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“I didn’t want to be street homeless again at 49” By Steve


Reported by Steve

Published on Thursday, August 6th, 2020

Emergency Accommodation Recovery Substance Use
Blogs

“I didn’t want to be street homeless again at 49” By Steve


Written by Steve

Published on Thursday, August 6th, 2020

Emergency Accommodation

Recovery

Substance Use

By Steve

It’s the 5th of August. About five-ish. I just want to briefly talk about something that’s been happening quite a lot, actually, recently. So I live in recovery housing, and have done on and off for the last five years. Different associations, I’ve moved about a lot because of relapse, which for me is, you know, the nature of addiction.

After 32 years, right at the beginning of April for the start of the lockdown, I was in the best place. I remember saying several times I’ve never felt as content, never felt as happy as I was at that time. I had purpose in my life, which was massive for me. I cannot stress how important purpose is when trying to overcome addiction.

I think I was about six months, seven months at the time when I got a phone call from work and they said to me, Steve, we can’t do one to one contacts anymore, it has to be on the phone. It was a massive blow to me. I mean, it was huge at the time. I didn’t appreciate just how important that work was.

The next thing that happened, I went to see my housing manager and because I didn’t have to go to work I said I’m going to take the opportunity to go and visit my girlfriend who lives  in London, something that I do quite regularly. To be fair, they did advise me not to because of the lockdown. But what else was I doing?

I certainly didn’t want to sit in a house with someone that I didn’t particularly get on with. In secondary housing you don’t get to choose who you live with. But that’s by the by.

So I went to London planned just for four days. On the second day, I got a phone call off the housing manager. He said, Steve, I did warn you about going to London. You’re going to have to stay there for the duration now because you’re at the epicentre of the pandemic, which I thought was a massive overreaction. But who am I?

At first it was OK. Next thing was because of Covid I couldn’t go to NA meetings. So all of a sudden within the space of a week, I had no purpose, no connection, and I didn’t feel welcomed back to my own. So I had to make the most of it. Inevitably I relapsed.

Obviously that’s my responsibility. I totally understand that. But I’ve been brought up in recovery to tell the truth all the time. So that’s what I did. It took me six weeks to get back to Manchester. I then told my housing manager what happened. Big mistake. Next thing I’m out kicked out of the housing and  I had to go back into the primary treatment centre. I lasted about two days. I could not cope. They were saying to me that my decision making is awful and I’m such a disappointment. I’d disappointed these people.

So, you know, at 49 years of age, I found that was quite an outrageous comment to make to me to be fair. Next thing was, they said to me, listen, we’ll give you a chance. But they made it clear that…well, I felt I was under a tremendous amount of pressure.

I felt I was under a tremendous amount of pressure to stay clean. And I’m one of them personalities or character traits that ‘Wet paint, don’t touch’… well sooner or later, I’m going to touch it. I’m not sure on the psychology behind all that, but, you know, that’s just the way it is. Anyway, I touched the paint again. It was definitely wet. And I got kicked out.

They said to me – this was in the middle of the lockdown – you’ll have to get your own accommodation sorted. Which was impossible. You know, you couldn’t even get a face to face interview to be assessed anywhere.

So I ended up in a tent. Again, made the most of it, because what can you do? Let it drag you under.

I think addicts in general, we’re very adaptable, even though the irony is I hate change. But I’m constantly making it happen for myself.

So after two weeks in the tent, I managed to get into a different housing association in Manchester. I got put in there and again I relapsed more or less straight away. I told the truth and they said to me, right, we’ll give you a 28 day notice.

But my point in all this reoccurring relapsing is how you get treated. I was belittled, you know, instead of them having the ability to look at the big picture, which you know if there was a holistic it would read: 32 years in active addiction to class A substances, not had a habit since November 2018, relapsed a few times. And we’ve now just kicked him out in the middle of a pandemic. And I just fail to see how that can be progressive.

How is that helping anybody? They then said to me – because I argued the toss – I said I’ve been honest, of course I’ve relapsed but please give me a chance because I didn’t want to be street homeless again at 49, the thought of it is heart breaking.

So I managed to talk them round. Of course, very little input from either side I can’t just say it’s all them. I’m a great believer in nothing changes if nothing changes. But addiction is such a subtle force, you don’t see it coming. And I really didn’t. So I relapsed again.

I’m not good at life. I always thought narcotics was a problem. It wasn’t. It’s a solution. I’m the problem because when I put them down, I realised why I picked them up. And when I put the drugs down and I’m raw – this is not a good thing, but it’s a true thing for me – I can’t cope with these people. I really can’t. You know, they come across as though they want to be seen almost as a saviour, them are the words they say, but their actions belie what they saying.

How can you punish someone? You tell someone they’ve got an illness and then punish them for having the illness or when the illness plays out.  I mean, honestly, when I picked up I knew they was going to urine test me. But because I’d been burned for being honest before I spent four days in my room in absolute mental anguish, dreading every time the door went I thought they’re here.

I couldn’t cope with it any longer. So I told them. The said right you’ve got three days. This is last week this happened. It’s up and you’ve got three days to get out. They were the exact words.

I said, what onto the street? Yeah we can’t help you, we’re not the institution for you. You’re gonna have to find your own your way.

So I had to phone Manchester City Council who were really helpful. And they did get me into a place. I had to phone for an assessment. So I phoned them, to be fair the lady said to me, there are a couple of things Steve that you have to adhere to. If you don’t feel you can stick to these guidelines, then don’t waste our time. She weren’t saying it abruptly.

And I get it. You know, a couple of the stipulations were that you can’t have a night out for a month, which is tough you know, because I’ve got a life in London. But I was willing to do that. And then after that month, you’re allowed two nights a week out. So my reaction at first was to say, yeah no problem. Because I was desperate for somewhere to live.

I put the phone down. I thought, you know what, Steve? This is not going to work. All I’ll be doing is wasting everybody’s time as well as my own. And truth is somebody else could have that bed, which is painful to admit.

All sorts goes through my head. Maybe you’re not ready. Maybe recovery is not for you. Maybe this is all you are. Even though I’ve got evidence to suggest otherwise. That’s where it takes me. And when I say ‘it’, this is probably a bit jumbled up, but it’s the way I get treated. I say I but it’s ‘we’ because I believe fundamentally we’re all the same. I don’t just mean addicts. I mean human beings. It might play out differently, but the way some people treat others – people who proclaim in a caring profession – it’s staggering.

People who’ve got lived experience themselves. How on earth did they forget where they’ve come from? Because they preach from a spiritual hymn sheet. But there is nothing spiritual about throwing somebody out who has got a massive problem. How’s that going to help?

And when I reflect on all this stuff, it’s blatantly obvious what happens. And this is painful to say, but it’s so true in my experience. There’s a lot of profit in other people’s suffering. There really is. I mean, I don’t want to get all Marxist about this but its difficult not to. You know, when somewhere is getting £156 a week housing benefit for you to live there in one room – this sounds ungrateful but its true – that’s basically in a shithole.

Fair enough it’s a roof over my head. Telling you it’s your home, but staff come in twice a day to check on you. And if you’ve not had a shave for a couple of days, they feel at liberty to comment on that in front of a house full of  your housemates. What’s going on for you? You look a mess. You look tired. All this pressure.

And let’s have it right, pressure is a double edged sword because the more the you put the pressure on the person not to do something, the more that can manifest into you know what, fuck this, I can’t cope with it. And I end up doing the one thing that’s so detrimental to my mental health and physical health because it’s that behaviour that got me there in the first place.

These people fail to see that it’s not a narcotic problem, it’s a behaviour problem. You know, if you’ve laid bricks for 32 years and then you stop laying bricks, guess what you’re going to think  about? I bet it starts with fucking brick. Seriously and, you know, only by the grace of God have I managed to get a room now from rent-a-room.com.

But as I’ve talked this out into my phone now, I’m riddled with fear because like I said earlier, nothing changes if nothing changes. And where is the next rung on this bottomless ladder?

It’s so sad because I do have the ability to get clean. You know, on reflection I find that the easy part. Believe it or not. But it’s staying clean. And when I get clean, I’m off with my family and loved ones. Hope. And then when I’m mess up I’m pulling that rug away. And it must be so painful.

Because why would you choose a life of misery. A life of worry and panic and resentment of yourself.

Them are all powerful emotions to go through. And, you know, I’m not blowing smoke up my own backside here. I’ve got an education, you know. It’s not like I don’t know any better. And this is the frustrating part of being alive. I do know better. And yet I still seem to do it.

What is it? I don’t mean about me. I mean in general. Why does a programme of help, that keeps getting pushed upon us for years, not help. And when is not helping and the inevitable happens and people relapse, we then get punished. We then get spoken to as if they’re explaining what condescending means. That’s the intellect that I’m dealing with. Not just me, I’m generalising, I know. 

But being a drug addict it doesn’t make you a bad person. It really doesn’t.

Failure to adapt to change I don’t believe makes me a bad person. I keep getting up and dusting myself down and trying again, I think that honestly counters all the dark side, the dark things I’ve done in active addiction.

Having a voice and having the opportunity to talk about this stuff. It’s fantastic. It does beg the question, what’s the point if no one listens? It’s incredibly frustrating. And I know this is a health platform, what we’re discussing on here. But honestly, I can’t tell you enough how draining from a mental health perspective just being alive is.

Because you know, you’re told that to combat addiction you’ve got to be honest. But when you’re honest guess what, it doesn’t pan out like that. Quite the opposite. You know, if I could reverse back in time just six months ago, to keep it simple. Would I be honest this time? Absolutely not. Not a cat in hells chance. Because it’s done nothing but create more and more and more problems.

When you look at that couple of sentences, that’s phenomenal, isn’t it? That’s phenomenal. It’s so ambiguous. I don’t struggle for words but a lot of this is beyond repose. It really is, because I have no explanation.

All I know is that I have to keep getting up and dusting myself down and trying again. Because a big part of my belief system – and what’s the point in having a belief system if I’m not going to believe in it – I have to adhere to all this stuff constantly. A big part of my belief system is if you don’t roll the dice, you’re never gonna win. And no matter how exhausting it is to pick them dice up and keep rolling them, I have to give myself a chance.

And if this is happening to me, like I said, fundamentally I believe we’re all the same. This is happening across the board. I believe I’m just a representative sample of what goes on. I’m sure you’d hear a completely different story. The words might be different but unfortunately, the conclusions are always the same. Very, very, very painful.

And in a way, I suppose this is not a cry for help but it’s just like please tell me what to fucking do, cause my head tells me that I know what to do. But clearly, I really don’t. And it’s exhausting. It really is.

I don’t think I’ve made sense since about 1984, so I’ll leave it there.

 

Written by Steve


Steve joined the Listen Up project as a volunteer, initially working on the Call and Check project before becoming a volunteer on the Covid Monitoring Project. When Listen Up was launched Steve successfully applied for one of the new Project Officer posts. Although he enjoyed the role he decided his skills were best suited to volunteering at this time. As a result he is once again a volunteer reporter and has now done the HHPA [Homeless Health Peer Advocate] training which allows him to advocate for vulnerable people, helping them to access health care in a way that is best for them. Steve has roots in Manchester but travelling and meeting people from all walks of life while discussing the price of chips is something that Steve would describe as a perfect day! As a result he has recently moved to London.

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Emergency Accommodation Recovery Substance Use