Another homeless individual, “BigC” has agreed to be interviewed for the StreetSense blog and wants to know how much he really should be getting for this interview. He says he understands having a low-cost, real-life blog causes problems. He says he knows there should be a lot of money coming in to support it.
I agree, and I stir more sugar into my coffee. I have asked BigC some questions, and hope to use some of the other ones. In fact, I have written a whole page of questions I use whenever I meet with unhoused persons who want to contribute to the news about homeless Chicago. I write down some of his answers.
Age? 38. Race? Black, but his grandma always used to say they had some Cherokee blood… explained always that it’s why the eyes have that shape… kind of “piercing and thin and mysterious.” He says, “Everybody has my grandma’s eyes: my mother, my three brothers, my little sister, me.” How long homeless? Six years. Any money on him? Yes, about $100 hidden, dare you to try to find it. Girlfriend right now? No, but hanging around with a younger guy who is also Black. Has nothing to hide. Sleeps in alleys and on the sidewalk even, sometimes.
So I ask, “Who is the guy? Do I know him?” He responds that of course I do and NO he is not interested in being interviewed. “I cannot shake him off!” he jokes. “He is obsessed with me.”
Then the standard questions of why he does not frequent a shelter, surf on couches, or sleep in a van or other better place. “Until it gets cold, it is safer outside,” BigC insists. “I would rather take my chances in my neighborhood—around guys I know, he tells me.”
I ask right away, “It is safer? How? Dark is dark… night is night…”
He laughs, “Well, if somebody gonna f**k with me, I will know who he is.” He takes a bite of his Big Mac. “I will know where to find him if I wanna talk with him about something,” he grins.
BigC says he is ready to tell the story of how he became homeless, how he lives, how he survives, and what his goals are. I have already told him about the questions I will be asking. He has chosen the name “BigC” for adult reasons, he says. I have known him about a month. He sleeps in an alley. He seems to be a decent guy.
“So my story,” he laughs. “Okay, where to begin…”
I sit forward, to listen and take notes.
He sits up straight. He begins to tell me about his life as an unhoused Chicagoan, born and raised on the West Side and now “up north” where it is safer. “All of this is true as f**k,” he explains. Here is his story…
“At the start, I was working hard, doing it, making it.” He tells of how he moved into a very old apartment that had big murals on the walls… lots of cool shag carpeting… signs of hippies living in in years ago. He had a good job, did cooking all day and also did some part-time work for his uncle. “We helped him clean out old stores and tear down old walls,” he explains. “I was making a lot of money. I had a car. I was seeing a young lady who was fine-looking and special to me.” He explains things changed overnight and he was out on the street.
I ask him what happened to change it.
“Well, I got into drugs… a little at first… and then more and more and drugs took over my life.” He tells how he was always into weed and drinking a little beer. But he adds when he started trying heroin, things fell apart…
“Drugs killed my life. They took away everything I had, including my apartment and my lady and all my money.” He tells how he had to sell his car and everything else. Soon, he was down to the point he was stealing stuff to buy heroin…
I sit there and wonder why this all seems so damn familiar. I hear this kind of story all the time. Things go badly, then really badly, then things just plain go to hell.
So I ask him, “What is happening with the heroin now? Is it still controlling you? What you do?”
He responds, “I was lucky to get out of it.”
I ask him to explain.
“A church had a program near where I was staying. My case worker got me into a program where I could go and talk to a counselor about heroin. And they had two different groups to join. So I joined them both. I got a sponsor in a special program where we had to do certain things, follow rules and go up the steps.
“Like AA, I ask?”*
“Yeah, exactly like AA!” He gets out of his chair and walks around. “I found out that the important thing was to try to move forward and just think about other things.”
“Mind over matter?” I volunteer.
“Yes, exactly! Did you hear about all this stuff before?” he asks, astounded.
“Well, some of it, I guess,” I lie.
“Anyway, we had to do some things and make promises not to use heroin. I don’t know if that works, but the sponsor got me into a rehab program and somebody from the church actually paid for me to go there! A crazy Black kid! I could not believe it!” he shares.
So I ask some more questions, “Somebody paid? Was the place like a hospital?”
“It was part of a hospital, yes,” he explains. “I was chosen out of a group of six guys, I guess, and I got interviewed by some people in the church…
I don’t remember their names, except for a lady whose name was Prentice (not her real name, but she seemed like a “Prentice”). She was an older Caucasian lady who had lost her daughter to drugs. She had some money, so sometimes she would pay to help people get the monkey off their back.”
I responded, “Wow! She sounds cool… so what did you have to do?”
“I had to be in my pyjamas most the time, and I could not go outside and get fresh air. I had to meet with Prentice four times a week to prove I was not taking heroin—or anything else of course,” he tells me.
“So how long did it take?” I wonder.
“A long damn time. Meetings, talking to the nurses about meds, meeting with your different groups…”
“You did it though, so it was worth it!” I congratulate him.
“Yes,” he agrees.
I ask, “What advice do you have for somebody who is struggling with heroin or other issues?”
He responds, “Just keep trying. You will figure it out.”
I ask, “What is the hardest part of being homeless and having trouble with heroin?”
“The waiting,” he states. “It is like time moves very damn slow. One day you get food, the next day you are hungry and trying to behave, and then the next day you are trying to get money or food or whatever. Winter turns into spring and then it keeps going, year after year.”
I next ask, “What is the plan for next year?”
He laughs. “Well, if I make it that far, I guess I will have a job doing some b*llshit and making money and paying rent.”
So then I ask, “What are you doing today and the rest of this week?”
He clears his throat… “Well, I guess I need to get off my butt and do something, right?”
I shrug and look away. Then I play with my pen.
“You know it is scary as f*ck out there, right?” he asks.
“I know,” I tell him. “Remember that tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life…”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that is really encouraging. Is it supposed to mean something?”
I shrug again and look at my notebook.
“You are pretty sh*tty at this. You’re supposed to encourage me to go fix everything.”
“Me?!” I say, incredulously. “How come I gotta do that?”
He laughs, “Okay, I promise to fix it tomorrow.”
.
.
Resources for People with Addictions:
*AA = Alcoholics Anonymous. For more info, please see: https://www.aa.org/
Chicago Area Alcoholics Anonymous (Area 19) info: https://www.chicagoaa.org/
Narcotics Anonymous. For more info, go to: https://na.org/
Chicagoland Region of Narcotics Anonymous: https://chicagona.org/
988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (Illinois Department of Human Services): For help, Call 988 or Text 988 or Chat 988lifeline.org/chat
Veterans Crisis Line, Dial 988, then press “1”