*This is not a bookish post. This is a selfish, petty post about my life in general.*
It’s no secret that I’m astonishingly poor and homeless. As someone under 25, I have been able to stay at a youth shelter that has some connections to job programs and (albeit poor quality) vegan food. However, my mum is a senior, part of the most at-risk age groups for homelessness. She stayed in a tent for several weeks before meeting Wes, who offered to let her stay in his living room.
I obviously was skeptical about this, cause after all, I’m from Oakland and most men don’t offer this amount of help to homeless women. When I met Wes, I realized that he’s a hippie. A senior hippie. He has a skull tattoo on his wrist and as you saw, a puppy almost a year old.
His name is Jack, a chihuahua mix. Recently one of his hind legs have gone bad, causing him to limp everywhere.
The puppy part is not over.
I have started to suspect that I have an eating disorder. I’m not entirely sure what it is. The shelter I’m staying at, like I said, does not have good vegan food. They do have some. For dinner tonight the lunch lady shoveled a layer of white rice, plain, but ok, pretty good. On top of that, a mass of brown chunks. Unidentifiable brown chunks. Seeing my look of horror, she said it was dog food. I had no trouble believing that. It looked like something my dog, and only my dog would eat. Repeating “Dog food,” she then said “jackfruit” I have minor hearing problems, so it’s entirely possible that she originally said “jackfruit” and I misheard her.
But I couldn’t get the “dog food” label out of my mind. I pushed around the dog food to get at the rice. Then I threw the dog food away when I knew she wasn’t looking.
There haven’t been other incidents as specific, but that’s because the food wasn’t as gross before. There has been somewhat appealing foods, ascetically and taste-wise. Some weren’t, such as green beans and beans unlike the ones I’m used to. I ate a little and couldn’t eat anymore.
One night, I stared at the plate, willing myself to eat it. Tears started forming.
I’m talking to a therapist this week and will bring it up. This is the same therapist that disqualified me for therapy despite depression because I couldn’t talk when my mother was in the same room. I suspect it won’t work, and will contact the mental health agency connected to my shelter if it doesn’t work. They aren’t individual therapists, but social workers that conduct group therapy.
I’m tired. I started this post intending to go on a rant about rich people that give millions away to charity in foreign countries. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, but I don’t think they should be giving all of there charitable contributions to one particular place or cause. Yes, you can change people’s lives by building a fountain in Ethiopia. And you should, if you can. And you should donate to disease research, etc.
But you should also help people closer to home. Homeless people, like myself. Help people who can’t afford a visit to the vet. Help us.
When I first started this post, it was to ask people get Jack to the vet. But then I saw a vlogbrothers video about giving xbox money to Sean in Bangladesh. Sean’s been helping those people stay in school. The Green brothers, John and Hank, of Fault In Our Stars and An Absolutely Remarkable Thing fame, have done this for Haiti, for Ethiopia, and probably more.
This made me really upset for selfish reasons. John says “They are us. These are our children,” and I can’t help but feel he’s dismissing the real problems that Americans have. Yes, I did manage to go to college for a semester, and I live in a place where the water’s unlikely to go bad anytime soon.
But I’ve been homeless for 3 months now. I’m mentally sick to the point where I’m becoming psychically sick. Homelessness has been my constant fear since middle school, so I expected that when it actually happened, it would only be a few weeks. A month at most. But it’s been so long that the person fostering my dog put a time limit of 14 days, two weeks, before she’d kick him out. Wes is so worried about Jack that he hasn’t given a verdict on whether Ringo can stay with them.
I’m tired and scared. Thank you if you’ve read this far. As you probably suspect, I’m going to ask for donations. For $15 and under, I suggest you donate to my ko-fi. Higher donations should go through for Jack’s visit to the vet GoFundMe Jack has been limping with, after a google search, presumably a blood clot. He’s under a year old, a puppy. Wes is 72, and lives in a senior apartment. He gets by on disability and some art sales.
I totally understand if you can only donate 3, 6, dollars. I understand if you can donate nothing at all. There are a lot of college aged bloggers and others with financial difficulties. But please share this post on your social media platforms.
If this is a Green brother, Hi… I love your work. Even the charitable work I took a shot at. I respect your right to give to whomever you choose, and am glad that my heroes are doing good in the world that isn’t for your direct benefit.
Here’s the puppy.