The Voice Inside My Head Part Nine

September 2009

It was a Monday morning.  I’d been up before sunrise and had walked about 5 miles along a cycle track to the Salvation Army Hall. I was outside the place, smoking like a chimney, not wanting to go in. I was worried sick about the sort of people I’d meet in there, Dante’s Inferno sprang to mind. Desperate people do desperate things – would I be safe? There was a sign on the path saying ‘Doorway –  now open’, so I went and signed in. I sat down and a volunteer came and spoke to me, trying to put me at ease. I didn’t want any food or drink – a combination of drying out and anxiety made me feel uncomfortable in a way that defies description. A couple of people passed me in order to play table tennis, stinking of brandy – it’s 10 o’clock in the morning for God’s sake! The Voice Inside My Head makes an unwelcome guest appearance and bluntly points out that until a couple of days ago the only reason I hadn’t been fully loaded by 10am was because I’d got up late – thank you Voice, I don’t want to know that or any other unpleasant truths. Breakfast is being served, the place is busy, there is a lively atmosphere. I get the feeling that everyone is looking at the new boy. I keep hold of my bag, clutching it, not letting it out of my sight - all my essential belongings are in there.

I get taken into the office and get interviewed by a member of staff. I’m shaking so much I can’t hold a pen, and she fills a form in for me. It’s pointed out to me that what’s happened can’t be changed. It’s no good thinking ‘what if’, ‘if only’ – it’s happened, end of story. I’m told to concentrate on the future – I stand a fighting chance because I’ve only just been made homeless, and Doorway have got hold of me in that small window of opportunity that will enable them to keep me from going under. All I need to do is take small steps along a journey which in the short-term will get me a roof over my head. I am asked to return on Thursday and they will make arrangements to see the Housing Officer again.

I leave Doorway feeling better than I did before I went in - although I could see the attraction of playing table tennis whilst p*****. I had two more interviews at the Council offices. A member of Community 4 accompanied me on one, and two members of the Doorway team on the second. The second interview, with lobbying from the Doorway team, asking to be considered for a move-on flat attached to a new homeless hostel opening shortly, was nerve wracking. The Housing Officer excused herself saying that she needed to consult with a colleague and returned with him. He introduced himself and said that he was the Council Mental Health Official and told me of an organisation called Wiltshire Mind which ran drop-ins around the County. He said that he would be willing to accompany me to my first meeting and to get in contact with him should I need help in that direction. The Housing Officer had obviously been concerned about my mental state and sought advice from a colleague. I will be forever grateful for those two in putting me in contact with Wiltshire Mind.

I left the meeting feeling optimistic despite the confirmation that I was a potential headcase. I had spoken to my cousin about my situation – he was gob smacked but incredibly practical. He said what’s done is done, the most important thing now was to help me get better mentally. He was going to deal with all the legal stuff concerning my house and also tide me over until I started receiving benefit. The Project Manager of Doorway came with me for my hostel interview – I couldn’t attend these things on my own, I needed support, and I got it in spades. I left that interview with a firm offer of a move-on flat, the down side being that the hostel wasn’t open yet, and they didn’t know when it would be. It didn’t matter –  I had a car to sleep in, and an old mate from a long time ago let me sofa - surf when he was at home.

For the first time in an age, I was truly upbeat.

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