I am Sunni. I helped six Shiite people, because our God is no different. I help people. I don't like Sunni. I don't like Shiite. They have guns. I like any person who likes peace.
Because of his willingness to help Shiites, Jasim's village in Iraq turned on him.
For two weeks, nobody told me hello when I said hello. No response. I felt alone. After that, two brothers who are welders hit me on my face and head. I escaped to my sister's house in Baghdad.
But I missed my kids too much, so some nights, I went back to my house to sleep with them. The Sunni fighters know I'm in the house. They shoot machine guns, because I help Shiites. When they shoot in my house, glass goes everywhere. They spurt fire in my house. My son was injured. I hug my family. I put them in the bathroom, in the shower. A safer place.
In my life, I never made any problems. There are Sunni in my area that like Saddam. Some people are terrorists.
After the attack, Jasim, 50, arranged for his wife and children to go to Turkey. But his wife's family prohibited it and forced Jasim and his wife to divorce.
So I went to Turkey alone. I lost my kids. My wife needs them.
When I came here, I was sick. So much dizziness. I fell down in the street, in the park. I was taken to a hospital. Every night, I wake up crying. I love my children. It's very hard. I have no money, no job. I feel I lost my health. I don't know what to do.
For one and a half months, I cancelled every doctor appointment. I wrote to my interpreter and told her that I didn't see any advantage in them. My soul is injured. They don't have medicine for my soul.
I tell the doctor that I don't need an Iraqi interpreter. I don't need friends from Iraq. If I see an Iraqi here, I don't speak with them. I would like my friends to be Americans. American people don't make problems with me. Iraqis make problems.
I have two friends here. Sometimes, we speak together. Love. But when I sit alone, I remember so much that I get headaches. I take medicine that helps me sleep. I see my kids in my dreams with me.
But I wake up alone.
His children are 19, 17 and 12.
They like me too much. They don't say "Abi, Dad." No, they say "Ja-Ja," for Jasim. They need me. I hope I get a new life. If I succeed in my life, they can be with me.
I need to call my kids in Iraq. Someone here gave me a phone card, and I tried to send a message to Iraq. It didn't send. So I don't know what situation my family is in.
If I could talk to them, I would say, "You know I'm your dad. Just trust me. When I can bring you here, I will. Just be patient. Take care, because the city is dangerous."
They put bombs in cars. They will kill any person. I think about my kids too much.
Because of his willingness to help Shiites, Jasim's village in Iraq turned on him.
For two weeks, nobody told me hello when I said hello. No response. I felt alone. After that, two brothers who are welders hit me on my face and head. I escaped to my sister's house in Baghdad.
But I missed my kids too much, so some nights, I went back to my house to sleep with them. The Sunni fighters know I'm in the house. They shoot machine guns, because I help Shiites. When they shoot in my house, glass goes everywhere. They spurt fire in my house. My son was injured. I hug my family. I put them in the bathroom, in the shower. A safer place.
In my life, I never made any problems. There are Sunni in my area that like Saddam. Some people are terrorists.
After the attack, Jasim, 50, arranged for his wife and children to go to Turkey. But his wife's family prohibited it and forced Jasim and his wife to divorce.
So I went to Turkey alone. I lost my kids. My wife needs them.
When I came here, I was sick. So much dizziness. I fell down in the street, in the park. I was taken to a hospital. Every night, I wake up crying. I love my children. It's very hard. I have no money, no job. I feel I lost my health. I don't know what to do.
For one and a half months, I cancelled every doctor appointment. I wrote to my interpreter and told her that I didn't see any advantage in them. My soul is injured. They don't have medicine for my soul.
I tell the doctor that I don't need an Iraqi interpreter. I don't need friends from Iraq. If I see an Iraqi here, I don't speak with them. I would like my friends to be Americans. American people don't make problems with me. Iraqis make problems.
I have two friends here. Sometimes, we speak together. Love. But when I sit alone, I remember so much that I get headaches. I take medicine that helps me sleep. I see my kids in my dreams with me.
But I wake up alone.
His children are 19, 17 and 12.
They like me too much. They don't say "Abi, Dad." No, they say "Ja-Ja," for Jasim. They need me. I hope I get a new life. If I succeed in my life, they can be with me.
I need to call my kids in Iraq. Someone here gave me a phone card, and I tried to send a message to Iraq. It didn't send. So I don't know what situation my family is in.
If I could talk to them, I would say, "You know I'm your dad. Just trust me. When I can bring you here, I will. Just be patient. Take care, because the city is dangerous."
They put bombs in cars. They will kill any person. I think about my kids too much.
"I never was the type to judge a book by its cover — I was always the book that got judged."I was a dirty punk-rocker when I was a kid. I had a 20-inch Mohawk. I think it was 28 inches when I cut it off. Ratty hair, never washed my clothes. Always at shows in bars with older guys. Ran around with a bunch of colorblind skins back in the day. Just ignorant stuff, and I was always the outcast. So I never judged anyone. Everyone is fighting their own battles.
Dustin, 27, suffers from agoraphobia, an anxiety disorder characterized by attacks of intense fear. A person with this mental illness is often afraid to leave environments they know to be safe. One panic attack was so debilitating for Dustin that he stayed in his house for three years. He's been in and out of psychiatric facilities since then. My stepfather was mentally abusive when I was a child, but I can't sit here and say I had a bad childhood. We all have our ups and downs. My own choices have brought me here. The last several years have been rough, dealing with this mental illness. A lot of people don't understand mental illness, even my own friends. I lost everyone and everything because of this. That was the hardest part for me, seeing all these people I cared about turn their back on me — and for nothing. Just because they didn't understand. There's not a lot of compassion left out there. I found that out the hard way. Dustin's mom is his strongest source of support. I was going home one time and thought it would be cool to get her name tattooed on my lip. I'm really going to throw her off when I get her name tattooed on my throat. I'm a momma's boy. Always have been, always will be. What do you love most about your mom? Everything. She's mom. She's my best friend. I can tell her anything. I have to lie to her a lot, though — don't tell her I said that. I have to tell her I'm okay when I'm not. I'm tired of hearing her cry. She doesn't know if I'm going to make it or not. A lot of people don't. I think that's why they gave up on me. I guess they think that if they put distance between us, and I didn't make it, then it wouldn't hurt. What's one thing people don't understand about mental illness? It's disabling, but people associate disability with physical things. Like a guy with one arm. People can see why he can't do things. But if I tell someone I can't go to 7-Eleven to buy them a pack of cigarettes, they don't understand why. It's really difficult for anyone who hasn't experienced anxiety and panic attacks. I love people, and that's the thing most people don't understand about my illness. I always try to see the good in people. I'm positive. There are days I wake up and I'm absolutely miserable, but I smile and try to make everybody laugh — whatever it takes to get through a day. There's compassion in everyone, and I like to find it. What does a year down the road look like for you? A year from now, I'd like the good days to outweigh the bad. This illness has changed who I am completely. I was such a hateful person. I would fight you just for looking at me wrong. I was barely out of my teens when I stopped doing drugs. I was just hateful, pissed off at the world. Still am. I don't think I deserve this. Some days I do, some days I don't. In five years, I just want to be doing something that makes me happy. The problem is, I don't know what makes me happy anymore. There was a point, two and a half years ago, where I couldn't get off the couch. I lived in a basement — a dark, dirty basement. I was trapped. So it just changed me from the bottom up. I can't remember who I was, and I don't want to. Dustin might one day like to work in the psychiatric field, perhaps as a counselor. You wouldn't go into a tattoo parlor and get a tattoo from someone with no tattoos. "Opportunities are down here, but how can you get to those opportunities?"We were living in a shelter up in New York for two years. It was taking forever to get into any type of housing program. My best friend told me that it's easy living down here in Virginia, so we came here last year and stayed in the Rescue Mission for 33 days. I was able to get an apartment, and everything was all good and dandy for the time being. But I didn't have income coming in.
The gas got cut off, and I ended up getting sick with the stomach flu. Then they cut the lights off. Now we're back here. I got God on my side, so I have faith at the end of the day. I feel close to Him every day. I wake up and see my daughter. I have somewhere me and her can lay our heads down. We're fed, clothed and able to take a shower. Not many people can do that right now. Karen, 40, has three other children who live in New York. I don't worry because they're grown, but I think about them all the time. We're not used to being far away from each other. It's been a big transition. They'll always be my babies, and I'll always be their mother. I'm dealing with a situation with my 18-year-old where she can do better for herself, but she's choosing not to. You can say words to encourage them and you can tell them what's right, but it's up to them to take it and run with it. In five years, I still see myself getting nowhere. Opportunities are down here, but how can you get to those opportunities? She has so many talents, and I want other people to see what she can do, to get to know who she is. I want to be on the side, supporting her. "They told me I couldn't have kids. I've proved them wrong several times."My downer was when I lost my job. It seemed like after that, everything just went downhill.
My blood pressure started to be a big problem, so I couldn't work. I had to stay on light bed rest. After I had her, I ended up with another one. I'm glad she's here, but I wasn't prepared for it. My 5-year-old understands everything. He helps me out a whole lot, but I can't wait for him to be able to be a kid again. He's taking on the role of a mini-adult. Finding housing is my main goal. The kids miss their room. A happy life for me is a job, a car and my kids being happy. I want to broaden my horizons. I want the kids to see something different. As long as they're happy, I'm happy. "I want to go to college. There's a lot of stuff I want to study."I love to read books, novels — anything I can find, including the Dictionary. I love to play video games. It's something to keep me thinking. I like games that are adventurous, puzzle games, word searches, Scrabble — stuff like that.
I love to do pottery. A friend took me a long time ago, when I was 15. I made a Pokemon figure — Charizard. When you get a piece like you want it, you feel happy inside. You're motivating yourself. It gives you an opening to try new things. When we first came here, my mom was freaking out. My brother was mad. I was happy, though — which is weird. Most of the time, I'm moody. But I felt at home here. I'm helping people that don't have homes, don't have clothes, don't have nothing. I used to work at the thrift store, and people would buy stuff just to help out. In our society here, it's like a whole community. I'm happy to be part of that community. I'm able to do something with my life that I wasn't able to do when we were at our old house. We had no contact with the outside world. None. We didn't even have a TV. The house was so old. It was cold — we had barely any heat. We were surrounded by rodents. They were very nice, but my mom freaked out. She freaked out the most. I would like to actually get a house, a car, a place where we feel welcomed. After that, I want to go to college. There's a lot of stuff I want to study. One is veterinary and the other is astronomy. When they showed us the whole entire start chart, I became fascinated. It's amazing. I want to know about black holes, planets blowing up and how that shows patterns. It's like a whole new world out there. "We've definitely decided we have found our soul mate."We've been together for 10 years. Married for three. We've got eight kids. Six together. We haven't had a great life, but we've always been able to provide for our kids. We've always been able to have a home and have our kids together.
He always worked, and I always stayed home with the kids. He would come home, and I'd be ready with the kids. We would go out and do stuff together every day. The park, whatever. On weekends, we'd go camping. Sometimes we'd go to the museum. Zoos, everywhere. Then about a year ago, I had a stroke. Following the stroke, I lost my job. I'd been there for about two years. The day he had the stroke, I thought I was losing him. We turned to my family, because she doesn't have any. But his family quit helping us, and we lost everything. We lost our home, we lost our car. We placed our kids with my dad, so they wouldn't get taken from us. Then we took some money we had, went to Walmart and bought a tent and some camping gear. We camped out all summer — all while I was pregnant with her. Three or four times a week, we would have my mom pick us up to go see the kids — and get a shower. That was a big thing. Being pregnant on the riverbank was really hard. Very uncomfortable. Moving around, getting in and out of the tent, being bored. Worrying because I was high-risk, worrying about something happening and not having transportation from the river to the hospital. I'm highly allergic to bees, so if I'd gotten stung, the ambulance wouldn't have made it to me in time. I probably would have died. A couple of nights, it dropped down to about 30 degrees. That's when we had to call it quits. We couldn't do it. We went to a hotel and got help from family and churches. They'd pay for the hotel. On November 4th, I went to the hospital, and they kept me in there. Then on November 5th, they were doing ultrasounds of the baby and said she had fluid around her heart. They wanted to go ahead and take her. They did the C-Section, and she stayed in the NICU for 12 days. We stayed at the Ronald McDonald House, which kept us off the river. It was like a five-star hotel to us, after what we'd been through all summer. Once the last day for the NICU came, we had to stay at the hospital to show them we could take care of her — since she's a premie. We made the decision right then and there that we couldn't go on the street. That's when we came here. Jessica and Alvin named their daughter Serenity. I used to have a very big problem with pain medication. I got clean and sober, and the Serenity Prayer is something that I say often. Having her and knowing that she's healthy ... she's my lifesaver. She's added peace to our family. It's like my heart is at a different level — even though she's pulling my hair right now. For all the tangible things Jessica and Alvin have lost, losing their pride has been one of the hardest to cope with. Knowing you have to be in a homeless shelter ... it takes your pride away. We couldn't do this with all of our kids. It would be impossible. Realizing they can't provide for their children is even harder. Every time we talk to our oldest daughter, she asks if we've found a place to live yet. They want to come home. That breaks my heart. It breaks my heart to tell her, "No, baby, but we're still trying." It's been two years now that we've had bad luck. I went from being stable my entire life to this. It's hard when your kids ask you for something, and you can't get it for them. They don't understand why. What savings we have is with the kids right now. If they want something, they know they have to wait until tax time. I'd say the hardest part for us is having to put our kids with someone else, because we couldn't provide what they needed. We couldn't provide them with a home. We couldn't provide them with clothes. We couldn't provide them with shoes. We couldn't provide them with toys. We couldn't provide them with stability. Despite feeling knocked down time after time, Jessica and Alvin have remained strong in their love for each other. He's my life. We have a really strong bond together. We finish each other's sentences. It's like we were made for each other. She means the world to me. If we were separated, I wouldn't waste my time looking for anybody else, because I've put so much into our relationship. These past couple of years, we've spent a lot of time together. We've definitely decided we have found our soul mate. Their bond has survived Alvin's alcoholism, Jessica's addiction to painkillers and a period of time when Jessica was back together with the father of her oldest daughters. I was really horrible when I drank. I put my hands on her a couple of times, and I really feel bad about it. I drank a fifth of liquor a day like it was nothing. That took me away from spending time with my kids. It got to a point where I'd walk in the door after work, and my oldest daughter would say, "Daddy, do you need me to go to the fridge and get you a beer?" I've been sober two years, though. I'd lay there at night, when I was with my oldest kids' father, and think about why I did what I did. It broke his heart. It killed him. I think that if I hadn't come back, he would've killed himself. Their dreams for the future and for their children keep them going. I'd like to see us in a nice country home, with the kids running around in a big yard. I'd like to see myself with my CNA. Have a job at a doctor's office or a hospital. That's my plan. I want to be able to go back to school and provide for my children. We want our kids to have better lives that what we had. College. Success. Stability. (See more photos on my blog.) "We're not here because of anything I did wrong. We're just a product of circumstances."I was working on my career. Then I got sick, and they couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.
I had to let my house go, my car go and my husband and kids for a while. They finally figured out what was going on — basically, my heart speeds up randomly. My brain and my heart don't communicate well, so it causes me to pass out. My company terminated me back in May of this year. Finally. But they have been taking care of me for two years, without me physically working there. I was living pillar to post. I didn't have the twins back. I just got them in July. I got the girls back June of last year. They were with my aunt. She was trying to take them from me. She didn't see me as fit, but only because of my health. She just happened to be late for court that day, and they ruled that I could have the kids back. I was ecstatic. It was a good day. The year or so that I didn't have them, I didn't have the motivation to do anything. I would lay around all day long. From sun up to sun down, I wouldn't clean or do anything. I would just sleep and go to the bathroom. I wouldn't eat. I was very depressed. When I got the girls back, I got a glimmer of hope. I don't know where I'd be without them. They keep moving. They keep me striving for more. At this point, I'm kind of at a dead end. They keep asking me when we're going to get a house. Disability takes forever. The little bit on income I have can't help me. After many failed housing situations, including stays with family and friends, Vanessa, 27, finally moved into the Rescue Mission with her four young children. They're excited. They think this is a really great thing. They're like, "Oh, the shelter!" They tell everybody. I guess that's partly my fault. I told them when we leave the shelter, we're going to move into our own place. I promised them that. I don't want to break a promise. The hardest part is when they ask me about our place. I've done everything I can do. When I first got here, I didn't know anything about public housing. I never had to. I was making over $70,000 a year before I got sick. This is a whole new realm for me. I'm stuck. I've used every resource, and I just don't know what else I can do. Vanessa hopes her family's time at the Rescue Mission will serve as a learning experience. For her, it already has. I've been through a lot in 27 years, but I think it's humbled me a lot more. I find myself trying to help more people, even though I don't really have much to give. Just advice or knowledge. It's made me more thoughtful of other people. I hope the kids realize that life can change in a blink of an eye. It's that simple. It's that quick. We're not here because of anything I did wrong. We're just a product of circumstances. They say they like it, but depending on how long we're here, that opinion will change. I hope they don't blame me for anything. I hope they're grateful, whether we get a shack or a two-bedroom apartment. I know I'll be kissing the ground. Despite overwhelming struggles, Vanessa strives for a brighter — and much louder — future. Hopefully, by the time I'm 30, I'll have a few more running around and making me happy. I'm so silly, and they make me so young. I didn't have much of a childhood, so I play it out with them. It's so much fun to just watch SpongeBob on Sundays. Just chilling in bed, all snuggled up. I get excited about a lot of things they want to do. I wouldn't trade them for the world. We used to jump on the bed and dance and sing. Every night. Now, we don't do it quite like that, but at night I'll get them in bed, creep up — I'm the Mommy Monster — and tickle everybody. They'll have me do that for hours. That's my favorite thing to do now. I just want a lot of kids, even if I adopt them. There's not a lot of people in my generation who care about the well-being of children. They have them, and then they think it's a burden. It worries me about their future. They're going to be the leaders of tomorrow. I want to put good seeds out there. "I feel like a human being now. I don't feel like a piece of trash."
I got pregnant when I was 19. Had my first son. Right after I had him, I decided to go to CNA school. Two years into working, I went to nursing school. I got my nursing degree, and I've been a nurse for 14 years. But I had an injury at the jail that I was working at.
A big guy who didn't have any legs fell out of his wheelchair. There were four of us that had to pick the guy up. I hurt my back lifting him up into his chair. I went to the doctor, but they couldn't do a whole lot for it, so I got addicted to the medication they were giving me. It was Oxycontin. I struggled with the addiction for a good five years, off and on. I would tell myself that I can beat this, I can beat this — but it's like I never could. My husband was really supportive at that point in time. Dana finally checked herself into a treatment facility in North Carolina, but as soon as she returned home from the 28-day program, she started using drugs again. They say it's a disease — I don't know if it's a disease, though, or just your mind-set. Because now my mind is set to "no more." In February, my husband said that we needed to separate, so I tried to kill myself. I took an overdose and was in ICU for six days. My kidneys weren't working anymore. In June, I tried cutting myself. Almost bled to death. The last thing I did before I cut and before I overdosed was pray — which I guess is the reason I'm here, I think. I would pray, "If there's nothing left for me on this earth, God, just please take me home. Forgive me for doing this." I got in trouble last July. I had stolen medication from the facility where I worked, because I was so addicted and had run out of pills. I was praying and praying, "Please, God, let me come off this medication." I think that's the reason I got caught. I wanted to stop. That's what brought the house down. We lost our Hummer, we lost our truck, we lost our car, we lost our house. And finally, the last two things I lost were my husband and my son. I have a 7-year-old son I can't even see right now. Dana has been clean since June. People have even offered me stuff here, and I've turned it down. I feel like a human being now. I don't feel like a piece of trash. The biggest thing was forgiving myself. It didn't come from chapel and it didn't come from my family. There's a lady here named Lydia. She's a Christian lady. She told me, "There's nothing for you to forgive. God is the master of all, and He's already forgiven you. All it took was you asking for forgiveness. Why do you think you're better than God that you can't forgive yourself?" That was like a slap in the face. Though stripped of her nursing license for now, Dana names the degree as her biggest accomplishment. None of my family went to college. My mom worked in a factory. My dad's a truck driver. My brother drives a truck for Pepsi. College was my biggest accomplishment. That, and being able to say that I raised my kids. My older one, anyway. Once her license is restored, she hopes her triumph over addiction will help her understand her patients' struggles on a deeper level. I will definitely have more patience. Before, I was in denial. My medication was prescribed. I thought there was a difference. There is no difference. If you're addicted to meds, you're addicted to meds. The people who came in that were on drugs, the drug abusers, the heroin addicts — I had no sympathy for them. I'm not that person anymore. I think that I was meant to go through this whole process, because I will be a totally different nurse. "I knew Shirlene to be a very good friend, but I never knew the depths of her kind heart."I have a very rare form of ovarian cancer. Stage four. The last stage. I've been given five months to two years to live with this cancer. My surgeon, a Harvard educator, has never seen anyone make it past two years. So it's a grim picture. I was diagnosed in April this year. No idea. No clue. No warning. No bells whistling. No angels coming to tell me. Just cancer, which is, to most people, a death sentence.
Joy, 47, relies on the constant support of her friend Shirlene. I slowly began a process of recovery. I couldn't walk. I could hardly talk. My body was in total shock from the operation. It was like an out-of-body experience. I had never gone through any kind of major surgery. I had Shirlene, who had been there for the talk, who now became a caregiver by default. She's a friend, a business partner, a mentor, a sister in the Lord. Now she was forced in to being the caregiver and power of attorney over my medical records. Everything was happening so fast. I was in shock at the way I looked. I was skeletal. At one point, I didn't know where I was. I've never gone through anything like that in my entire life, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. It was horrific. But by the grace of God and by bringing angels like Shirlene into my life to encourage me, sleep in a cot next to my bed, watch out for my best interests and be the caregiver that she is, I made it. Every time I think of how far I've come, I can only attribute it to her. She believed in me when no one else believed in me. When I was 87 pounds and everybody else thought I was going to die — including my doctor — she never lost faith in my ability to live. I always say that love kept me here. Love saved me, and love kept me here. It's a story of friendship and of trust. She became a sister. She knew me much more intimately as a sister because she's the one who fed me. She's the one who bathed me. I was completely useless. If I didn't have her, I wouldn't be alive. To read the full story (I encourage you to), including words from Shirlene and Joy's advice on living fully, please visit my blog . "The hardest part with the kids is probably the strain on them."Before this, it was just an every day thing — go to work, wait for the kids to get off the bus. A normal life. Then she went to visit family, and the car broke down. That's what led to being here. No car, no job. I can't get back and forth to work. She was stuck in North Carolina, and I couldn't really get stuff going by myself, with three kids.
The hardest part with the kids is probably the strain on them. They really don't know what's going on. All they know is that they have to follow a new set of rules. What gives you hope for the future? There's a lot of hope here. And just seeing our kids every day. "I drove across the country one time and saw the earth change shape. I cried. It was so beautiful and I felt close to God."My parents were both raised by really dysfunctional people. My grandfather was an alcoholic who tried to kill my mother and her mother. He ended up going to jail and hanging himself.
On my father's side, they were really strict and abusive. That sort of contributed to Mom and Dad abusing us. They did a lot of things right, but they had a rocky marriage and sometimes we had to be in the middle of that. As a kid, when we were growing up and having a tough time, my mom made sure we got outside. We were really connected to nature. That was just like a refuge. Something I'm very passionate about is the earth. I've always been very interested in wildlife and wish, if I'd had the skills and ability in science and math, that I could have worked as a wildlife biologist. I feel strongly about preserving wildlife, because it's so precious. I drove across the country one time and saw the earth change shape. I cried. It was so beautiful and I felt close to God. The thing that felt so powerful was that I was on a planet with a God and that we'd been created. Where would you like to see yourself a year from now? I would really love to see myself in an apartment, with enough money to live comfortably and not have to worry about making ends meet. I'd like to have a pet. A dog or a cat. I'd like to be a volunteer with animal rights kinds of things. I'd like to write. In my past, I've done a lot of creative writing. Since I've been here, I haven't been writing that much. I like to write about nature. Sometimes I'll write personal essays, and I like to write poetry. I write in little letters, like E.E. Cummings. I felt it was like a gift that was given to me. Sometimes these things just flow through me, and I'm not necessarily creating them as much as I'm being a vessel for the words and the stories to take shape. Do you have a favorite piece of writing? I wrote this story one time that I was really proud of. It was about three kids whose parents had died. They got separated and had to go into different institutions. They finally came together at the end of the story. They triumphed. Some of the characters, even before I was homeless myself, were homeless in the story. Sometimes when you have dysfunctional parents and they have problems of their own, it feels like you don't really have parents. Maybe that's why these kids were orphaned in the story. It was called "The Amazing Life of Bees." One person in the story was a beekeeper. This young man, when he felt like he had lost everything, wanted to feel again, so he stuck his hand in a hive. That was him trying to get his feelings back. I don't remember all the story, but I do know that in the end, the brothers were able to come together again. They survived, and in some ways, they thrived. They were like heroes in their story. Their bonds were really, really strong. I love the characters. I love them so much. I love them almost like they were real people. You get so involved, so attached. "It has a lot to do with pain and trying to fit in with everybody else."I've been on drugs and alcohol all my life. From the time I was about 12 until I was 48. I'm 50 now. I've been clean for 27 months.
Cassi's sponsor gave her this cross necklace for her one-year anniversary of sobriety. Though the silver is tarnished, her spirit is brighter than ever. Through my life, I've had some ups and downs. Tried to get straight numerous times, but it never worked — until I got to a point where I was scared I was going to die. I got really sick and tired of, like they say, being sick and tired all the time. Finally, I brought Jesus Christ into my life. I've always believed, but I finally brought him into my heart. Since I've done that, my life has been so much better. What led to your addiction to drugs and alcohol at a young age? Growing up, I was in a dysfunctional family. Seeing my mom and dad fight all the time. As I got to be a teenager, I think I numbed all that. And you want to be cool, too. I think it has a lot to do with pain and trying to fit in with everybody else that was doing it. Those two combined led to addiction. What was your breaking point? When I knew — when I was on the opiates and the heroin — that I was living to get high. For a couple of years, it got to the point where I found means and ways to get high every single day, instead of worrying about anything else. I would have to rob, steal — and it's not me, but that's what drugs will do to you, physically, emotionally. That was the breaking point. I said, "If I don't get some help, I'm going to die." What kind of person are you? Caring, very caring. I try to be honest. I just try to help people and give them the hope and strength that I was given. What gives you joy? Just knowing that I'm free from all of the pain and the anguish. Me going back out there and getting high every day is to die. That's not an option for me. What would you say to someone on the path to addiction? When you get ready, when you get tired of doing what you're doing, there's a place to help you. There are places all over this country that can help you. Let go, and let God. God is your strength. "She wants to be a princess, so I'm going to do my best to try to make her one."What makes a dad different from a father?
Love. That's all you need. You can be a father and not love your kids — there are plenty of them out there. Derek's father left him when he was a child. His mom then met the man that Derek, 35, calls "Dad." High school was fun. Maybe not very conducive to learning, but fun. Got into drugs, got a little promiscuous. Messed it up a little bit. I ended up going to juvenile for having sex with a girl who was too young. I was 17 and she was 13. I have to pay for that for the rest of my life now. I'm still on their freaking website. It took 10 years out of my life. It's very hard to come back from that. I had a kid seven years ago. That changed my life. I finally thought I was going to get things right, but I went back to prison a couple of times. Got off probation. Things have been flying since then. I met my high school sweetheart from Virginia Beach here in Roanoke, 18 years later. We're dating now. It's awesome. It's like no time at all has passed. We clicked. Just got me a job. I register at community college next month. What do you want to study? Mechatronics. It involves your hands and a machine. That's what I like. It's an up-and-coming job. They have more jobs than they have people to fill them. It took me since high school to finally get into college and start doing something with myself. I'm ready for it. What gives you hope for the future? My daughter is top of the list. I see her every week, without fail. We love to make Play-Doh sculptures and wildlife scenes like the Arctic, the Amazon, farm yards and forests. We get very intricate. We just carved a pumpkin. I put some of the guts on her bare skin, and she almost cried. She's such little princess. In order for her to stop crying, I had to put some of the guts in my mouth. This new job has given me a lot of hope. Finally doing the school thing has given me a lot of hope. The girlfriend from high school is a good motivation for me. She keeps me on track. Every time she sees me taking a left turn, she'll pull me back. Finally, after 35 years, I've got my life going in the direction it needs to be going. If you could go back, what would you tell your teenage self? Stay away from drugs, and don't be so damn promiscuous. Sure, it feels great, but other things do too, like not going to prison and being there for your daughter's birth. I wasn't even there for her birth. That hurt. I'm trying so hard to make up for lost time. "I've always thought it was interesting how people around the world do the same things, but in different ways."I grew up in an old-fashioned family. Strangely old-fashioned. I came from a single-income family where my dad worked and my mom stayed at home. I was taught a lot of blue-collar values, like working hard, taking responsibility for yourself. I was taught that it's okay to ask for help, but you shouldn't rely on others.
I've always tried to be very independent, and I've always disliked asking for help. But right now, I'm getting food stamps because I don't have a job. It's very embarrassing — I hate it. Larry, 42, is also facing homelessness. Sometimes I try to hide it, like if I'm walking around town. Everybody knows who the homeless are, because we've all got the big bags by our sides and old clothes. I hear people talking all the time, and they think we're all drug addicts, alcoholics and that we don't want to work, that we have bad genes or something. What would like to say to these people? I have a college degree, and I've had jobs before. I've made bad decisions, but I've also had a lot of bad luck. I'm not just this character, this stereotype. This doesn't define me. What are your passions? I like meeting people from different cultures. I've always thought it was interesting how people around the world do the same things, but in different ways. Like marriage ceremonies and how people raise their children. They try to teach them the same values, but they all have different methods. Literature. I've become interested in Russia, and this is an old Russian novel. Russia has really great history. In the 19th century, they were modernizing very quickly and having a lot of political uprisings. I would like to go to Russia at some point. I met a lot of Russian students at college, and they were really great people. In their culture, most people are from the same ethnicity, the same culture. So they're more united than Americans, who are more diverse. Whereas we're focused on individualism, their society is focused on the motherland and preserving their culture. They remind me of people from West Virginia. People there are very proud of their heritage. They don't want to give up the past. "My youngest daughter was murdered October 25th, 1991."When that happened, I sort of went berserk. I went out to the mall and saw this man and woman with two blond-headed children. Both of my girls were blonde. I started freaking out, started crying. Then I got lost. I couldn't find my way out of the mall for nine hours.
I've had anxiety and panic attacks ever since then. I wanted to find out who did it, because I was going to kill them. But since that time, I got saved. I wouldn't do it now. I know she's in heaven and God's taking care of her. "It was the year I decided to stop the aging process with a 12-gauge shotgun."
January 16, 1992. Like most days, Rick, then 23, was given a ride to work by his girlfriend. That night, he went to a bar to play pool.
We were in the middle of the game when she shows up early to pick me up. She said one of two things: She either said, "Rick, is that pool table more comfortable than our bed at home? Because that's where you're going to sleep tonight." It was either that or, "Rick, you're walking home if you don't get in the car." It doesn't matter — whatever she said got me in the passenger seat of that 1992 Camaro Rally Sport 25th Anniversary Edition. We were arguing all the way home. When we got to our trailer, she went into the kitchen to do the dishes, and I went into our bedroom and closed the door. I walked over to my dresser, picked up my Remington 1100, 3-inch magnum, 12-gauge shotgun. Every time we got in a heated argument, I always threatened, "I'll just blow my brains out." To see if she cared and how much she cared. I pointed the barrel to the floor and squeezed the trigger to test myself, to see if I was really serious this time. As soon as I put a round through the floor, I sat on the foot of the bed and looked at what I'd just done. Then I heard it audibly: "Well, Rick, you got to go through with it now. Look how far you came." So I put the barrel in my mouth, but I couldn't reach the trigger. So I put it to my head, closed my eyes real tight because I knew it was going to hurt real bad. But I also knew I'd be dead, because I've seen what this gun does to a deer's head at point-blank. She heard the first shot, came running down the hall, burst through the bedroom door and saw my head explode. It was after 12 midnight. We had no phone, because I couldn't justify spending $100 a month. I needed that money for crack cocaine. So she ran to the next-door neighbors, half-dressed. First person on the scene was a state trooper. She told me he came in our home with his gun drawn. She said, "Rick, he took one look in the bedroom at you and the mess you made, shook his head and pulled the door shut behind him." He told her, "There's nothing more we can do for him now.'' Then the rescue squad got there. They took me to Lynchburg General Hospital. I was in neurological intensive care for three months and in a coma for 18 days. When I woke up from the coma, my dad was there. He's not my biological father, so that's why I call him dad. I was in excruciating pain. Have you ever had a migraine? Times that by 100. I was trying to run from the pain, and wore out my heel on the bed sheet. All I know is I had this huge, concave dent in my head. They wouldn't let me see a mirror. I kind of thought I had fallen off an outside wall, but I couldn't remember falling. It wasn't until they transferred me to Woodrow Wilson Rehab Center that I saw my reflection in the mirror for the first time. I asked that doctor what happened to me and when he said, "You shot yourself," I thought he was either joking with me or he had my chart mixed up with someone else's. I knew I couldn't have lived through that. The doctor who did the initial surgery told my mother that he did his best work to make me look good for the morgue. I was in a wheelchair for half a year. They had to transfuse 28 units of blood back in me. Do you regret doing it? No, because it's made me who I am today. I didn't ask for this story. God looked down on this earth, saw me and said, "I'm going to give him something he can't repay." If I just lead one soul to the Kingdom of Heaven, then it'll all be worth it for me. When my feet hit the floor in the morning, I wonder what I can do for God. When my head hits the pillow at night, I think of more things I should have done. What's your greatest accomplishment so far? Being Rick. "I've never been scared. There's no reason for fear."
I used to race cars and drag race. That cost me a lot of money, but it was worth it. I would jump in a dragster now.
It's something you just have inside you. It's in your blood and you never lose it. It's the greatest thing in the world — if you do it right. If you're crazy, you're going to fall. I can do things and not be scared. I've skydived. I used to have a gang, more or less, and we'd all skydive together. I'll make things happen. I've always had that attitude. I have no fear for things I want to do. I'd like to go to Alaska pretty soon. What's the story behind your hat? I bought this hat when I was 20 years old and it's never left me. It's made from beaver. There's been a lot of people try to get it. "My big dream was to find some rich millionaire and be a personal chef."But Tony, 51, set aside his culinary license and his dream to be with his now 18-year-old son.
The first thing I did for him on his birthday was get him a job. That was the best thing I could do for him. My baby boy is my everything. When Tony and his second wife divorced, his dedication to his son intensified. I didn't want to get in any relationships, so I started putting all my love into him. I try to teach him to do something nice every day — and not expect anything in return. "I hope he has the the same passion about his kids that I have for him."The best thing about being a dad to him is the unconditional love he shows. I'm separated from my wife, so he always asks when I'm coming home or when I can come for a visit. There's something in him that doesn't care about what I've done or where I am. He's my son and I'm his dad. I take great pride in that. I miss him a lot.
What's your favorite memory of your son? He has a little quilt that one of my family members made for him, and it has different colored dogs on each square. It's his "puppy blanket." I would get down on my knees and hold up the puppy blanket. He'd run and leap into it, and I'd wrap him up and give him a bear hug. What's your biggest dream for him? Aside from not being like me, to succeed in whatever he does. To be the best at what he does. I think all parents want that for their kids. "I love to work. I would like to start two full-time jobs again."Tom, 51, hasn't stopped working since he was 13. That is, until an accident caused arthritis to flare up in his back and spine. It also resulted in a cracked skull that bound him to ICU for nine months.
Like my grandpa always said, never say never. I ain't no quitter. The word "quit" isn't even in my vocabulary. When was the happiest time in your life? When my two boys were born. I was the happiest man in the world. I haven't seen them in 12 years, though. What are some of your favorite memories with them? I really can't help you on that. After the accident, the doctor said that as I get older, I'll be losing some of my memory. That's starting to happen now. "He told me that if I came here, I would get better opportunities. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made."Nedrey, 62, lived in Jamaica and worked on a cruise ship to support his family. He moved to the United States when he was 45.
I used to get good benefits, sleep, eat, drink. My friend tricked me. He said I would do better here, but I don't see it. I've been hurt. I wish I was on the ship right now. Nedrey's mother and three grown children still live in Jamaica. One of my daughters is a nurse in Jamaica. One is a teacher. The boy is an engineer. They want me to come home. I wish I could see them every year, but I don't have money to go back and forth. I really hurt. |
"For the first time, I'm fixing me."I started my life at 16. I'd never really had a good life before that, because my step-father molested me. My mom and I never got along. She only came around for Christmas and birthdays. My grandmother raised me.
When I was 17, I had my son. I got to keep him for three months, and then I had to give him up. I was sleeping on the streets with him. I couldn't go home. I had my daughter two years later. When she was two, I got in trouble and went to jail. My mom took my daughter away from me. I never saw her again, even though we both lived in Roanoke. Losing my kid and going to jail messed with my head. I started doing drugs really bad. But I finally straightened out my life and had two more girls. Raised them, got them through graduations. I swore up and down I'd have them graduate, even if it meant going to school with them. I quit school in 9th grade. I got married six years ago and my husband passed away last February 17th. When he died, I shut down emotionally and physically. It's been a hard year. My body is just worn out. When my husband died, one thing led to another. I didn't have a place to live, because I couldn't afford where we were living. I don't get his pension. I don't get his benefits from the service. I woke up one day and decided I had to come here. For the first time, I'm fixing me. When I first came here, I was really depressed. I still fight with it, but my medication will help. I'm hoping to have more energy to do things I want to do. I wish I'd never done a lot of the things I've done. I wish I could go back and not do drugs, not try to commit suicide. I wish I could do it all different. I should've left my kids' dad when they were babies. I stuck it out because I didn't have a father, and I thought it was best for them to have one. But he wasn't good for them. He held a shotgun to my daughter's head one night because he thought his marijuana got stolen. They love him to death, though. They worship the ground he walks on. I'm kind of jealous, because they feel something so strong for him. I don't feel that they care about me. A month from now, I want to be in my own place. Five years? I'd like to meet someone. I just want companionship. I don't want to be alone. "I'm starting to think that I'm worth a good life."When I divorced my second wife, I had a nervous breakdown and tried to commit suicide. My twin brother came to see me in the ICU — he was the only person who came to see me.
He had just started making methamphetamine. When I got out of the hospital, I started doing drugs heavily. Then I started making meth. After a long, back-and-forth recovery process, Derrick, 35, is six months sober. I had never realized how bad of an addict I was before. It wasn't that I didn't want to quit doing dope, it was that I didn't know how. I didn't know I could. Recovery is against all odds. Some people don't want to see you do good. It makes them uncomfortable and insecure when you're doing what you can. Derrick has two sons, though he hasn't seen his oldest in two years or his 9-year-old since he was 4. My children are the most painful consequence of my lifestyle. I want to be there for my kids, however much I can be. If they don't ever trust me, I'll have to own that. Derrick is on Step 2 of his 12-Step Plan. You know what the main thing is in life? For me? For this old addict? As long as I go to sleep tonight clean and sober, tomorrow is going to be all right. The rest is trivial. "My boys taught her how to walk, because I wasn't there."I had her my last nine months in prison, so my main thing was to get home to her. I got to spend four days and three nights with her, and I was up the whole time. Nonstop. No sleep, no rest. I was like, "I can sleep when I go back."
Tasha, 27, has six kids who range from 1 to 7 years old. It's all about my kids. When I couldn't see them for 14 months, it killed me. I don't want to ever experience that again. I always made sure my kids were together. As long as they had each other, they were straight. My kids are close. If you see one, you see them all. They're so close that my boys taught her how to walk, because I wasn't there. The best part about being a mom is having my kids with me wherever I go. I don't want them to go through what I went through. Period. I grew up in foster care, so having my kids with me is huge. Me and my kids always pile up in one bed, one room. We don't bother nobody. I do nails with the girls. Football and basketball with the boys. We do a lot of drawing and reading. I'm a kid person. Sometimes I want to pull my hair out. Sometimes I picture myself on a beach with no kids, but I know I'm a mother and I have to do my job. It wouldn't be right if I didn't. The happiest time in my life was having each of my kids. Every moment was different. Every emotion was different Every personality is different, and every face gave me a different perspective on life. It was never like, "Oh, it's just another baby." No, it was, "This is the person I have to raise. I have to take care of this person to make him better." They can't be like me. My 5-year-old is in Kindergarten. He put "I want a home" on his Christmas list. It was hard to actually see that. I just put it back in his book-bag. All my kids said the same thing. They weren't really hyped for Christmas. I know I can provide it, but time will tell. The biggest thing I'm stressing about is finding stable housing. Sometimes you just have to pray about it. Sometimes you just can't rush into things. That's what I did three months ago — I rushed into it because somebody was giving me six months' worth of rent. I jumped into have a slum landlord. I don't want to do that again. I'm going to take my time with it. I have three goals, and three goals only: Find a job, finish school and find us permanent housing. Sometimes the days are hard, sometimes they're easier. I always keep a smile on. I can't show everyone my struggle. Just because I'm struggling doesn't mean I have to look like I'm struggling. "I don't believe that people are poor because they're lazy."Most of the kids I taught were from very poor families, and I spent a lot of time with them and their parents. I understand homelessness, and I understand how a person can get into a financial predicament.
I don't believe that people are poor because they're lazy. It looks like they're lazy, because they don't have the energy to get up out of bed and go do something. Or they've been so frustrated and told so much in school that they're not going to amount to anything. They end up hopeless and quit at sixth grade. They go out and have a good time. They usually spend a whole lot of time getting in trouble, getting under Momma's feet or getting pregnant. They generally aren't lazy — they're going somewhere with their minds. I've learned that people have more going for them than we thought before. I think we're smarter than we used to be, but we haven't completely tapped into the brain's resources yet. They say we only use 10 percent of the brain. I take that seriously. I think we could go a little further. Do we need to develop our memory more? Do we need to be more sensitive to one another? "In some ways, being here is bringing us closer. It's challenging having a teenager. Girls are hard."
The hardest part is when people ask where I live. I'll be like, "That's none of your business." I think it's kind of embarrassing, but at the same time, it's really not. There are a lot of stars that were homeless.
I think it's making me a stronger person, but it's also stressful. A teenager staying in a homeless shelter... We have to eat when we're told, go to chapel every day, curfew, not having your own space and privacy. We have to share a room. That's hard for me as a teenage girl. Elycia, her mother Basha and Elycia's younger brother moved into the Rescue Mission because of an empty promise. We came down here listening to a relative, but when we got here, we had no place to go. That's not what he told me before we left. We ended up in the shelter. It's been challenging, but in a way, it's been a growth, too. Like I told my kids, it's a stepping stone. It's nothing you did that we're here. God don't put no more on us than we can bear. I'm learning each day to have more faith in Him, rather than trying to do things on my own. Since I've been doing that, I feel like a lot more doors are opening. It's a good thing. You don't want your children to walk in your shoes. You want them to do better. I'm hoping that from this, they'll do better. She's going to college. She has goals. She has dreams. Elycia hopes her passion for singing leads to a better life. I want to go to Orlando, Florida, to Full Sail University for performing arts. I like singing and all that. I used to do tours, African dancing, singing in church. I'm in Glee Club in school. I want to be big star, a singer. My backup would be cosmetology. In five years, I want to have a nice house, maybe in California. I want to have a nice job and to be settled without her having to help me out. For Elycia, being at the Rescue Mission is straining her relationship with her mom. We used to be close, but being here is making us spread apart. We're with each other constantly, so we're getting tired of each other. She tells me stuff, but I can't be that close to her because she's my mom. But we like to laugh and make jokes with each other. Not shopping — she has totally different taste than what I have. Sometimes I like just spending time with her. The last time we went out for a girls time was when I was in like second or third grade. We went and got our nails done. I was mad because I wanted fake nails, but she made me get my real nails done. Her mother provides a slightly different perspective. In some ways, being here is bringing us closer. It's challenging having a teenager. Girls are hard. She's more outgoing, and I'm laid back. She's the total opposite. In some ways, I think that's a good thing. Sometimes I think they don't, but I know my kids love me. They see that I'm trying. Everything I do, I'm doing for them. I always put them first. I go without for them to have. I know what I need to do to not get in a situation like this again. "I call my life 'Adventures in God,' because I never know where he's going to lead me — or where he's going to need me."My mind goes occasionally to when I was 21 and my brother was 34. He was an alcoholic, crossing the street. Hit by a car, knocked through the hood of another car. Died on route to the hospital. It took me 18 years to get over that. I kept seeking God for peace and closure.
That was a sad time, but when God says, "Voss is with Me," I say, "Thank You, God." That gives me a peace that passes all understanding, just like He promised. Grieving is necessary. You can't let people tell you when to let go. Don't be forced to move from one stage to the next. Baptized at the age of 12, Lydia, 67, lives her life for God. My father abused me before I was two years old, and I had a gigantic hole in my soul that only Jesus could fill. Forgiveness was part of that process. That's how I can learn to help people to forgive. You don't have to be bitter, or angry or vengeful. Stay focused. I wanted my life to please Him, but I didn't have everything I needed. I didn't have all the information in order to do that. So I had some ups and downs and some bumps. But God never gives up. He got my attention and kept it. I call my life "Adventures in God," because I never know where He's going to lead me — or where He's going to need me. When things happen, there's always a divine plan behind it. Lydia believes God has led her to live at the Rescue Mission. I'm not happy to be here, but I am content. I've met so many people who needed encouraging. In the midst of my homelessness, there's a reason, a purpose, a plan. People who were discouraged. People who were angry. People who were frustrated. I can smile and encourage them. That means a lot to me. Sometimes people in crisis get selfish. You can't get selfish, because you don't belong to you — you belong to God. When people profess a faith in God, they don't understand they have a responsibility to be consistent in their help, their smiles, their hugs. One way Lydia connects with God is by singing and writing songs inspired by Scripture. I sing in English and in the Spirit, in tongues. That encourages me. The Word of God says, "Open your mouth, and I'll give you what to say." That's a happy thing. He will fill your mouth with what is right, righteous, holy and pure. Holy means when your husband doesn't want to be married anymore after two years, and you're still married to God. He'll wait on you. When he says you're unstoppable no matter what, you keep going no matter what. That's what I do to please God, because He's real. I can't give up. Her favorite song is one she wrote while living in Norfolk. It repeats, "Lord, I am forever, totally and exclusively Yours." "I was one of the first flight females to make the Special Forces."First and foremost, I'm a Christian. I'm a disabled veteran. I was in the United States Army. I was one of the first flight females to make the Special Forces. I was a trained spy with media capability.
I helped establish the Horses for Heroes Program in the VA system nationwide. I've also helped establish yoga in the VA system. When Helen, 54, first got out of the service, she was homeless for about five years. Once she finally got back on her feet, she began volunteering at the homeless shelter where she had lived. When I got off from my overnight shift, I'd go canvass the streets for the people who didn't come in the night before. I found that the biggest problem in reaching out to some of the homeless was trust issues. The ones who had the most trust issues were the veterans. A lot of veterans feel like they've been messed over by the system, especially those who have been through war. You look at how the Vietnam veterans were treated when they got back ... yeah, it's a lot better now, but there's still a lot of disrespect for veterans out here that you wouldn't believe. When I first got out of the service, nobody would hire me. I'd beg people for work. I had a spinal injury from my time in service, and it took me years to get my benefits. The men veterans have it rough, but in some ways — because of the difference in our bodies — homeless women veterans can be the hardest ones to work with. We're a lot more vulnerable. Having housing for homeless veterans is extremely important to me. These are my brothers and sisters in arms. Helen's intense compassion and faith aren't traits that go unnoticed. I had to get character references at one point in time. I asked for three, and I got about a half-dozen to a dozen. People who had known me for about 20 years said they remembered me as a person that gave hope to others. I think that's my biggest accomplishment. My response to that was, "I just hope it was the hope of God I gave them." I try to be a source of comfort and compassion. I try to guide them with the Word of God. I have a calling to ministry. I've started the application process at Regent University to get a bachelor's in Christian ministry. I want to work for the VA doing a special ministry for my sister veterans who have gone through violent traumas. It always amazes me when I get amazed at how amazing God is. The Lord allowed me to be His vessel in writing a letter to my son. At the time, he was doing a 10-year prison stint in a maximum security facility. In March of 2008, I started writing my son a letter, telling him how I wished he would try the Christian life and how sweet it is — that it doesn't mean you don't have trials or turmoils, it just means you have a something to help you see the blessings in the storm. The Holy Spirit took over, and the letter became imported with the Word. I got about a fourth of the way through when I knew that my son's hour of salvation was at hand. I started weeping. I was weeping so hard that I don't even know how I could see to finish writing. But I finished it. A short period of time later, the phone rang. It was an officer from the prison ministry telling me that my son got the letter and had accepted Christ as his Savior. He got baptized the following Sunday night and dedicated his life to the Lord. I started rejoicing, thinking that it couldn't get much sweeter than this. But it did. Helen's son shared her letter, and 16 other inmates accepted the Lord that night. I praised God until about 4:30 or 5:30 in the morning, all through the wee hours of the night. I was rejoicing so loudly that I'm surprised it didn't wake my neighbors. I was absolutely glowing. I was so filled with the Holy Spirit that I was absolutely glowing. "Even though they don't express it a lot, they do love me. I know that. It's not the same as a man, but it's genuine."I was with their dad for seven or eight years. It was a bad kind of relationship. I finally got to a point where I was trying to get away, because I really didn't feel stable.
I was renting a room in someone's house. It was just me and the kids, and then I found out that the person who was renting the room to me was doing it illegally. The owners took the house back and I had to go live with my aunt. Then right before Christmas in 2012, she got fed up with me trying to work it out with their dad. She told me I needed to leave, so we went back to live with their dad through Christmas. The drugs, the alcohol — all of that came back with him. About two weeks ago, I realized that I had to come back here. I was around people that were still smoking, drinking and partying. I didn't really have anyone to hang out with. I haven't talked to them since I've been here, which has been good. Chiquista, 30, receives no support from her family. My mom was an alcoholic. She was addicted to drugs when she had me. I think she'll be 50 this year, and she's just now given all that stuff up. I haven't grown up with her, and I didn't know my dad. My family isn't supportive at all. They all have their own issues. I don't really have anybody, except for the people I go to church with. When it comes to being a mom, Chiquista's dreams for her children are simple ones. I want them to have their own room and their own bed. To be able to take time for their passions. They like sports and drawing. She likes to sing. I want to be stable enough so they can have after-school activities. I don't want to keep being so unstable, to where they're just able to do the minimum. I want them to go to one of the good schools here. I notice a difference. The best thing about being a mom? Not being alone. Even though they don't express it a lot, they do love me. I know that. It's not the same as a man, but it's genuine. "I've started forgiving God, because I guess he's forgiven me."I lost my youngest son and my oldest daughter. She had hydrocephalus — fluid on the brain. My son passed in 2010. He was 23. He died of a rare, rare cancer. It starts with an H, but I can't tell you now what it is. That really broke me down. I just said F everything and ended up here.
I blamed God. "Why do you keep taking my kids? Why me?" I figured he was punishing me for something. Angela, who has survived drug abuse, alcoholism and an attempted suicide, sees two psychiatrists to work through these feelings. I don't fault God like I used to, because I've matured a lot. When you're on mood-altering substances, you say anything. You have to blame somebody. I've started forgiving God, because I guess he's forgiven me. "If you set your mind to it, you can survive."I had cancer. A couple of abusive marriages. The death of my first daughter to drugs and prostitution. I never thought I'd be in a homeless shelter, but I am and I'm making the best of it. I've made friends here. I've become comfortable here.
You just can't give up on your life or yourself, because there is always somebody or something out there that's going to make you happy. Be a fighter. There's always a brighter day somewhere. If you set your mind to it, you can survive. Janice, 68, was diagnosed with uterine cancer when she was in her 30s. Since her hysterectomy, she is now cancer-free. It was a hard time. The word "cancer" scared me, as it does most everybody. But I'm a fighter. I'm too stubborn to give up. Bottom line. I wanted to give up, yeah. Then I thought, "Where would my kids be?" Their dad was never in the picture. I couldn't give up, because I had to be here for them. Then my grandkids started coming along. I won't let my kids give up. She is particularly close to her 12-year-old grandson. I got one grandson that's my heart. Me and Bubba are pretty close. We watch wrestling — I got him into that. It's our special time together. He can tell me about wrestlers I knew when I was growing up. I've got granddaughters, but me and Bubba just have something special. Janice's goal is to one day have her own place again — a place where her grandchildren can spend time. My struggle is being here. I've never been without a home. It might not have been the best, but it was mine. I've had a lot of good times in my life, and I've had a lot of rough times. But I dwell more on the good than I do the bad. "Five years from now? Maybe get married again — if I find the right one. Not the ones that like to abuse me."I was a real bad drug addict, but I've been clean eight years. I'm trying to get back on my feet now, so I can get back out in the real world. That's what I call it.
Everybody asks me, "How do you stay clean?" — because there's still a lot of drug activity out there, and it's so sad. I'm like, "Well, with the good Lord up above me and my dad, too..." Me and my dad had a very close relationship. He enabled me a whole lot, but he was one of the best fathers anybody could ever ask for. I was Daddy's little girl. I could never do wrong. I still miss him so much. I still grieve over that. Maybe it was my fault that he's not here. But I know he's in a better place than I am. He was the best Christian I know. He never judged. And my mom, too, for that matter. But she's still not sure about me yet. My dad was never like that. I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head and three meals a day. It's not jail. I've been there, too. I thank God that's all behind me. What are you looking forward to in the future? Hopefully, settling down. I was dating a guy that I thought was really great, but it ended up being verbally and physically abusive. I have an almost 19-year-old son that I want to try to get back in touch with. When was the last time you talked to him? Last Christmas. It's hard, it really is. I broke his little heart. Me and him were tight, but when I got into my drug world, things changed. Then after my dad died, we got close again, but then he basically rebelled. I just want us to have that relationship again. He's my baby. He's the only one I got. Right now, things are just, "I hate you, Mom." That kind of thing. I'm hoping we'll get back to where he can trust me, and I can trust him again. If you could talk to him tonight, what would you say to him? I love you, and I miss you. It's up to you, but I really do miss you, son. What's one of your favorite memories of your son? Taking him to his first movie when he was five years old. That was "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." That, and going to the beach. We used to go every year. Where would you like to see yourself a year from now? Having a place of my own and a stable job. Five years from now? Maybe get married again — if I find the right one. Not the ones that like to abuse me. I don't want no more control. That's what basically most of them want to do, control you. My ex-boyfriend, even though we split seven years ago, still means a lot to me. So I never take this ring off my finger. Even the guy that I was with three years ago, who did all this to me, I told him I wasn't taking that ring off my finger. Do you remember the day he gave it to you? Valentine's Day of 2004. He said, "It's not a real one, but it's a promise ring." "I need to have more confidence in myself."After my brother died, my mother and father got a divorce. That hurt my feelings. I didn't understand that maybe it was better off that they got a divorce.
Joe, 38, lost his older brother to a brain tumor. I never had anything devastating happen to me or anyone in our family before. It was a shock. When my dad and my sister took him to the Mayo Clinic, they came home and were both crying. He would have seizures. We would be sitting there just watching TV, and he would just go into these grand mal seizures. He loved life so much, so it was really sad. We were all kind of relieved when he passed away, because by the end, he couldn't eat or anything like that. When he died, I had a job at a piston factory. It was one of the best-paying factory jobs. After he died, I got me a little mobile home outside the town of Wabasha. I was working the third shifts, and I was drinking. I went to the bar one night in Wisconsin. My dad was the chief of police in this town. I had been drinking Jack Daniel's, and I ran the stop sign. I freaked out. It was my first DUI. I said a bunch of stupid stuff, and of course, they wrote it all down. I always made a big deal out of things. I'm a real nervous person. I didn't have any goals about trying to get a house or trying to save some money. I didn't even have a bank account. I had low self-esteem. I didn't think things were going to work out. I always expected the worst. Do you think you're more confident now? It's just tough now. I got on Social Security Disability. It would be hard going to work right here, right now. Starting over. It's just hard without a degree or going to college. I don't like doing construction. I need to have more confidence in myself. I read a lot. It helps to read. I'm reading all the presidents' biographies. I'm on 28 right now. Has being homeless changed your perspective on people? A little bit. I feel like a lot of people knew I was going down this road. I feel like nobody really helps me. No one was really friendly with me growing up. I never had any close friends. I don't think being homeless is a very nice position to be in. Granted, it's better than being in jail. Other than that, I don't think there's any worse spot you could be in. Where would you like to see yourself a year from now? I was thinking about moving to New York. I really have nothing to lose. Just get a little place of my own. Become a New York sports fan. Hopefully make some friends. What gives you hope for that life? It's mainly dependent on my Social Security Disability. I get reviewed every three to seven years. If they take me off of that, I don't really think I'll have any hope. I don't see myself being able to work and get a permanent job. I think I would end up being permanently homeless. "I've always read a lot of books — that's what's shaped me more than anything."What do you like to read?
Mainly fiction, but I try to throw in a classic with every piece of trash. What have books taught you? Just about life in general — different philosophies, ways of thinking, ways of seeing things. Books make life easier to predict. I know what people are going to do beforehand. I'm a professional observer of people. It's what I do. You think they're all the same, and it turns out they're not. You think it's one big herd of sheep, and in the end it's not like that. To a certain extent it is. But a lot of it isn't. What's your favorite book? I really enjoy Mark Twain. Most people think of his books as kids' stories, but I don't see them as children's stories at all. There's a lot more substance to them. What's your take on Huckleberry Finn? It's masterful. Tom's like a shadow character through the whole thing, then there's this half a page where he tells the story about his daughter being deaf. It gives Tom this total human side. It's just this masterful thing Mark Twain does. It's almost tear-jerking. Instead of Tom being this comedic sidekick, Twain gives him this really human, tragic aspect. What's your biggest struggle right now? I just spent 10 days in the hospital for PTSD and severe depression. I just lost my job, my apartment, all that. I had a really good job up until about two weeks ago. They gave me medication for the first time in 30 years. I feel like I'm really centered and living in the moment, instead of in the past. I have problems with my legs, so I'm trying to get disability. I want to move out of Roanoke as soon as I can and go back to where I have a support system. How has your family supported you through all of this? They're a little bit clueless. They don't know what to think. I kind of put them out of the loop. I'm a really introverted person. Hell, I'm 44 years old and don't share a lot with my parents. We never got along really well. Where would you like to see yourself five years from now? In a little apartment, with a dog, reading books, listening to music. "It seems like the more help you try to get, the harder people push you away and consider you a joke."When I was young, I started using drugs. When I turned 16, I moved to North Carolina. That's when I started drinking and doing pills. One thing led to another, and I ended up in penitentiary. I did 18 years.
For Kevin, 41, being out in society is his greatest struggle. I just feel like I don't fit in with them. Some people think they're a whole lot better than I am, even the homeless ones. We're all in here together. That's what a lot of people don't realize, and it ticks me off every once in a while. I got a real bad anger problem. It seems like the more help you try to get, the harder people push you away and consider you a joke. I even told my PO that I was thinking about committing suicide, and he just laughed at me. I get in depressed moods sometimes — everybody does. Often, talking to his mom is the cure for these moods. She tells me not to give up, to hold on to what I've got and thank God I've got a place to come to at night and lay my head down. I agree with her 100 percent. She's a lovable person. She never turned her back on me. She's always been there for me, even though she couldn't see me. She always wrote me and let me know what was going on with the family. I guess you could say I'm a momma's baby. Sometimes you've got to let your kids go, but she's the mom that won't do it. You can be 60 years old and she'll say, "That's still my baby." Sometimes it's kind of hard to talk to people. Thank God for Mom. "I paid a guy's rent for him."I do whatever I can to help people. It makes you feel good.
What's the nicest thing you've ever done for someone? The latest was that I paid a guy's rent for him. He was going to be kicked out. "Blacks mixing with the whites, race riots — I missed all of that."During the late '60s, I was in a federal corrections facility in Tallahassee. I ran into all kinds of people. To me, it wasn't like an incarceration — it was kind of like a youth camp. There were Hispanic people, Indian people, white people, black people. It was amazing. I'd never seen anything like this.
I don't have any complaints about what happened to me in life. It was a learning experience. I got a chance to interact with different races in a close setting, as opposed to being out there with the hate-mongers. It could've been terrible, especially with me being from the rural South. I was sheltered. I was in a vacuum, from a little child all the way up to about 16. I didn't know about racism until I was out of the system. "Everything was going sour. Everything I put my hands to was crumbling."At age 13, I received my first Holy Communion. I took the wafer and the wine and knelt back in my pew. I'm thinking to myself, "What am I doing here? Am I here because I want to be here, or because they want me to be here?" I realized that I was there because they wanted me there. I'd rather be out playing basketball.
So that started a search for answers about religion and why I was important. I've studied just about every religious belief known to man. So I was living my life — graduated from high school and joined the Navy. After the Navy, I was down in New Orleans. I was a bit of a manipulator. I tried to manipulate my environment, but it wasn't working. In fact, everything was going sour. Everything I put my hands to was crumbling. One night, in the middle of a pouring rain, on the banks of the Mississippi, I knelt down and started praying. Praying and praying and repenting and asking God for help, saying, "I can't do this by myself." By that time, I was soaked to the skin. I don't know if you've ever been to New Orleans, but the raindrops are the size of marbles. I started having this feeling, and a warmth came over me. Slowly at first, then like a gentle rocking sensation, like a mother might rock a baby in her arms. The Holy Spirit came into me and comforted me. He said, "It's okay. Follow me. Follow my lead and I'll show you how." That was the age of 22. Ever since that time, the Holy Ghost has led my life. Quite an amazing journey. "I try to give back to society what I lost."I lost my dad in 1987. He was crushed to death. Then I lost my mom in 2013. Sudden death. I lost a brother in 2000. My mom was a guardian angel to the whole family.
What are some of your favorite memories of your mom? Going to yard sales. She loved to yard-sale. She loved making biscuits for the neighborhood. She fixed the best biscuits anywhere in town. Anybody in that neck of the woods would say, "I'm going to mom's to eat." Everybody called her mom. She wouldn't turn anybody away. She would give her last dime to you. What have you learned from losing your family? How to be alone. I've been alone now for quite a while. I never was into a lot of people around me. But when I do hang around people, it's mostly old people. If I see an old person crossing the street, I'll stop what I'm doing and go help them. If they need something done in their yard, I'll go offer to help. "I respect all religions, but it's made by mortals."My name is Tracy. That name represents "warrior." I happen to be a patriotic veteran. I'm the type of guy that's still trying to survive.
"I wasn't ready to be in the world yet, because I grew up in prison."When you go to prison when you're 19 and don't get out until you're 30, you see a lot of things most people don't see. You experience a lot of things most people don't experience. So my perspective on the world is a little bit different.
At 18, Jared was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for counterfeiting checks. At that same time, he was dating and in love with a 15-year-old. When the Secret Service seized his computers, they discovered inappropriate photos of him and his girlfriend. Because of this, he is also a registered sex offender. When I went to prison, I was 250 pounds. Chubby. When I got out of prison, I was 160 pounds. Chiseled. My mind went through the same type of transformation. It was a metamorphosis. I was this kid who wasn't aware of all the vagueness of the world. I wasn't aware of the fact that everyone has their own hidden agenda, their own motives. I didn't understand at that point that the best way to understand someone is to understand their motives. Prison is a lot about politics. There are different factions, and each faction has its own agenda. They have their own checklist of things they want to get done. They have their own enemies, their own allies. It's a constant game of chess, only you have multiple opponents. So at 19, I'm thrown into this world. I went in there and not only tried to make it on my own, but I did. It was a very difficult path, because you don't have any support. I went through a lot of bullshit and got into a lot of fights. But I learned when, what and who to stand up for — because not everybody can fight their own battles. What have you decided to stand up for? I've decided to stand up for the downtrodden, the people who want to get out of their circumstances but don't have the ability. I was lucky enough that God blessed me with a little bit of intellect, and that means that I can help people. But first I have to help myself. That's what I'm struggling with now. My problem is, I don't feel comfortable hiding who I am or what I've been through. That's being dishonest. When I tell someone who I am, all they hear is sex offender, felon, violent, bad person. I have yet to get past that. It makes it really hard to develop any sort of interpersonal relationship with anybody. What's the significance of your tattoo? That is the red string of fate. It's an ancient proverb. They say you have a red string tied around your pinky. It's invisible to the whole world, except the gods and whoever you're fated to be with. It's just saying that I believe in fate and that you will, at some point, end up with who you're supposed to be with. "I didn't want to be a dad because I thought it would be too much drama."I thought that I didn't have time to deal with it. But now, I'm glad I'm a father. I know how important it is to step up to the plate.
Steven has four children, who range in age from newborn to 9. I didn't have a father-figure in my life. I want to be in their life and be a good father to them — which I know I'm doing. Even though I'm down here, I still talk to my kids every day on the phone. I tell them I love and miss them and that I'll see them soon. They keep me motivated. They're the inspiration in my life. What's your favorite memory of your kids? Seeing them when they're first born. Being in the hospital with them and holding them. "How many people can try to kill themselves by running into a tractor-trailer and survive?"
I've been in a slump for about three or four years. I started drinking real heavily and just stopped caring about life. I was giving up. Well, I can't give up. There's a reason why I'm here.
It's something to do with my kids and my family. That's about all I got left. I came down here to be closer to my sister. Then she and I had a falling out. I haven't spoken to her in four years. She's seven years older than me. She raped me when I was six years old, until I was 12 or 13. As soon as she moved out, my dad died. Then my mom raped me, and told me I'm the man of the house now. Then she got remarried, so I had to deal with a stepfather. It was like boom, boom, boom — all within three years. I was a child. I watched my brother drown right in front of me. We were on thin ice, and I just couldn't reach his hand. I saw him go down for the last time. That happened when I was 10 years old. Dad died at 13. He gave up after my brother died. We'd find him sleeping on my brother's grave in the snow. He gave up. "I had peace the whole 13 years I was incarcerated."Once I gave my life to Christ, a void was filled. I had joy the whole time I was in there.
I drank and partied a lot in my younger life. Even though I tried, worked with my dad and learned the business, my lifestyle is what held me back. It wasn't until I was incarcerated that everything turned around. Now that I'm out and got Christ in my life, I'm on the right path and everything is going smooth for me. Five years from now, I'd like to see myself serving God, but in a bigger capacity. I'd like to see myself with someone, a Christian woman that can share with me in ministry. |
© LAURA WEEKS 2015. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.