| NO MORE DRIED BEANS OR RAMEN, PLEASE! |
| Issue #12, November/December 1994 First of all I want to make clear that this article isn't intended to insult or belittle the efforts of all the people who feed the homeless. I am merely speaking for myself here, about my own (literal) gut reactions to all the talk about "Hunger and Homelessness" which implies that these two issues are always linked. "Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week." You want to be aware of what a homeless person goes through in a typical day? I'll tell you. . . . They keep using this word "hunger". They think homeless people are always so hungry. Well, I have the opposite problem: my stomach is in knots. Any mention of food just makes me retch. It's all very well and good to talk about providing food for the homeless; and I suppose that if you have five kids you might have trouble stretching your food stamps far enough, and if you don't have transportation to the soup kitchens, then hunger might be a real problem. But I have only myself to feed now, and I have NO APPETITE!!!!How can anyone eat--or sleep--when they're in constant fear of being rousted by the cops?! I have at least a year's supply of dried beans, ramen, oatmeal, peanut butter and all that other nauseating government issue crap they're always giving to homeless people. It sits in the cupboard of my camper, month after month after month. I'm lucky if I have any propane in the tank to cook any of it with--and also to keep from freezing to death; and while I'm cooking it, I'm always looking over my shoulder. . . . WHAT GOOD IS FOOD WHEN YOU'RE TOO TERRIFIED TO EAT?!!!!!!! Someone gives me a box of food; I eat and go to sleep, only to be rudely awakened at 12:30 by a cop banging on the camper door. He gives me a condescending lecture about the anti-camping ordinance and has absolutely no remorse about having violated the sanctuary of my sleep. I'm a lone woman shivering in my nightgown--does he feel like a big hero, swooping down on me like a vicious criminal for sleeping in my own bed?! Of course, the person who gave me the box of food is peacefully slumbering away, oblivious to what is happening to me now. Rick is no longer here to protect me from these rudenesses; he's decided to run off with "Janet" and has left me stranded in a truck that won't even start. The cop decides to leave me alone after I've thrown the spectre of the ACLU in his face and another cop has apparently talked him out of giving me a ticket. But I can't get any decent sleep for the rest of the night. I'm a complete wreck the next day, and I have to walk all the way to Bi-Mart to get another cylinder for my lantern. When I come back, totally exhausted, Rick drops by to announce that he's cut me out of our propane account--and this after I've discovered that the tank is dry (so I had to go out and buy coffee instead of making it on the stove). It's the latter part of October and it's getting COLD. . . That's a rough scenario of some of the things that happened to me in the past month, after the excruciating breakup with Rick. People who imagine the homeless need nothing but food seem to be missing something. I don't need any more dried beans or ramen, thank you. I might if I could use the packages to build a barricade to keep the cops away, or to insulate the camper from the cold) Or if we could use those cans of peanut butter as currency we'd be RICH!!!!) But I would be much happier if the people who keep handing out the food would instead go to the City Councillors and scream at them to get the anti-camping ordinance overturned, so people in my situation will have some assurance of being able to eat and sleep in peace; no more midnight sweeps! Then I might actually begin to get my appetite back. Or if they want to donate something, I need PROPANE, PROPANE AND MORE PROPANE to get through the winter--either money to fill the tank or cylinders for the lantern, or both. Car camps are no solution; they're only temporary, and being packed into that noisy sardine can for six months was a serious threat to my sanity. It's much better for my mental health to be able to park my camper on a QUIET street--IF THE COPS WOULD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!! This is the raw reality that one single homeless woman is living in right now. I'm hurting too much to be able to speak in an authoritive, editorial voice on behalf of the homeless in general, as I've tried to do in the past. I can only speak as one woman about the agony I'm going through--and, as always, invite others to do the same. This newsletter is for people to spill their guts out about being homeless, in whatever way the words have to come out. We have to let the legislators know IT HURTS!!!!!!!!!We can't always be strong and articulate in the face of the treatment we get; sometimes all we can do is cry. We are perishable human beings. We can break. (click here for next page) |