What most don't understand is Skid Row is a hub of resources hence why the people flock there. Hungry for opportunity. From employment to fentanyl, it's all there boiling together into a dysfunctional pot of soup for the government to punish. The programs are underfunded and nobody wants to admit this but I don't think anyone knows how to end homelessness. It's all trial and the error is evident, visible, calling either on God or methamphetamine to get them through the next 24 hours.
Wake up stuck on Skid Row? We know that is not exactly what happened but whatever the series of unfortunate events was that brought you here, whether you want to take responsibility for it or not, welcome. The first step to surviving Skid Row is accepting and embracing you are there.
Tent or shelter? I picked shelter, I prefer the discipline of schedule. Because dammit my life was going to get better someway; I couldn't get lost in my own freedom. In the shelter they tell you when to eat, when to sleep when to shower. A lot of unhoused folk don't like being barked at by the strict shelter workers. I prefer a home with my beautiful twin boys. But we know that's not for a long time from now. You were beaten, choked and the pieces of you that are left, your carcass wandering around empty was meant to be swallowed up by the streets. But you were stronger than he thought, you anticipated.
Wake up stuck on Skid Row? First thing on the to do list is get a phone. Walk right outside the Union Rescue Mission and four tents are offering free government phones. Got it. Good.
Food Stamps is the next priority and General Relief. What most don't understand is Skid Row is a hub of resources hence why the homeless flock there.
Right across the street of the Union Rescue Mission is the Downtown Women's Center. Beneficial for anyone identifying as women. Line up there for breakfast and lunch if you're not feeling it at the URM. Here for domestic violence like me? Tell them your story. They'll do their best...
The Downtown Women's Center employed me and paid me well. I was apart of their LA Rise program. I was a Community Healthcare Worker who went out into the Skid Row community and encouraged women to come in for services.
At the Downtown Women's Center I was seen for my broken toe that fractured in a hospital. They have doctors there. I got me a therapist there. I did group therapy there. Art therapy. Poetry class there. It was my oasis in a desert, silver lining in a dark, dark cloud.
Only a short bus ride away is Exodus for emergency psychiatric medication. I picked a day to stay there six hours waiting to see a psychiatrist because I knew my head wasn't right. I had a prescription by the evening.
I caught the Corona. I got sent to the MLK hospital, a place all the hobos go to keep shelters not having a massive spread. I stayed there for a week then moved into my own room at the homeless hotel, The Russ.
I was incredibly isolated. My neighbor's played loud music all night to cover up their secret lovers they brought in. One night a man screamed and banged the walls for hours. I think he saw ghosts. The hallways smelled like piss and burning plastic. But I had a room. With a sink, mirror and bed.
I did my laundry at the Refresh Spot. An amazing resource for the homeless to have clean clothes. You can bring up to two loads and they will wash and dry for you and you can pick it up later. You can also take showers there, but I never did. You can charge your phone there, but I never needed to.
My safe haven was the mosque of Skid Row, Akber Masjid. I went there nearly everyday and spent almost the entire day there, just being. I was safe in the mosque. I met people every so often, passerbys. I spent most of my time in the women's section upstairs, praying, wishing for a way out. I've done a lot of damage, more damage had been done unto me but I looked like the villain now so I had to be careful with my next moves.
Fun? I was miserable and felt more like a shadow than a human. I spent a lot of my time staring at walls or crying into my pillow. Only one bus to Santa Monica, though, so I went to the beach to pass time too. I made meriweather friends whom I knew I would never stay in touch with because they were only meant to keep me sane in the moment. I made beautiful friendships that I feel lost without to this day. I don't keep in contact with one person from my Skid Row days. But I had people I made connections with. Whether it was the man who only spoke Spanish who came from Colombia with his fourteen year old son. I remember the family from Tajistan and Afghanistan who came as refugees. We befriended each other thanks to Google translate. I even had some privilege on Skid Row. At least I spoke English. At least I had papers. And even compared to many on Skid Row I had a lot of privileges. I was in an awful situation but I still had a few things going for me. Contrary to my victim mentality's belief, I did not have the most devastating life, I did not go through the most trauma, I didn't have the hardest life ever with no opportunity. I had resources. And I wasn't addicted. And I could read and write. And I wasnt a dumpster baby, or had to sex work to survive. Nor did I grow up in foster care, nor did I do time in prison. Like I had it rough but not the worst. It's important to have gratitude because what's the difference between me and the double amputee wheeling down San Pedro?
Patience. Gratitude. Reliance.
I decided to go to treatment for mental health. I went a different route than originally planned. I was set up to move into a one bedroom apartment. But I knew I would lose it so fast if I didn't work on my mental health.
From rehab to sober living to apartment and working full time and school part time.
These are ways to get ahead.
