The last two weeks I’ve been watching my YouTube Channel, and there are probably over 40 videos of me chronicling the worse year of my life. The year I became homeless, unemployed, and alone. Looking back on those times I am reflecting on the many things I learned about homelessness, people, society, myself, and ultimately God’s grace.
What I Learned Being Homeless: Seagulls are Tough ASF
Seagulls
No one gives seagulls any credit. In the Disney movie ‘Finding Nemo’ they are hilariously depicted as brainless creatures whose only drive is to get food. But, from the view of my car window they are much more than mere scavengers.
The white, pudgy, birds swoop down onto the Wal-Mart parking lot. Each one of them is on a hunt for nourishment. One of them drops by my mint green Volkswagen Beetle. I can see it outside of my window. It’s feathers are speckled with bits of brown dirt. He pecks at a piece of wadded up gum and spits it out. Then he hops over to a half empty bag of popcorn and finds some kernels left. The seagull devours the remnants of the popcorn, then other white birds see him and start swooping in. Before long they are everywhere;searching, searching for anything to survive.
I pray that cold January morning that I have the resilience of a seagull to keep searching. It is 5:00 a.m. and I’ve just spent the night in the backseat of my very small car. I hid myself under a layer of borrowed blankets, comforters and towels to stay concealed and warm.Temperatures dropped into the 30’s and I spent most of the night shivering. Fear escapes me in these moments. The idea that someone could break into the car, pull me out, rape me, or kill me crosses my mind, but I can’t linger on those thoughts too long. After all the gambles I’ve taken to survive this past year, fear is not something I possess anymore. It would be a detriment to my survival. These days I don’t pray what may come, I just pray whatever it is I have the strength to endure it.
Somehow I’ve grown to feel safe in the confines of this two seater. Some days it is my storage bin, lunging around the few material things I own in this world. Some days it’s a dining room where I take my food stamp approved food, turn up the radio, and pretend I’m sitting in this car for a lunch break and not because I have no place to go. A lot of nights it’s my bedroom. And, this morning it’s living room window. The sun is rising breaking through the clouds, and shining down on a parking lot of seagulls scavenging for food. I think for a moment how easy it would be to escape this life;find a means for an overdose, jump off a bridge, or swallow antifreeze in the backseat of the car. Instead, I decide to pop my anti-depressant, and keep trudging along one more day, searching, scrounging, surviving.
But looking at these little birds, creatures no one respects, or likes even; I have a moment of hope. If these puny birds can find means for survival in every season, in every environment then maybe just maybe I can too. I have no one. No friends to take me in, and no family to open their doors to me. I want simple things now; a hot shower, a good breakfast, and day without worry. Today, I will settle for whatever my EBT card can buy inside the Wal-Mart, a makeup wipe to clean my face, and a day spent in another book store looking for jobs. And, I feel a voice in me whisper to hold on a little longer. As I swallow the little orange antidepressant that keeps my serotonin levels high and spirits from tanking, I try with all my might to believe God has my best dreams at heart, and will send me the strength to endure.
“Wait, please! Are they going to say my name over the intercom?” I ask the paramedic. My legs are growing cold, the pounding sound of my heart is almost deafening. Sharp pains are shooting through my chest. Is this what a heart attacks feel like? I’m only 24. I am too young for this.
I am in the throes of the worse anxiety attacks of my life to date. Aside from the physical pain I am terrified of being found out.
“Please my news stations listens to the scanner. I don’t want anyone to know I am here,” I say gasping for air.
The paramedic calmly replies, “I need you to just focus on your breathing. Do you feel light-headed? If you can’t control your breathing you may pass out. Please honey just focus on your breathing.” Her voice is soft, cool, and soothing to my ear. She takes a stethoscope and presses it against my chest.
“We need to bring your heart rate down.” My eyes are fixated on the paramedic near the ambulance scanner, the one I know that all the news station in the market listen to for breaking news.
The paramedic velvety voice says, “Don’t worry we won’t broadcast anything about you over the scanner. They’re going to call for an ambulance.”
“A what! Wait, why? I need to finish my news story. There was this robbery at the pizza place, and if I don’t get back the story won’t make air,” I say rapidly, the words escaping my mouth faster than I can catch them. Each letter sending me further into pain, panic, and angst.
I am not going to make deadline. What will they say about it? I will be fired. My whole television career is over now.
I am growing more scared by the minute that everything I’ve done to conceal the implosion I am now experiencing is going to be exposed. What will happen if everyone knows messy contents of my mental illness; the insomnia, the anxiety attacks, the numbing depression, the times I have to fight to leave the house, the endless thoughts of worthlessness. I have vowed to myself and my family to always keep this secret what will happen now that I am about to be transported to a hospital for an anxiety attack.
That day at the downtown Lynchburg Fire Station I experienced the worse anxiety attack of my life. There is so much more to this story, the gracious way the paramedics and hospital staff kept my protected from the public. I even shooed my News Director away when he came to sit my bedside. An amazing nurse married to one our web producers who stayed with me after his shift, took me to the pharmacy to get my anti anxiety meds, made dinner for me, and stayed at my tuna can apartment until I fell asleep. The grace and care each of these people showed me still brings me to tears. That day was one a hard time in my mental health journey, but not the hardest. And, during my television contract no one ever found out my mental illness. I attribute that to the good southern hospitality that Lynchburg is known for. But, Lynchburg I can’t hide anymore. I see now that silence does nothing but keep people in the darkness. And for me that meant years of not getting help, and not accepting my mental illness.
The road to acceptance has not been easy. I survived a suicide attempt in May 2014 just as my career at WAVY News 10 in Hampton Roads was taking off. I walked away from my television career, the depression destroyed my confidence, and focus. For two lived I lived in a major depressive episode, not eating, bathing, socializing. I essentially was the walking dead. The despair got deeper when I became homeless in 2016, and spent many nights sleeping in my car or a church shelter program. One of the many things that gave me hope in those dark times was living my truth, and telling my story. When I shared my story in speeches, blog, or YouTube vlogs I got tremendous feedback, connection to people around the world sharing the same struggle. They showed me I was not alone, and when I saw my story heal apart of them it renewed my purpose in life.
This is why I am now telling you. I am stepping out of the shadows of year of shame and guilt about living with suicidal ideation, and mental illness. I hope by seeing me someone in the Hill City who may be suffering in silence knows there is a way out, a way to recovery, and unity in speaking up.
This is also why I choose to host a screening of Suicide: The Ripple Effect on August 16, 2018 in Lynchburg. This movie is about the powerful story of Kevin Hines, a may who attempted suicide off the Golden Gate Bridge when he was 19. Beyond medical wisdom, Kevin survived and now travels the world telling his story to help shatter the Silence around suicide, and inspire people to get connected to help. I share Kevin’s mission of breaking the chains of stigma. Kevin’s movie is not in mass release and can only be brought to a city if a minimum seating goal is met.
I want to come back to my second home for a night of truth, healing, and discovery. Lynchburg is where I got my start as a television reporter, where I learned how to live independent as an adult, where I fell in and out love, where I learned how to become a storyteller. Many of you in Lynchburg still follow my story on Facebook andYoutube. Your kinds words in the soul crushing moments of my homelessness reminded me of the love I have for HIll City. I was merely a television reporter passing through to her next big gig, and now so many of you have become a part of my recovery. There are no words to thank you for that.
Please join me for a the screening of THe Ripple Effect, a real, raw, honest look at suicide, what happens after an effect, and effects suicide loss has on a community.
And, come meet me again— a newer stronger version of the woman you once saw though your television screening. A woman who proudly lives in her truth, a woman out of the shadows, and a woman choosing recovery daily through spirituality, therapy, and antidepressants. A woman on mission to break the stigma that keeps so many people from getting help. Allow me to reintroduce myself to you, Lauren Hope, former reporter turned advocate, speaker, blogger, social media personality, Certified Peer Recovery, and silent no more.
I know you will never read this little blog of mine, but I want to apologize. I am a little blogger in Virginia who has been a huge fan of yours for years. But, a month ago I bailed on you. I cancelled my subscription to your App even though I love your work out tips, and home recipes. I love seeing you enjoy motherhood with baby True, and your amazing Khlo-CD tips. I even defend you when my people roll their eyes when I say I’m a huge friends of yours. Even with that said Khloe, I bailed on you.
I know you are no stranger to haters or means comments, but I found myself throwing shade at you. Last year, I even wrote a blog about you featuring you on a series I call Women Who Slay Wednesday because you inspired me to get serious about my weight loss, and speak my truth no matter who didn’t love it. Even with all that sad, I abandoned you Khloe, and I’m sorry. Why?
Because you choose to stay with the father of your child, Tristan Thompson after a pretty humiliating, cheating scandal.
My heart ached for you when I saw the evidence of Tristan’s infidelty, but then like a flaky high school friend I turned my back on you. I was angry that you decided to stay with Tristan. I wanted more for you because of what you went through with your ex-husband Lamar Odom. I thought to myself, “Doesn’t she know better?”
I read somewhere that you wrote, “You have no idea the amount of rebuilding it takes…” in reference to mending your relationship with Tristan. I immediately wanted to bail from following you. Because I like everyone else thought I knew what was best for you. “Leave him,” I thought to myself. “He’s a dog,” I protested. I ashamed Khloe because I threw shade for your ability to forgive.
Forgiveness, making amends, letting go, and moving on for the sake of love is a noble, honorable, and a necessary thing. I applaud you for the strength it takes to forgive, and rebuild a relationship after the trust is broken.
What’s worse Khloe —is that I was once a cheater too. In my 20’s I dated this video game nerd who at times worshipped the ground I walked on. I felt smothered, and in a moment of weakness I cheated on him with an ex. It was hurtful. It was wrong, and it was not my character.
Afterward the deed, I felt tremendous guilt, and remorse. I came clean to my boyfriend who was understandably crushed, but not only forgave me gave our love another shot. I don’t know if I could have been that kind.
Accept this apology from a former cheater, and current fan. I always in awe of your resilience, determination, and strength to pick yourself back up again.
July 4, 2018 is my 34th birthday. My thirty fourth spin around the sun. I’ve had the fortunate of having some pretty cool birthdays over the years. I imagine my first birthday went like this. I wake up in my great-grandmother’s bed. The bright Mississippi sun cracking through her plastic blinds stirs me awake. Before I can cry my cousin Tater lifts me, sings some Michael Jackson 80’s hit and takes me to see the family. Everyone spends the day oohing and aching over the little light skinned baby who just had to be born on the Fourth of July. Now I’m not sure if that’s exactly how the day went down, but that thought makes me happy so we’ll stick with it.
In my early teens, we often traveled back to Mississippi for the Fourth of July, and my great-grandmother who we call Mother, held the largest neighborhood cookout. Her home was in a country subdivision outside of city limits called Brignall, and you’d swear everyone got an invite to her Fourth of July shindig. No invitations were needed. Everyone who pulled up got a plate. As an adult I still don’t know how any of my family members afforded that party, but it happened just about every year until Mother passed a few years ago.
When we moved to Virginia, I remember for the first few years as a family we fought the massive crowds at the Virginia Beach Oceanfront, until like most natives we stopped.Then birthdays became kind of bland, dinner at some Italian restaurant where we all overate then fell asleep. If I wanted an actual sleep over it had to be done on the weekend before or after my actual birthday because Fourth of July is a family holiday.
When I was studying abroad in Costa Rica during twentieth birthday. It was my first time away from home, and in another country. Somehow I managed to tell my host family about mi cumpelanos in Spanish and they made a cake, a traditional Costa Rican breakfast of gallo pinto, and my house mom made me two dresses which I still have. That was an amazing birthday.
When I was 21, my step father took me to a place I always dreamt of being apart of, Los Angeles. It was unprecedented for us. A trip thousands of miles across country with a man who I really kew very little about. Navy life kept us from really forming a deep bond in my formative years so this trip was huge. I had unlimited access to the man who adopted me when I was 2 years old with little or no reservations. And it was a nice birthday. We drove through Compton, California but we too scared to take an actual picture of the Compton sign even though it was our family’s last name. We visited the Walk of Fame, the wax museum, Watts Towers. And in a huge mall my stepfather bought me a necklace with a star on it. I promised myself I’d wear that star everyday until I could come back to California a real star, as fate would have it I lost the star necklace, I have no relationship at all with my immediate family and I’m not famous. Ah well.
On birthday in my twenties I had my first hangover after bar hopping in Downton Norfolk. Another year I decided all I wanted was a fire pit, all the pictures of my ex-boyfriends, and an Adele album. I set fire to all those old loves. It was quite cathartic
In my twenties I began my television news career and a lot of birthdays were spent at the news station. I love being a reporter with every fiber of my being so my job was the greatest gift.
My 30th birthday takes the cake as the worst birthday ever. 2 months prior I had a suicide attempt, and a 5 day hospital day. Even with medication, and endless sleep I still had no urge to live, no desire that the darkness inside of me would lift. 5 days after my 30th birthday I made the biggest and most crushing decision of my life. I walked away from my blossoming television career. Looking back I truly feel I could have salvaged my career with some intense treatment, a long hiatus, and the Family Medical Leave. But, I didn’t know the things I know now. I teeter back and forth between making peace with that decision and being in intense regret. Even thinking about that day July 9, 2014 makes me cry. I just remember getting up from my desk and going to my new director’s office and saying, “I can’t do this anymore.” All I knew in that moment was the fear of anxiety attacks, the actual anxiety attacks, the insomnia, the suicidal thoughts was consuming. I just wanted out.
Then birthdays took a nose dive into miserable. The next year I hardly remember what happened on birthday. Depression has stolen so many memories. Birthday 32 I was technically homeless. I
was sleeping on a couch of a friend’s house after my parents had put me out. My friend took me to dinner, and I got a happy birthdays on social media. But I also had no job, seemingly no future, no family, and no direction. 33 I was living with a man I had no love for, in a relationship that never should have started, and finally feeling the weight of what the last 3 years I had done to my life.
This birthday is by far the best one to date. Why? Because today for the first time in forever I feel like I am breaking FREE. I am no longer chained by the weight of depression and suicidal thoughts. I am learning daily how to live with mental illness, and use that knowledge to help others.
I am working tirelessly to break free from shame and self condemnation from the many mistakes I’ve made in my spiritual walk. I rededicated my life to Christ earlier this year and like it says in 2 Corinthians 5:17 “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away, behold, all things are become new.”
I am breaking free from perfection, and learning to love myself flaws, mistakes, and setbacks. I breaking free from the habit of living for a man to desire and love me. I am breaking free from the intense drive I once had to live a life pleasing to my parents. I am breaking free of trying to make everyone happy and live in misery.
34 is amazing because after 2 years a depression that almost killed me, a year homeless, a year struggling to find myself—- I just am. I live in an apartment where I pay my own rent, I work at a job that allows me to really help people in tough times like addiction, homelessness, and mental illness. I have the blessing of being there for people the word has sometimes cast aside, a feeling I know all too well.
I am finally building the type of relationships I always dreamt of friends like my Miss Sunshine Shirley, Kehyonna, Stephanie, my Community Church family, and my new amazing connections in Lynchburg like Charese, Shannon, and Tonya. I am a Certified Peer Recovery Specialist, a blossoming writer, a speaker, and finally I can see that God is equipping me with the tools to live my wildest dreams. Yes this birthday takes the cake.
So call me Miss Independent, a woman breaking free from a really tough past, who finally feels free enough to write her own future on her terms, her way, and with God’s grace.
When you watch the fireworks tonight, think of me. I’ll be watching and rejoicing on finally breaking free. This is the year of Lolo. A year of new beginnings.
