1 year later.

I apologize for not being very active the last few days and for not keeping up with the event schedule. However, I am ready to plug away again. I've already been on vacation from work for a week, and I have another week of vacation to go.

I have been employed at NMPRC for one year, and I absolutely love it there. In the past year, I have been educating myself about mental illness, behaviors associated with certain diagnoses, and, of course, treatment plans, goals, objectives, and so forth. I have even been able to work on my own mental illness using some of the knowledge that I was gaining. I know that my new understanding will benefit everyone whenever I do street outreach. I started there as a technician and am now a rehabilitation associate and work therapy specialist. I am very well-liked by many at the hospital.

When I went to work on my first day, I was homeless and staying in a cold weather shelter. For years, I've been able to hide my homelessness with my personality, my character, and the way I can articulate myself. There was no problem for me except that the state required me to have a permanent address. I knew in my heart I was going to make it at the hospital, so I got an apartment. This January will mark a year in the same apartment. I have paid every month's rent on my own, on time, and haven't missed a single payment.

Life is great. I have a great job, and I have an apartment—it's a one-and-a-half bedroom. I did get a kitten in February, and she is still with me. I figured she could have the "half" bedroom.

Now, I'm still going out doing outreach while working at the hospital; I'll still talk to all the same people that I did before. Gotta remember, I'm a really liked guy, so I made a point to touch base with some of these people. There are certain individuals who, if I go off the radar, will come looking for me. It's all part of my approach.

So, I moved into my apartment all alone, coming straight from a cold weather shelter. This is where I think we need to do more. I knew I would keep my apartment because if I didn't, it would affect my employment. Throughout my history, I have moved into multiple apartments and only paid the first month's rent. I didn't know how to pay for one thing, let alone anything else related to being self-sufficient in any way. It has been my modus operandi to walk out and not look back once I received an eviction letter. I would always leave everything behind, heading back to homelessness, and that always gave me the most comfortable feeling.

Getting ready here is pretty tough for me to do. You have to keep in mind I am somewhat of a great actor. I am taking my acting mask off. That guy is fake. It was the only thing I knew. That's how I got people to like me, and that's how I became involved in working with the homeless. Whatever I do, I'm damn good at it—except for living.

Now I have been in my apartment for almost a year. Now remember, I want to keep my job. That's the only reason I have been paying rent. But I had no business occupying a residence of any kind.

The reasons are kind of simple, but it all seems like an impossible task for me to keep up with any kind of normal household. And it is kind of simple, except for the fact that I have never in my life been taught life skills. I have been living in complete depression and darkness because I knew I did not know how to live.

For the last year, I have not picked up anything in my apartment. I have not done any dishes. I think I have taken four trash bags to the sidewalk in the year that I've lived here. My cupboards are completely bare, as always, and my refrigerator is completely bare. There are so many things I could share about how I live, but I'm going to show you.

With my apartment the way it is, it was starting to affect my work. I would come straight home from work and go straight to bed. I have never had sheets, pillowcases, or blankets. I would just lay down on a filthy mattress and fall asleep. I was hiding from everybody, including myself.

I work at a psychiatric rehabilitation center. I work around multiple doctors, social workers, administration, and, of course, the patients. With all this intelligence surrounding me daily, my acting mask was not a mask to be wearing. But that's all I know. Certain individuals at work could definitely tell I was struggling. They did not know what was wrong, but they knew something was wrong.

And what happened was they took my flight response away because I will never walk away from that hospital.

Trying to go to work every morning is the hardest thing in the world for me to do. I never have clean laundry. I only bathe once every two weeks or so. I never have breakfast. I just get up, get dressed, and get out the door, never forgetting that people love my mask. I have never thought that a person might actually like me. This all stems from trauma, but unfortunately, I was so ashamed and so embarrassed, and that was normal for me.

I knew that something was going to happen. I had no idea what, but I was positive it was coming. Either my landlord would come in, or maybe someone from work would invite themselves over, and again, try to protect everyone around me if I came clean and sought help. I came clean to my psychiatrist, and just so happened, she came from NMPRC.

I knew my vacation was coming up. I knew there was no way I would be able to do anything without help. And this includes leisure activities, deer hunting, fishing, being in nature, which is my second love.

When I started my vacation five days ago, I had all intentions of working on my event. Doing this event means so much to me. It touches so many of my emotions, my feelings, my compassion—you know the guy that's behind the mask.

So now it is Thursday, November 8th. November 8th is when I started at the hospital.

I'm not going to go into any personal diagnosis, but I began treatment for a new diagnosis three weeks ago. I was a complete train wreck. Somehow, I was just still on the track. I have been planning this post for a while.

At absolutely no point was I ever in a dwelling fit for human habitation, and under HUD definitions, that makes you homeless. One thing for sure is that Sparkles, my cat, never deserved that.

I have been working 12-hour to 16-hour days for four days in a row now, and believe me, I'm a hard worker. I will take a little time, but I am getting there.