My name is Michael Kelly and I am a Peer Support Specialist with Housing for New Hope’s PATH Outreach Program in Durham, North Carolina. I am also a member of the National PATH Peer Provider Network; Governor Easley’s Advisory Council for coordinating provider and program services; the Advisory Board for the 10 year plan to end homelessness in our area as a consumer advocate; The Community Support Advisory Board in our area as a consumer advocate; and a member of the Quality Assurance Board for Housing for New Hope.
A little over two years ago, I was lying beside the railroad tracks wondering who would find my body and what they would do to it when they did. I was one of the lucky people that have been saved by a very unique program. You can read my story and links to newspaper articles about me and others like me on Housing for New Hope’s website at http://www.HousingforNewHope.org and click on “personal stories.” I think it’s a great before and after story, complete with pictures, make a comment on the newspaper article if you like. That way, the newspaper might keep the link alive.
I like to think that I am proof that homelessness can happen to anyone and when it first happened to me I denied it. I could not bring myself to accept it and I would tell anyone that asked me, “Homeless? Nah, I’m not homeless, I just happen to be residentially challenged.” Then try to laugh it off instead of crying.
I was living the average American dream. I was making $60,000 a year and had a home and family with 2 cars. It has been said that the average American is a few paychecks and a few bad decisions away from being homeless. In less than 6 months my world came to an end. A divorce, loss of my job, family, home and vehicles happened so fast I could not believe it.
American males are conditioned to think that if you work hard all day, when you get off work, it’s Miller time. Then weekends were made for Michelob, or if you like camping out and fishing at the lake, Old Milwaukee with old friends around campfires is good. Don’t even think of attending any sporting event without lots of cold Budweiser, even the frogs like that. You have to drink foreign beer to get pretty ladies and we even have a light beer for dieters because it’s less filling. Go figure that one out.
I was a functional alcoholic living a dysfunctional life. The loss of my family and my life as I knew it brought on depression, and I tried to drown my sorrow with alcohol—which made me unemployable. During this time I was staying with friends or family, whoever would have me. I was working whatever jobs I could get, contributing a little to whoever’s household would tolerate me. Due to my drinking, I would eventually wear out my welcome at my job or where I was staying, then, I would move on.
Finally, I ran out of jobs and places to stay. I was completely homeless with nowhere to go but the shelters. I tried that for a while, but I didn’t like being crowded into tight places with a bunch of dirty, stinking, bums and drug addicts. I was still better than that. I wasn’t one of THEM. I was SOMEBODY. I used to be IMPORTANT! I used to have a home, a
great job, lots of money, a family and cars. I used to have a LIFE! I didn’t belong here! How did this happen to me? I prayed to God to help me get out of this nightmare! I wanted it all to be a bad dream. I wanted to wake up and have someone tell me it was all right. I had to leave that place before I became one of those awful people. I slept outside that night, but I was free! Free from that awful, stinky, cramped place, full of homeless bums. I still couldn’t accept that I was one of them.
When I awoke, a strange thing happened. I saw a man coming out of the woods, and he was stretching and rubbing himself as if he had also just woken up, like I had, from sleeping outside. Then it came to me, I was a boy scout, I had been on many camping trips and jamborees as a young boy. I would build myself a shelter in the woods and live there.
Thus the Legend of White Mike (the white guy who lives in the woods) began. Nobody bothered me, I guess because they thought I was crazy, but they were nice to me whenever we met, so I survived without being in the shelter. I got to know people at the shelter during my brief stay there. They knew why I didn’t want to stay there, so they would let me shower, do my laundry and eat. My plan was working to a certain extent. I even got a job at Labor Finders. Things weren’t that bad anymore. I may be living in the woods, but I had a part time job, could eat, bathe, and do laundry.
Then God decided I had a little more to learn. I didn’t mention earlier
that pride and vanity and turning away from God, saying that I got this now
God, you can take a back seat, were part of the bad decisions I made to get
the ticket for this roller coaster ride to Hell, did I?
I fell on ice and broke my wrist and lost my last and only job. Then I got put in jail over my child support. When I got out of jail all I could do was stand at McDonalds or other places displaying my cast and brace, explaining that I couldn’t work and begging for spare change.
I was surprised at the compassion and sympathy in some people I met. I was not surprised in the way many people treated me as if I was a disgusting piece of trash that should be treated as such and hauled off to God knows where. I did not deserve to even be in their line of sight. They didn’t care where I went, so long as it wasn’t anywhere near
them. It wasn’t very long ago, I was SOMEBODY, I was IMPORTANT, I had a LIFE, I had MONEY, I was one of THEM!!
I believe that was the most important lesson that I learned since God sent me back to life school. I have learned many things through my recent trials and tribulations, but I believe that one to be the most important. I had no compassion for the homeless or needy people myself.
I did the best I could do in my situation, I learned to see the people who were just like I used to be and tried to avoid them and seek out the kind, caring and compassionate ones. If I wasn’t sure, their response to a simple greeting would prove who they truly were. Labor Finders wouldn’t give me work. I tried to get a job, but no address or phone number on an application gets you nothing in return, so I spent my day working people and got very good at it. I moved my camp to a more appropriate area for begging. I needed to be around more affluent people and rich college kids.
The working class people downtown don’t have money to spare and they don’t like their jobs, so they hate everybody, especially a bum. Whereas young, rich, college kids have a great outlook on life and a true hope for humanity as a whole. The more affluent adults have compassion for the needy as well.
I set up camp in the woods next to two stores that sold gas and had air pumps, so if someone had tire or car problems, I could use my knowledge to help a motorist in a jam. Then whatever they could donate to my cause would help me and my friends. I
worked alone—that was my style, a small, mild mannered, polite, jovial, helpful, bum, did not threaten anyone. He just expressed great need for himself and for the friends he had taken into his shelter in the woods. The homeless helping the homeless in a hobo camp that he built in the woods. A Robin Hood bum. I didn’t like what I was doing. I was not proud of it, but I survived in the woods two years like that…and I was helping other bums survive as well.
I tried to get jobs. I tried to get government assistance, but with no address or phone number, I always failed. I had no way to go to peoples offices on a regular basis. I couldn’t call them when they told me to. I actually qualified for food stamps, but had no address to mail them to. I figured out a way to do that through the shelter, but then couldn’t get to the required meetings to finally get them.
The road to Heaven is a narrow one. The road to Hell is wide and easy to follow. Which road was I on? I did not know. I would lie in my camp and pray to God daily. I would beg forgiveness for my pride and vanity, which surely brought on this punishment. I acknowledged that I fully accept my 7 years of trials and tribulations. I would try to figure out when they started, so I could guess when they might end. I would rationalize how I was helping other needy people with my work as a beggar. I would pray for God to bless my efforts and guide my steps to cross with only kind people, not to offend anyone, and to multiply my profits. Most of all I prayed for a real job and a place to live.
One day I met people from Housing for New Hope. People had talked to me about the shelters before. I told them about how they only house bums and kick you out every morning anyway, and the mission makes you work without pay, just 10 bucks “love money,” and you can’t leave when you want to. I compared it to slavery and I didn’t like it. I liked the freedom of the woods better, thank you very much. I was just fine.
That was their first contact with me, and they engaged me in conversation about how I would like my life to change for the better—not what they thought I needed, but what I wanted for myself. I was an active participant from the first meeting, and I didn’t even know it.
Dian, Reggie and Alphonso said that there were places where I could stay and get my own job and work to save money. They would help me rebuild my life, but I had to quit drinking and go to meetings and other stuff. We had a great conversation then and several times after that. They even brought us coffee and sausage biscuits to our camp at 6 am several times.
I still didn’t realize that they had planted a seed of hope in me and kept returning to water it and help it take root and grow. They were building a bond of trust by simply being dependable visitors who came to check on me and bring me things I might need, like hygiene kits, food and clothes. They just wanted me to know that someone cared about me. I wasn’t alone anymore.
But I didn’t want to stop drinking. Keep in mind that when you are homeless and sleeping outside in all sorts of weather, alcohol is to the human body just like antifreeze is to a car. It helps you through the weather, but over time, it causes internal damage.
They kept coming back for around a year. Dian would come out to the woods regularly to check on me and make sure I was all right. It was kind of funny to see her walking through the woods calling out, “Mr. Kelly, are you out here?” I was usually drunk and didn’t really want to talk, but she came anyway. I think that’s what I appreciated the most, if nothing else, she was dependable and persistent. She got to know most of the guys out there and if she couldn’t find me, one of the guys would tell her where I was. I had told
her about my broken wrist and how the doctor had said I would be partially disabled and she said she could help me apply for it, so I finally asked her to help me.
Dian enrolled me and explained what a person-centered plan was. She helped me understand the process of deciding what the most important things to me were and helped me get my priorities in order, but she insisted that they were my wants and needs as I said them to her—not her decisions, but mine. She helped me apply for partial disability due to my broken wrist.
There has been discussion on what to call a “consumer” or “client,” and all I can say is that after all the dehumanizing I had been through with my loss of identity as a homeless person and feeling like the invisible man for so long, it felt REALLY GREAT to hear Dian on the phone advocating for her CLIENT! I used to be somebody. I used to be important. I was beginning to feel important again. I WAS SOMEONE’S CLIENT! I wasn’t even paying for her services, but I was an IMPORTANT CLIENT!
Consumers consume stuff. Don’t put that near him, he will just consume it. I used to consume a lot of alcohol. I personally like the word client better because I know it helped my sense of self worth return. We didn’t have much success trying to qualify me for temporary disability, but the process was a great bonding tool and proved to me that she really wanted to help any way she could. She even bought me a sleeping bag to keep warm with and we all became sort of like friends before I almost died.
Twice.
Both times I got to the hospital just before I died from internal bleeding. The first time I was in Duke Hospital for three weeks, and they told me I would die if I didn’t stop drinking. I called Dian and Reggie, and they came to visit, but I still wasn’t ready. They told me they would do everything they could to help me, but I had to want to help myself first. Then, less than 5 days after my release, I had managed to undo what it took the doctors three weeks to fix. I was dying all over again, and even the bums I was taking care of were begging me to go to the hospital and call those people that want to help me save my life. They said everything at the camp would be fine and they would be ok without me, just don’t die on them.
Finally the decision had to be made. Did I want to live or die? During my time of being homeless and depressed over the loss of my family, I felt useless to the world. I didn’t think it really mattered if I just died, but lying in that hospital bed feeling my life fade away made that decision much easier. I wanted to live and maybe learn to help others like me learn to live also. That seed of hope had taken root and was growing stronger.
I called Dian and told her I was ready to ask for help now. She took me to a detox facility and came back to make sure I was ok. We discussed my options and she made it clear again that she was just making suggestions, and that the decisions were still mine to make—although she did recommend a structured recovery environment and just happened to have some lined up for me. Only I could make the commitment to doing it. I had to want it for myself. I had to want to save my own life, and they would help any way they could. I was scared to death, but Dian told me that they would check on me throughout the process, not just drop me off at the doorstep and leave me. She arranged for me to stay at the Freedom House—a transitional program—until a bed opened up for me at the Phoenix House—a 1 year program for men.
I now know that Dian, Reggie, and Alphonso were part of the PATH program (Projects for Assistance in Transition from Homelessness). They don’t sit in an office waiting for a call from someone that has no phone to call with. They don’t wait for someone to come to their office that has no way to get there. They go out and find the people that truly need help. The PATH program helps link you with services and providers who will take you in, help you find a place to live, feed you, clothe you, help you get health and mental health services, help you get into a structured recovery environment ,and help you rebuild your life toward independent living on your own again. Paying your own bills, and giving you a new hope on life itself. They truly help you become a productive member of society again, with a better view of the people who really are in need of help.
During my year in the Phoenix House I was encouraged to do volunteer work to give back to the community. The house motto was “Freedom through Responsibility” and it meant just that. By learning to act responsibly in all areas of my life I gained freedom in life. I was given choices and allowed to make my own decisions. I was taught that if you do the right thing, then the next right thing will come along.
Everyone in the house was given daily chores and encouraged to look for gainful employment so we could save towards our graduation and have a nest egg ready for our transition into our own apartment. They even give you a graduation bonus to help with expenses. They had weekly workshops on life skills, nutrition, and budgeting. We participated in the Crop Walk and other fundraising activities. We prepared supper for the homeless shelter once a month. As I gained seniority in the house, the new guys would ask my advice on things and I would help any way I could, so I guess I was learning to be a peer support specialist even then. Vocational Rehab came by once a month and did intakes. They bought me new work clothes and even paid for my dental work. I did so well in the Phoenix House that they allowed me to transition into my own apartment early and become the night watchman there so I then had two jobs.
I graduated from the Phoenix House in April 2007 and Dian hired me as a part time outreach worker with the PATH program and helped me go to workshops and training classes. I even got to go to conventions with the PATH program and attended workshops there as well. When I do outreach, I am leading by example because when those who knew me when I was homeless in the woods see me now, they all tell me how happy and proud they are of me. I tell them that if I can do it, anyone can. When I meet someone that doesn’t know me, I can meet them on their level and they understand that I know how they feel because I have been there myself.
To be able to reach out to someone and tell them my story, the emotions well up in us both and see the tears in their eyes and in my own as we communicate as only two kindred spirits can. When someone admits that they need help and ask me to help them save their own life just as someone helped me save mine, it is a very powerful moment. A bond of trust has formed, the seed of hope has taken root, and they are willing to change and ask for help.
When I was in elementary school, the teacher would ask us kids what we wanted to be when we grew up. We all had great dreams and ideas of how we wanted our lives to be when we grew up. Oddly enough, no one said they wanted to be homeless.
What I’m trying to say is that every homeless person you see had those same hopes and dreams, but life’s struggles, or physical or mental disabilities, or drug or alcohol abuse, or any combination of theaw, caused their world to come crashing down around them.
We would try to recover and start over, but without some sort of assistance, we would just fail again and again, until we just lost hope and gave up trying. The shelters do the best they can, but their main concerns are to feed and shelter as many people as they can.
I was lucky enough to find a program, (or actually, they found me), that works with you on a one to one basis, because each person has different needs. Housing for New Hopes PATH program helps you regain your self worth and pride by helping you set and reach small goals one day at a time. As you see yourself progress, you are inspired to try harder and do better, and the light of hope is rekindled within you.
Just keep in mind that all people who are homeless are afraid. We are afraid of the system, the law, losing whatever we have left, trying to start over and failing again, but most of all we are afraid to change. We have gotten used to who we are and have accepted it. We need you to help us believe that change is possible.