I hesitated before writing this blog because I don’t want it to sound like a complaint, because I don’t know that I have the energy to recount all that happened and how it happened, and because I don’t want you to worry about me. However, the reason I started this blog was to share this year with people and that means not just sharing the good weeks. And so, know that some of this post will be half/incomplete thoughts, but those are what I have at this moment; and that if it seems choppy that’s because I don’t have all the words or energy to explain what has happened…and so I ask you to read it knowing these things.
[All names have been changed for the privacy and safety of those involved]
On Tuesday I work at a location called Casa Paloma, which is a small drop in center for unaccompanied women (about ten women come each day). That means that women— without husbands, boyfriends, brothers, or children— can come in for a hot breakfast, a shower, and some clothes, do their laundry, and get hygiene kits. The aspect of Casa P that I most cherish though is less formal; it’s sitting around the table with the women having them tell me about their lives, it’s being invited for a brief moment into a family, a community of women getting through everything together. Over the past seven months I have begun to develop confianza* with the women and so lately they’ve been sharing more and more with me. *Confianza is a Spanish word I learned in El Salvador that roughly translates to confidence, but is deeper than that. It implies a deeply trusting relationship slowly built.
There’s Helen who’s from New York and I think has some form of dementia. After finding out that I’m from Connecticut, she asks me every week if the train is running in Stanford and from where I think she should take the ferry to Long Island. She wears a plastic fork sticking through her knit hat, and told me (when I asked her if I realized it was there) that it’s so no one will try to hit her on the head and if they do they’ll be sorry. Every time she asks me about the ferry it makes me want to cry because it reminds me of my grandmother asking, as has become a fond joke in our family, about where the Block Island ferry leaves.
I could go on for days about these women, but for the sake of all I hope to explain in this entry, I’ll skip to Linda. I’ve known Linda for most of the year and known also that she is in a bad relationship; however she never shared with me the specifics. This week I looked up domestic violence shelters in other cities for her though, because she told me that her ‘boyfriend’ got angry with her and said, referring to the other men who sleep where she used to sleep, “I hope they all rape you, I know they want to, and then kill you and cut you up”.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays I am at Works, a program that works with our men’s shelter to help the men who are work ready on their job search and to give them some temp day labor work on the way. It is a 100 bed shelter that allows men to stay a maximum of 90 days as long they are following the rules, which include remaining sober and drug free. I meet with the men in our program (not all the men at the shelter are in our program because not all of them are able to work) on a weekly basis to go over their job searches, be a resource, and give them an extension at the shelter for another week.
Wednesday, I met with Stanley. Stanley is in Tucson on parole looking for work and is one of the gentlest men I’ve met. His wife and family are still in Phoenix but he’s here because he wants to start a new life for them away from all the drama in Phoenix. Over the course of our meetings, he has referred to a dark past and situations in Phoenix but remained generally vague regarding any specifics. This week, however, Stanley informed me that he gets off parole on Monday and he doesn’t know if he’ll be back at the shelter after that. I asked him what his plans are and he said he may return to Phoenix, after all, he’d have a bed to sleep in and a roof to sleep under that doesn’t also cover 99 other men. I asked if he really wanted to do that, given what he had shared with me about his life there. He said that he wants to be with his wife and he’d try to avoid people from his past but that there are two people, if he runs into them, with whom he has unfinished business and would try to kill them. I encouraged Stanley to stay in Tucson, to stay away from Phoenix, and had him sign a release of information so that I could speak with his behavioral health provider about his comments. When I finally got a hold of the person he’s meeting with there, and explained the situation, he asked me what I thought he should do. I was infuriated—I have no training in what I’m doing! I’m twenty-two years old! I have only been doing it for seven months! How on earth am I supposed to know how to respond when someone tells me he is having homicidal thoughts?
On Thursdays right now two of the men I am meeting with have suicide issues. There’s Paul who has attempted suicide before and was hospitalized just a few weeks ago for expressing suicidal thoughts. He seems stable for now, but I am anxious about the day that will inevitably come when he can’t handle the shelter anymore, he still doesn’t have a job, and AHCCCS raises co-pays again and he finds it hard to afford his medications.
There’s also Mike, who has been in Tucson only a few weeks, and has been seeming depressed lately. When I ask him if he has thought about hurting himself, he immediately responds no. But follows that by saying he knows exactly what he’d do. I have tried to refer him to SAMHC, the organization that is supposed to be open to people in crisis, but they wanted him to do a drug test. Even though he doesn’t do drugs, he was offended by the question and so left without talking to anyone. This week I asked him about it again and he answered again “no” but followed it by saying that he’d want it to be quick. I told him that he’s making me nervous and that he’s telling me two things. He said it’s like this: he grew up in a rough part of town and so he knows lots of criminals, given this background if he ever decided to commit a crime he would know how to do it, but he’s not thinking of committing any crimes. I called SAMHC to get their opinion and they advised me to tell him I trust he won’t hurt himself while he’s in our program and that if he thinks about it he needs to tell me. And at the end of the day, that’s all I can do, trust him to know that he is as wonderful a person as anyone else…trust him to trust in tomorrow…trust him to trust in this world that has betrayed him time and time again.
On Fridays I’m at HIP (Homeless Intervention and Prevention), previously known as R&R (Relief and Referral). HIP is another drop in center, but huge compared to Casa P. People can get their mail sent there (we receive mail for upwards of 1,000 people), get phone messages, and basic hygiene kits. Normally I am the one handing out mail, because I love mail…and so normally Fridays are emotionally lighter days. Though I sometimes see guys that are staying that shelter come in, I am not doing case management there and so in the less formal setting they tend to joke around.
Yesterday, Freddie came in. Freddie was at the shelter for just a month and left in the beginning of February. When he was at the shelter he had this spark of life in him, which was evident to anyone who spoke with him. He is dealing with an alcohol addiction told me he left because he couldn’t take living with 99 other people. He’s come in on Fridays a few times, and I’ve encouraged him to get into housing and to stop drinking. When I saw him yesterday, that spark was completely out. At first I was just talking to him from the main desk, but I could tell he had a lot he needed to share and so I invited him to sit with me in the case manager’s office there (the normal case manager was out). Freddie and I ended up talking for nearly two hours. He told me how tired he is of living on the streets, he told me about his brother who has housing but also a drug addiction, he told me about being turned away from place after place because he’s drunk and he can’t receive services while he’s drunk. He told me he drank three forties that morning. He told me he was recently arrested for having sex in an alley, when really what happened was that he didn’t have a belt and his pants fell down. He told me that he panhandles. He told me he wants a different life but can’t figure out how to get it. He kept telling me how tired of it all he is. I asked him if he has thought about hurting himself. Freddie was quiet for a few moments and with tears in his eyes nodded yes, and showed me the scars on his wrist from where he has attempted suicide before. We sat like that for a moment, and then I explained SAMHC and he agreed with me that I should call them for him. This was about an hour into the two hours. Before calling, I asked around the office to see if anyone had ever called them before, someone who might have more experience than I did…but no one had. I had no idea what was to come, only that this man needed to be in a safe space and needed to be with people who would be able to listen to him and know how to respond.
And so with my heart beating at an unbelievable speed, I called. When I was on the phone with SAMHC they had me ask Freddie if he had any plans of how to kill himself and he said “a thousand”. SAMHC then transferred our call to Freddie’s normal behavioral health service provider and they talked to him for a little while, until he grew agitated and handed the phone to me. The man on the other end explained that they had been with Freddie just last week because of a similar situation, but that they can’t do anything unless he is sober and that Freddie walked out of the detox place. He told me they can’t do anything unless Freddie is sober. I asked Freddie if he would go back to detox and he said no, the small room they kept him in made him feel claustrophobic and more suicidal.
So I talked to SAMHC again and they said they were going to send a crisis team out to us. Freddie and I talked a little longer and he was getting anxious about the amount of time it was taking, so I called them back and they said it could take about an hour longer. They said if he left I needed to call the police. I explained that to Freddie and so he agreed to stay. A little while later, the team that was coming called and said they had heard Freddie was thinking about leaving and so we needed to call the police, they transferred me to them. I was told the police would be there just be sure that nothing dangerous happened in the office, they weren’t going to take him or arrest him or anything. Later, the police arrived, and they talked to Freddie and told me they were going to take him to the hospital, that he wasn’t under arrest, and that they’d communicate with SAMHC. Before leaving, Freddie looked at me with complete betrayal in his eyes. He told me that if he thought I was going to call the cops he wouldn’t have even talked to me. And so they took Freddie. And then ten minutes later the people from SAMHC finally showed up, I told them the police took him, and they could find him at the hospital.
And I sat down, I was shaking, I was swallowing back tears, I was afraid, my heart was shattered.
