This First Person column is the experience of Lisa Wiebe, a rural Manitoban who takes photos as a way to document her life. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ. You can read more First Person articles here.
While my homeless journey ended in July 2019, the threat of ending up back on the streets was very real. It hovered over my head. I had great difficulty transitioning myself back into normal societal routines.
I was traumatized from life on the streets, and from what led me to life on the streets — escaping a decade of an abusive domestic partnership.
Even though I was able to procure housing near my hometown, it was difficult to hold on to.
The location was not adequate for anyone on employment income assistance, with no access to transportation. The rent itself ate up almost 90 per cent of my benefits. That left me with a little more than $100 to cover groceries, basic necessities and bills.
There were no resources available nearby — no grocery stores, no doctors and no public transportation.
The food bank and all other resources were located in Steinbach, so I had to rely on rides from Steinbach Community Outreach volunteers. When I couldn’t get a ride, I walked there — 11 kilometres, each way.
I didn’t have cellphone service and couldn’t afford internet, so for the first couple of months, if I needed to reach out for help, I would walk to the convenience store/gas station to access the public wifi. Otherwise, I would have had no way to reach out for rides, for help or to speak to my doctor. But the owners found out and after that, they password protected the wifi.
Then there was the nerve damage in my shoulder and right arm and osteophytes on the cervical disc in my neck, injuries thanks, in part, to months of life on the streets, carrying my life’s belongings in a backpack.
That winter, access to food was limited. I starved and was diagnosed with malnutrition. I lost the ability to digest solid food.
Honestly, thanks (again) go out to Steinbach Community Outreach. They bought me the supplementation I needed to (somewhat) recover from malnutrition.
Still, I spent that winter alone, cold, in severe pain and isolated from the rest of the world.
Many nights passed slowly, with me huddled in the fetal position on the floor by the baseboard heater, crying in pain and begging for death.
By spring, the pandemic was in full force, and I was essentially couch-hopping in Steinbach, in order to be closer to the resources and support that I desperately needed.
Eventually, I rented an upstairs suite in the heart of downtown Steinbach. I hoped that being closer to the resources I needed would help me begin to heal and recover.
But history often repeats itself, and in early 2021, my landlord made a deal with another tenant to rent the upstairs suite (where I lived) to that tenant’s girlfriend.
That meant I had to leave, risking homelessness again, unless I found something, somewhere, that I could afford.
After almost four months, I found a place in Crystal City, three hours west of my hometown.
By that point, it had been two years since I had been homeless, and I still had not received any help for my mental health.
It was a struggle for me to get the help I knew I needed. One doctor recommended prayer. Another suggested I was just trying to get out of working. (I wasn’t.) Eventually, I was approved for disability.
Fast-forward four years. I’m still at the same place. No more housing insecurity — I have amazing landlords.
But there isn’t a single day that goes by that I’m not afraid of suddenly finding myself homeless again. I suffer from a plethora of mental health issues. I have constant feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing. I suffer from intense flashbacks.
I live in a constant state of hypervigilance, as if I am standing on the edge of a cliff and waiting for the inevitable push that will send me over the edge.
I did finally get a mental health evaluation and now have a proper diagnosis of complex post-traumatic stress disorder.
The general public is under the impression that those who have been through homelessness should be medically fine and able to work once they are housed.
The system doesn’t seem to acknowledge that the trauma needs to be resolved in order for the victim to heal, to become an upstanding and successful citizen in society.
The road to recovery from homelessness is not easy. It isn’t paved in gold and silver. But if I succeed, I hope it inspires others to keep going as well.
I hope my story helps bring more empathy and understanding for those who feel unheard, unseen and without hope.
Source: https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/lisa-wiebe-homeless-trauma-9.7054711?cmp=rss
