody climbed through the window last night and killed us, although with the amount of sirens that I heard last night statistically speaking at least one of them should have been for me. The noise of emergency services sirens was incessant and did keep me up tossing and turning a fair bit in between changing diapers.

It was a pretty rough night for the little one. Perhaps he was feeling displaced or maybe like his parents he knows he shouldnt be here. Still, should and shouldn't dont play a part in any of this. All that matters is what is; and what is is that I and my fledgling family are homeless.

Everytime I say those words there is a flush as crimson as blood that floods my face whilst the searing heat of embarassment rushes from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. the irony is not lost on me - a beggar with a crown? Could anything be more humiliating than having to say those words to anyone? Could anything de-masculate a man more than the failure to provide for his family their basic needs?

But self pity has no place in my life and my shame and embarassment is no longer for myself but for those that profess to be Christians. Those that would stand up and teach what it means to be a christian, those that would claim to baptise in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit yet at best be so cold, callous and insensitive? My plight is not of my own making and I will not let my circumstances allow me bury that fact under rightous self pity. The shame is on Newbold College and a number of people in positions of power within the Seventh Day Adventist Church to bear; it just so happens that my burdens arise out of their shameless actions.

The four walls that surround me will never dictate my worth no matter how small or how expansive they may be. Nor will the actions of loveless and compassionless people.

And so, for these reasons and a few others of which boredom was one, we spent the day walking around the local shopping district window shopping and talking. Ladies, if you feel like your husband is not listening to you then become homeless. then he has nothing else to do but listen to you! Still all things considered it was a pleasant day.

Now if I can just get past all the sirens, who knows - it may even be a pleasant night!