This is not a "me too" diary. This is me talking about my experiences of being homeless. of having a job and not having the money to afford a basic share in NYC
For two years, I was terrified if my employer found out I was homeless, I'd lose my job.
My roommate kicked me out about two years ago or so. No reason, she just gave me two weeks to find somewhere else. I was able to afford $200/month and, I'm in NYC. Piece of cake... I went to the city and filed an app for housing, went to CIDNY (Center for the Independence of the Disabled NY) to begin a long round of bullshit and lies from them. I appealed to the Center for Jewish Poverty for help in finding an affordable share. They told me I was "too poor" for them to help.
I think you get the picture. I wasn't "helpless" enough to get help.
For the next two years, when I wasn't working, I lived in coffee shops, used my gym membership to keep myself clean ( The Actor's Fund helped me get my very cheap gym membership); I used my storage room as a closet and dressing room, and at night, when the coffee shop closed, I made my way up to the all-night Kinko's where I'd park myself in front of my laptop. It became even more fun, when they locked the bathrooms over night,and wouldn't let anyone use them. Where does a woman go at two a.m. to pee? I mean , it's not like I could just unzip my fly and let loose in a door way...
Did I sleep? Not really. I had my laptop, my cellphone - and, before you go off on that, it's how I was able to work. I had a phone, and a computer for my reports to be filed. I couldn't sleep - the fear of theft was real.
Did my co-workers know? They suspected, but never asked. Did my friends? LMAO - what friends? even my BF kicked me to the curb.
I learned how to recognize "offerings" - food left for whoever among the homeless found it first. I learned what night of the week Starbucks put their sandwiches out in the trash - they use to donate them to Feed America, and then some little shit claimed he had been sickened. Now, perfectly edible food is landfill. So, I'd stock up. I'd keep a couple for me and the rest I'd hand them out to they really homeless I'd see. I had a job. I just didn't make enough to rent. I was sadly amused when a panhandler would ask me for spare change. Oh, the irony of the situation.
I discovered, that here in NYC, if you are functional while homeless, they don't know what to do with you. So, once I realized that I was on my own, that there was no assistance from anyone, I made the decision to end things myself - NYC Housing was another EIGHT years away, and as sure as shit, I was not going to live on the street for ten fucking years.
I had friends come to visit. I'd get around the 'come over for dinner" thing by saying my roomie didn't let me have guests. When they went back to the hotel, I went back to kinkos. or a 24/7 Starbucks. or, if I had the money, I'd book a room at a fleabag hostel in the Bowery. actually, when I REALLY needed the sleep, and IF I had the money, I'd book a weekend there. Then, my birthday came around, and my ID expired. I've diaried that ongoing little adventure in Catch-22, so I don't need to address it here. EXCEPT that if just one "friend" had stepped forward, or even my "boyfriend" those REAL-ID diaries would not exist.