Mental illness strikes

It was May 2020, and I had my dream job—a job that allowed me to legally work with my homeless family. I had worked as hard as I could as a volunteer from May 2019 until December 2019 to prove my worth.

In December 2019, I became a Street Outreach Caseworker for an agency. As a homeless veteran, this was the opportunity of a lifetime. It gave me a little power to help those in need, and I am now being trained by the best people I know. I'm learning about HMIS, ICS, MacLink, DMH, and more. After almost a year, I attended my very first COC meeting as a caseworker—that was a significant goal of mine. The meeting was through Zoom, but I was there.

My next step was to become housed. As a caseworker working with the homeless, I knew I would be a much better role model for my homeless family if I had a roof over my head. I went to see my case manager, who is now a friend for life. In February of this year, I was off the streets again. I saved up my money and bought a pretty nice truck.

Now, I'm a professional with a place to live and a badass truck. I became romantically involved with a coworker. I knew from the beginning it was a temporary relationship. Having been single for six years prior, I fell in love.

Things were looking good, right? I now felt like I had the world in the palm of my hand. The only thing was, it was my kind of world, not the real world.

I went through four life events that I processed the wrong way. I thought I was good enough to handle them; I thought I was strong enough. Like my entire life before me, I buried them and kept silent.

In late April, the relationship ended. It crushed me. I allowed the other events that I had stored inside me to surface, but that is all I did. I did not reach out; I did not seek help for what I was going through. I spiraled, completely crumbled. I just quit going to work, quit answering my phone, and locked myself away in the darkness—the darkness I am so familiar with.

After three or four days of my absence, the police were beating on my door. It was a well-being check. I have become excellent at hiding who I really am. This fake mask that I can put on will fool anyone, and that included the police.

Now I am alone. I have let down so many people, including the very most important people: my homeless family.

My mental illness, which has been untreated all my life, is going to kill me.