Hobo Happenings

Well. One day I was walking along a rainbow to say hello to this little leprechaun I met a few months ago. I ended up slipping on Indigo and falling down, down, down into a tiny black hole type thing. I ended up in a world that looked just like this, except it was made entirely of poo! The smell was atrocious. You can’t even imagine. Think of an outhouse that has tipped over and magnify that times 1,350. Yeah. That bad.

Anyway, so I was walking (read: slipping and sliding) around this horrible alternate universe when I came upon the cousin of the leprechaun I had been going to meet! He took me to a small bakery a few blocks away. We sat and talked while he sipped on a mug of Taco Diarrhea. I felt nauseous just watching him. It didn’t help that the smell kept wafting over to me. =/

He told me that he had accidentally fallen through the same black hole thing that I had 5 years ago. I was amazed at that. I asked him how he had adjusted to it so well. He said that once you’ve lived there long enough you got used to it. After awhile, it even becomes rather nice. You really only have two choices: You can eat and live, or you can starve and die. And starving to death was a very unpleasant experience.

I was convinced that I could find a way back to my world though. I refused all food and drink offered to me. There were all sorts of things. Stuff you would vomit just thinking about. My personal favorite was Diarrhea Parmigiana. Yeah. Just…yeah.

After 3 days of walking around in shit and smelling it constantly, I realized that it didn’t really stink anymore. It actually smelled somewhat pleasant. So I met up with Patrick O’Henry, the cousin of my friend in the other world, and he told me to try the Cocoa Caca drink the bakery was famous for. Somewhat queasy and quite a bit hungry, I gave in.

To my surprise, all I could taste was the chocolate! Apparently, once you get used to it, you can’t taste or smell the poo anymore. You only taste the excess parts that made the poo the way it was. I ended of gorging myself on stuff such as: Deep Fried Stool, Stir-Fried Shart, and (my personal favorite) Taco Diarrhea. It was spicy with just a hint of a mint. Yum!

One day, a few weeks later, I was walking in the city dump and I saw the edge of something smooth and inky black under a few clumps of dried poo. I was kicking them out of the way, and I ended up slipping on a patch of maggots into the blackness. I had found the black hole!

As soon as everything righted itself once again, I noticed something odd. It smelled horrible here. There was gas, garbage, pollution, dead animals, and bad cooking in the air. I almost threw up right where I stood. I went to meet my friend, Neal O’Toole, to tell him the news about his cousin and was surprised to see that the rainbow had bits and pieces of poo embedded in it! I quickly grabbed them and put them in my pockets before anyone could see me. Once I had told Neil the news, he cried and hugged me and told me he may as well go join Patrick in the other world. I said goodbye, wished him luck, and made my way home.

Once there, I immediately took a shower, found a book to read, and sat down with my poo to read. I sat there munching on the delicious morsels and thought to myself, ‘Once these are gone I shall have no more.’ It made me sad for a few seconds, but then I decided to immortalize the moment. I grabbed my camera, let a piece of poo melt a little on my tongue, and took a picture. I framed it and put it on my nightstand to always remind me of my time in a better world.

And that is the story of how to poo came to be on my tongue.

This is the story of how I died.

I started the day by going into OkChat. I didn’t feel very well, but that was nothing new. I was quiet in chat and people asked me what was wrong. I told them nothing and said I was going to lie down and nap.

I put on a movie to watch…Labyrinth I think…and got comfy. My side was hurting and I felt rather nauseous. I kept having chest pains as well. I am not one to call a doctor or go in unless I am bleeding to death, so I ignored it. Probably wouldn’t have helped much anyway.

So I was lying there watching Labyrinth and I got this extreme pain like someone stabbing me with a red hot poker in my side. I tried to stretch it out like I normally do, but it didn’t help. I got up and threw up in the sink. I couldn’t stop. I just kept puking until I fell down. I started to cry because I knew this was it. The day had come. I was about to die.

Lots of things rushed through my head. I wondered how long it would be before someone found me. I wondered what they would say about me. I wondered if anyone would miss me. I cried because I didn’t think anyone would. I cried so hard I vomited again. I started losing my breath and I felt like I was suffocating. I tried to yell out, but only gargled screams came. I was going to die alone…like I always knew I would.

I accepted this and I sat up to help myself breathe a little better. Tears were streaming down my face as I continued to struggle to breathe. Then came the sudden pain in my chest. My heart had seized up. This was it. My final moments.

It didn’t take long. 2 minutes maybe. Then I was gone. Done. Finished.

I didn’t go anywhere such as Heaven or Hell, I just sort of lingered. I needed to see my body put to rest somewhere.

It took a week, but eventually someone complained about the smell. The landlord came up and unlocked the door. He threw up in the hallway when he saw me. This made me giggle a bit. At least HE would remember me. Even if it wasn’t in the best of ways.

By this time my body was semi-liquidfied. All of my blood had settled in my lower region. I was bloated and black and red and blue. My mouth was hanging open and there were maggots crawling in and out of various holes.

I have to admit, it was pretty disgusting and not very dignified. Oh well.

My landlord called the cops and my body was taken to a morgue. An autopsy was performed and the cause of death was cardiac arrest caused by kidney failure and toxicity. I watched the entire thing. It was rather interesting to see them take my organs, the things that both gave me life and killed me, weigh them and talk about them scientifically.

This also angered me. I was a person! I deserved their pity and remorse! I didn’t care that they didn’t know me. I was a young woman who had died alone and in pain. And I had no one.

They should have cried at least one tear for me. Just one.

Instead they joked about my boobs and talked about weekend plans.

I didn’t have a funeral. They buried me in a paupers grave. I always knew this was how I would be buried. My social worker and I had talked about it a few times. No family=paupers burial. I didn’t even get a tombstone. This made me cry silent tears.

I wouldn’t be remembered. No one would ever know I had existed unless they came along some of my old blogs on the internet or a story I wrote somewhere.

When I died, everything about me died as well. It was like I had never lived.

My life had been bizarre and full of experiences.

But I never made any close friends. And I had no family.

My hermitism made it so I wouldn’t live on. There was no one to tell my stories.

Everything just stopped then.

Time stopped.

I stopped.

The world just ceased to exist.

I was alone…frozen forever in a perpetual sadness.

And it was all my fault.

I am still here today. By my nameless grave. I cannot move, or speak, or cry. All I can do is stare at the spot of dirt that holds my decaying body and regret.

It is too late for me.

I have failed.

I am nothing.

My name is Shanna, and I have been homeless in Florida for the last 3.5 months.

I came down here for 3 reasons:

My ex left me.
I was really sick and told I was going to die within 1-2 years.
I panicked.

I didn’t know what to do. I spent a few months grieving and just being depressed. Then I sorta…turned all my emotions off, found a really good home for my kitties, packed 2 bags, got on a bus, and made the 2.5 day trip down to Miami from Minnesota.

My plan was to live hostel to hostel.

I got sick on the way down here. When I finally arrived at the hostel I had booked, I went into the bathroom and broke down in tears. Some Aussie chick came in and comforted me. then brought me back into the dorm room and helped me drag my mattress to the floor since I was too weak to climb up.

The next morning I was given a bottom bunk (yay) and spent the next week getting over whatever I had. I also found out someone had stolen all my cash. I still had my emotions pretty much off, so I was like…fuck. I knew then I was going to be homeless because it was all the money I had.

I got rid of my 6500CU bag and most of the stuff I had. This included clothes, my movie collection, my CD player, some books, a whole bunch of crap. I was left with only my backpack and camera bag.

I started off by tying my tripod to the back of my backpack with some rope I had brought with me, but it kept ripping it open at bad times. So I gave it to some random dude who was peeing in the bushes the first night I slept on the street.

I normally have a pretty good system. I stay in a cafe during the day until they close…then sleep outside somewhere at night. I do sponge baths in bathrooms, brush my teeth and hair, do my makeup…and generally try to not look homeless.

It apparently gets cold in Florida at night. I never knew that.

One item I got rid of when throwing my stuff away was my over sized hoodie. I so could have used it the last month. =/

Um. It was OK being homeless at first. I had a nice sidewalk in South Beach and it was nice at night. Warm with a slight breeze. It was too noisy to sleep well though. And random men groped me awake. That annoyed me.

I got a really bad UTI and called an ambulance to take me to the ER since I didn’t even have enough money for a bus at the time. I had no money for antibiotics either, so I had myself admitted to the psych ward. Free anti’s, yo.

I was there about 4 days and they refused to put me back on the street. I was put in a fucking half way house instead. It was horrid. 3 men there kept trying to fuck me. Touching, saying stuff, etc. I went to a new halfway house after a week. The HOUSE MANAGER tried to get me into bed and everyone was a narc. They listened in on my phone calls and tattled that I was going to leave. The house manager would text me crap like: ur cute And wanna come cuddle with me in bed?

…

Yeah. It made it rather awkward. So I gave them my dummy bank card that has no actual account linked to it and hired a limo to pick me up in the morning. I was told recently a cab would have actually been cheaper, but at the time I thought it would cost more.

‘Sides, the limo picking me up and dropping me off back on my sidewalk to be homeless is an awesome story.

I was there a night or so and then I found a room to rent. I was sick again and oh so tired. The dude (owner) picked me and brought me to Hollywood, FL. I had my own room, but the door didn’t close. I had to prop a painting against it. I didn’t leave much. Mostly just to get food a couple times. =]

I had some psuedosuicide attempts as well. Such as swimming in a gator infested lake at midnight during a thunderstorm. o.o

After a month I was stupid and nice to someone and ran out of money. So I had to leave!

I packed up my crap and took a cab to the hospital. I got admitted to the psych ward and was there about 4-5 days. They told me they would drop me off at an ALF (Assisted Living Facility) so I could finally get help getting a doctor and getting treated and maybe not die! I was excited. So I got into the cab they paid for and…

He dropped me off on a corner! In Fort Lauderdale! I had no idea where in hell I actually was at first though. I had to ask what city I was in…which is pretty lame and gets you weird looks.

I fed a homeless dude and myself at the local McDonald’s (keep in mind I hadn’t eaten McDonald’s in years…it makes me ill. But it’s cheap!) and paid for him and I to take a bus to this shelter I was told to go to.

As soon as we got there they took my phone away. I burst into tears because I hadn’t been able to talk to any of my friends in almost a week and I needed that contact and I couldn’t have it while there. I rarely cry…and they told me that crying wouldn’t help anything. This helped to piss me off enough that I stopped. I had to sit in a chair for 5 hours waiting til 8:30pm so I could lie on the concrete floor with only a sheet to cover me. It was very cold. I didn’t sleep.

This was the beginning of my sleeplessness.

The next day I got up early and got my stuff together. I did my sponge bath and walked to the nearest bus stop. I took the number 1 to Broward General Hospital and sat in Starbucks alllll day long. I paid $9 in all for Internet that day. Then I cried when I realized the hospital had free Internet. =/ I also got my Starbucks card here. I put $5 on it and had unlimited Internet until they closed.

I tried to sleep hidden in the chapel in the lobby, but I was too scared that someone would find me and kick me out. I did this for two nights until the fucking guards kicked me out.

I walked and found this law office building…huge colonial looking house thing…and it had an outlet! So I plugged my phone in to charge, laid down, covered myself with my stolen hospital blanket, and tried to sleep.

It didn’t work.

From then on this was my bed spot. I began by walking 2 blocks to a gas station to pee whenever I had to go, then I said fuck it and peed in the bushes. Took me awhile to get the hang of it and not pee on myself each time I had to go. ~_~

It got colder.

I was totally sleep deprived. Hallucinating, micro sleeping, twitching, just totally out of it. I was getting sicker. I even got hypothermia one night and was almost FORCED to go to the ER. There I got warm IV fluids and a hot shower. I even slept a few hours. But they neglected to wake me up and feed me.

I was very hungry.

This was when people started adding money to my Starbucks card. I hear it’s a bitch to do, and I hate accepting help, so they got to figure it out by themselves. -.- This went on for another week or so. Then! I got my monthly monies. I get them for being sick and dying and stuff.

So I booked this hostel for 2 weeks. I leave on the 17th.

My plan is to go to Starbucks, get a caramel apple spice cider (comfort drink…better than booze!), take the bus to the hospital, and get admitted.

I reallllllly need to wash my clothes. x.x

I have 1 shirt and 3 pairs of pants. My jeans have a hole in the crotch. I still wear them because my shirt is so big it covers it. I have flip flops. And one pair of toe socks.

I have $33 left on my Starbucks card because I am too fucking nice. =/

I’m having a very hard time keeping the depression away. I’ve wanted to just give up so many times. I still may. I haven’t quite made a firm decision.

My compy should be fixed soon. This will make me feel somewhat better. I NEED communication with people. I have a hard time believing I actually exist sometimes.

But for now…I’m here. And I will continue to blog and post pictures of my homelessness.

Am I the only homeless person with a blog? o_O

Signing off…

Me