Chapter 4
Eggshells
Have
you ever been in a situation where you feel like you just don’t belong, like
you shouldn't be there, like you don’t deserve to be standing, sitting, or even
breathing? Sure you have, unless you were born under a rock and don’t give a
damn about anyone but yourself. If you feel like that, stop reading this book
now because you won’t get anything from it. It will only give you more fuel to
continue your selfish, arrogant, self centered life.
For
the rest of us who have at least a trace of a heart, we've been there, feeling
like a thistle in a patch of dandelions. We stand out like a sore thumb. At
least that’s the way a person feels when negative thoughts pound in the head
like; Hey, I don’t belong here; I don’t
fit in. Those are terrible feelings and very difficult to avoid no matter
how hard others try to make you comfortable.
As I
mentioned earlier, I felt that way while staying with my parents but that
wasn’t all of it. I felt that way, and to an extent still do, everywhere I
went. It boiled clear down to little things such as who was going to grab a box
of Cheerios at the supermarket. Should I get one first or let the person behind
spend ten minutes deciding on Honey-Nut or regular? I knew what I wanted but
felt obligated to let the other person go first because he or she is probably
better and more deserving to go first than me, a person who spent years living on the
streets.
I
always feel labeled, like most persons are better than me simply because most
persons never had to live the nasty, filthy, inappropriate lifestyle that
myself and many other homeless persons have lived. The label that I carry is Former Homeless Person. It’s a tag I
will never lose because it is true. Being labeled isn’t fun and nobody should
wear one simply because life puts people in situations that are beyond control.
A police officer wears a badge and usually sports it with pride. Most former
homeless persons choose not to wear such a decoration. The stigma is still
there but usually not advertised unless knowledge of previous situations could
be beneficial to others. Most people don’t see it; it isn't visible, but it’s
there.
Feeling
like I am walking on eggshells also promotes paranoia. Shortly after I got ‘off
the streets’ and was able to go grocery shopping, eat at a restaurant, or
appear in other public places, I always felt like there were eyes upon me. Often,
people have come to me and said things like;
I’ve seen you before. You look great.
While
that is somewhat flattering, the puff of it goes away almost immediately when
their back is turned as I move in the other direction. That’s when the paranoia
gains more traction and the eggshells get crunchier. The breaking shells get
louder with every footstep I take. I just want to leave the entire area and
hide. I don’t want eyes staring at me. I don’t know what is going through
people’s minds. Is it sarcasm? Could it be pity? Am I being applauded? I never
know as I continue with my business and try not to fall into a panic attack.
The
sensation of walking on eggshells sneaks in from all different directions. Even
though my parents did their best to make me comfortable at their home, it was
still their home and I often felt like I was an intruder. It became so
difficult for me to accept that I often felt guilty for vacuuming the carpet or
doing the dishes, knowing that I might be doing it a different way than the
chores are usually performed. I feared that I might be disturbing someone from
the noise from the vacuum cleaner, the lawnmower, or even the washing machine.
In the middle of the night when Mother Nature calls and I needed to go pee, I
wondered about flushing the toilet or not closing my bedroom door gently enough
so there wouldn't be an audible ‘click’.
It
wasn't just at my parents’ house that I felt the eggshell effect. It happened
everywhere. I would get on the bus and feel like I shouldn't pull the Next Stop
cord unless someone else was getting off at that stop too. I felt like I just
might be taking too much time getting on or off the bus and disrupting someone
else's busy schedule.
All of
these things stem from being homeless and lowering my self-esteem so low that I
don’t want to bother anyone with anything. I felt like I am not deserving
enough to act the same way as others do or enjoy anything that a ‘normal’
person would.
Until Next Time,
Kirk Toncray
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