"Where's home?"


What I'm posting here is not an exact excerpt from chapter 1, nor is it an exact excerpt of anything off of my blog. What I will do here is give you the link so you can read my only published essay thus far. Additionally, here, I'm going to give you an informal overview of my life. In the actual memoir I'm writing, the story begins 1/94 when I fell homeless while living in Melbourne, AUS. I have written approximately 4 query letters to literary agents. No bites yet, but I know I have something extremely unique and also quite shocking.

Since my first episode of homelessness in 1/94, I have had approximately 80 addresses. To this day I do not feel I have a home, however I had one address for 4 years. Many I had just for a day or a week or a month.

Never in a million years could I have imagined that within a year of my helping to run a homelessness prevention program (for my student internship) that I'd fall homeless myself and not be able to break the cycle of poverty.

I've lived thru many winters with very little heat, and thru summers in urban apts that had no air conditioning and I almost died from the heat.

I've had numerous very long periods with extremely little food. Lucky many days if I could score a donut or free coffee by showing up to an a.a. meeting even tho' I wasn't an alcoholic.

I was given up for adoption as a baby in 1963. I was adopted into a home that was verbally and emotionally abusive as well as very neglectful. I cut off all contact with my adoptive family when I was 26. Then at 30 my common law relationship ended. I feel that I've been pretty much alone in the world ever since.

My average annual earnings since I've been out of high school were 4k a year.

For the last 5 years I've lived in apts where I get broken into almost every day and robbed. For the last 2 years my car has been vandalized almost daily. After I get into the apt (like last night) I start hearing gunfire outside in the yard.

I am afraid of the police because of the way they treated me when I called to report the crimes.

I feel afraid all of the time. I'm on social security for fibromyalgia and in the last 6 months am fully ready to admit that I am too sick to work.

I have very little hope for a happy or normal life. I am 47 and I live alone.


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