The Truth About Me: The Face of Homelessness Part One

The Truth About Me: Homeless, Frustrated, Broken, but Faithful

The Face of Homeless

I was so blind back then. I thought homelessness had a certain face. It was the face of the begging mother in the Wawa parking lot. It was the face of the dirty, grungy man who stood in 100 degree temperatures on the side of the road. It was the gay teen working the streets, because his family kicked him out. You see them everyday. You drive by them in your BMW's, you roll your eyes when they hold their hands out, and when you go back to  your safe homes you forget about them. I am here to tell you these are the not the only faces of homelessness, and if you aren’t careful one day the face of homelessness could be you.

We live in a world where nothing is guaranteed. We could lose our jobs to outsourcing or downsizing. We could lose our pensions in the stock market. We could work 40 hours a week and still be broke. We go to the college and somehow are still not be able to get a job in our profession. You could be wearing Jordan’s in one minute and be on food stamps the next. That is the America we live in. I saw it first hand as a television reporter, and even more so when I became homeless myself this year.

Yes, I Lauren Hope AKA Lauren Compton is homeless. My parents sit in a safe home in Virginia Beach. They have 4 cars, together they make over $100,000, and they want for nothing. Yet their oldest child is homeless. I have begged my family in Texas, Kentucky, and Mississippi to intervene. I am not saying this to be malice or petty. These are the facts of my life. I hide the dysfunction, the emotional abuse, and worse in my family in the name of saving their reputation. As I sit here typing this I do not know where I’ll be staying tomorrow, so I’m sorry family I will hide this no longer. We won’t pretend our family is perfect. We won’t pretend we don’t have flaws. And, I am done
pretending that I’m OK. What follows is the brief synopsis of how I became homeless, how depression destroyed my family, and how with faith I’m fighting to get my life back.

My parents took over my life in December of 2015. They demanded I move in with them because my depression was slowly killing me. They watched my spirit die and my ambition to live sliver away. I know it killed them to see their usually over achieving daughter falling apart this way. They couldn’t understand. I walked out of my high powered television job at a number one station in Virginia. I told Lyric (my ex) to continue fucking his mistress, a married woman, cause I wouldn’t stand for being second fiddle any longer. I cut off my fake friends, stopped calling television people, and I secluded myself in a world of misery. I tried cutting, pulling my hair, hanging, overdose and worse. I survived those suicide attempts, and I know now God has a higher purpose for me. I have apologized profusely to my parents even gotten on my knees and prayed.  They called me a bible thumper, told me to stop blogging, said I was a whore for dating, and worse. As much as I love my family, loving them was draining me.

My mother threatened to beat me, set me on fire, and slander 

my name if I ever told. Her behavior terrified me, and finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I called police, non-profits, anyone who would listen. May 23, 2016 I left my parent's Virginia Beach home at the advisement of a crisis interventionist. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep, eat or pray but anywhere was better than my parent’s home. I made a choice that day, and I stand by it even now.

This is the Sparknotes version of how mental illness is slowly ruining my already dysfunctional family. This summer has been the hardest few months of my life. I’ve jumped from couch to couch, bed to bed, hotel to hotel. I’ve made bad choices, trusted bad people, and been lead down bad paths. I humbled myself before my so called friends and they publicly used my pain to embarrass me on social media. I have trusted friends when they said they could help only to be humiliated over a roll of toilet paper. I am a former journalist and Cum Laude graduate, but I've slept in my Volkswagen Beetle more nights than I’d like to admit. My parents repossessed my car, ( a car they gifted to me) then told police I stole it. I have been hospitalized five times this year due to fear of blood clots and anxiety attacks. My parents slandered me to protect their cushy jobs.  My spirit is growing weary. I can no longer carry the weight of this homelessness, the shame it brings, and the judgement it sparks. In writing this I am releasing myself, from this pain. I am trusting my Heavenly Father to break me from these chains of restless nights, foreign beds, and a beggar’s life.

If you want to help you can donate to my GoFundMe at www.gofundme.com/teamgoodgirl or Venmo (LaurenHope84)