Feeling Closed in
This is the 115th weekly report on those who survive on the streets. As I hand out donated food and supplies to anyone I see sleeping on the sidewalk or alleyways, my eyes dart everywhere looking for those who stay hidden and seem to be the most vulnerable.
The young girl hides behind a cardboard carton that used to have fruit in it.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“What do you think?” she responds with a sneer. Her lower lip quivers and she shakes her head.
“I had a nice place to sleep behind a trash bin but the police came. I put my jacket over my head and ran. I don’t know where they expect up to go when they chase us out of everywhere. I wasn’t bothering anybody. Then some guys showed up and wanted me to (you know) and when I wouldn’t, they kept hitting me until I had no fight left. I feel like one big bruise.”
“Do you want a lift to Healthcare for the Homeless? They will treat you with no question.” I say.
“No,” she shouts. If they start asking about my age, the police will send me back home. And I rather kill myself than go back to where my stepfather comes into my room every night. My mother doesn’t care. She says it will help me grow up. But I feel like the walls close in on me and I can’t breathe.”
I hand her a water bottle, food and other supplies through my window. She looks around first to see if anyone is watching and then quickly takes them. Carefully, she opens up the backpack and starts eating the cheese crackers.
“Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t know I was so hungry. My stomach stays in knots.”
As I hand over a striped tiger beanie baby, she looks at it from every angle. “This will be my good luck charm to keep predators away.” She strokes the little tiger and gives me a crooked smile.
I wish her luck and drive on, discovering my own stomach is tied in knots seeing a teenager try to cope with too much.
Stopping near one gas station where a lot of street people gather, a woman detaches herself from the group and tells me she is a nurse. “I’ve seen you before handing out food. That’s nice. I’m going back to school soon. I’m not staying here.”
Jane has been at this corner for months, saying the same thing. I don’t know if she has dementia or something else but she is stuck in the same story, told in the same words each time. Mental illness accounts for at least 60 percent of people on the street, some calm and some violent. There are so many different stories about how people who are confused try to cope.
Nest, I stop near a man slumped over on a city trash bin. He is sitting on a cushion but no obvious backpack or possessions. He wakes up and walks to the car when I call out that I have food.
“How are things going?” I ask as I hand him a backpack full of food and supplies. He pulls out the socks first and then the Cracker Jacks.
“How did you know that I need socks. Mine rotted off. Cracker Jacks—I have had that since I was a child.”
He carefully adjusts the straps on the back pack and tries it on. “Perfect,” he says. “Thank you and God Bless You. Usually, no one sees me. I’m surprised you stopped. I guess I feel like I have become invisible. People don’t even look away, they just don’t see me anymore.”
He continues, “I have learned the small ways to survive out here but I have forgotten how to plan big things, like getting a job. I feel trapped in seeing everyone just sit and stare. Doing nothing wears me out and I find myself sleeping during the day just because I am so tired.”
“Thanks for seeing me,” he says as he continues to eat the food.
I have discovered that there is no one solution to poverty. Trying to fix people or circumstances in one comprehensive swoop doesn’t work. Fixing is a way to gain control over the uncertainty in my life and the lives of those I see in poverty. Trying to find quick solutions can become an obsession to avoid whatever makes me uncomfortable. People don’t need fixing, like it is a mechanical issue. They need to establish relationships and to find resources.
Above all, they need someone to listen to them and notice that they are visible.
Poverty, hunger, homelessness, mental illness, addictions, abuse, violence and joblessness require a radical change in our culture. It requires a restructuring of how to share and distribute resources to include every level of society. We can no longer ignore the growing fragmentation occurring in families no longer able to afford basics such as food and rent. I have lived in developing countries like India and Ethiopia where the majority of the population is consumed by poverty. We seem to be heading down that same path.
With the massive climate change fires, especially north of Albuquerque, so many people are losing their homes and means of sustenance. I fear for those who are trying to move back into society when prices are still rising, even if their homes had not burned down.
I am amazed that people are still sending me gift cards to help the poor when there are so many demands on your money. Thank you for continuing to help in Albuquerque and in your own location. And thank you who are working on systematic change in our culture. We are all together in this and it is not easy for any of us.
Have mercy. Spread kindness, nourish Mother earth, be generous to the stranger and respect those you encounter. Embody hope. Laugh.
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