Member-only story
What it’s Like Living in a Homeless Shelter
By someone who’s been doing just that in a major U.S. city
In December of last year, I lost my apartment in the downtown of a major U. S. city. For the first time in my life, I was without a home.
I crashed on two friends’ couch a little past the first of the year, but I was in the way and I knew it. It was time for me to leave.
There was a men’s-only homeless shelter on the outskirts of downtown, about a mile from my now-former apartment. However, I had unanswered questions about the place.
Was it safe? Would I be beat up inside the facility? Would I be robbed of my one remaining backpack of stuff?
Would I get enough food there to stay alive?
Would I go months before I got my next shower, wearing the same clothes day in and day out, stinking, cooped up in close, un-air-conditioned quarters with dozens of other men who also stink?
I’d heard that in faith-based homeless shelters, men who stayed there were required to attend chapel daily — but that the sermons degraded the very people forced to attend them. Was that accurate? And if so, was I willing to tolerate the nightly verbal abuse in exchange for a place to sleep?
Needing answers to my questions and concerns, I turned to the facility’s website. However, homeless shelter websites tend not to be designed with potential clients in mind. They are designed to appeal to donors.
Wandering
I decided the shelter would be a place of absolute last resort, and that I’d try to make it on the streets on my own.
I’d hang out in the neighborhood bars until the state-mandated closing time of 3 a.m. Then, if no one had generously offered me a couch to crash on, I’d wander the streets until the first bars and coffee shops opened five hours later.
My hair turned greasy. I had two weeks of beard growth. I lost an unhealthy amount of weight. I looked horrible.
I was so bored walking those streets at night. Lonely. Depressed. Scared.
And, more than anything else, sleepy.
