Shelbie | Homeless but not Broken
When I tell people that I live in a homeless shelter, they often respond with comments such as: “I’m so sorry for you,” “It must be terrible for you.” Then when I let people know that we sleep in tents next to a sewer plant, behind U Haul, they are shocked. However, for the first time in my life I feel safe and secure at Camp Hope. For me to feel safe and secure, I need to know I am protected, taken care of, watched over, and comforted. It’s been a long, burdensome journey to this place of refuge.
Long before I arrived at Camp Hope, I arrived at my first foster home. Since my mom couldn’t take care of me, the State decided that a more nurturing place for me would be a loving, caring foster home with mature, protective adults. Those who promote the foster care system paint the perfect picture of bonding and love. For me, the foster system was a cruel, abusive, broken system. Not all children brought up in the foster system are abused, neglected and thrown away. Some children thrive in foster homes.
However, that was not my story. Having been abused and thrown away like a piece of garbage, never did I feel protected, comforted or valued. Instead, I felt betrayed, confused and angry. I never realized how broken the foster care system was for me until I became an adult dealing with mental illness, confusion and drug addiction. Once again, the state stepped in to help me. This time, I was admitted into a mental health hospital where I received a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, severe depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I also received numerous prescriptive drugs and therapy. I still didn’t feel safe and secure. Instead, I felt restless, and for the next few years, I wandered around trying to find love in all the wrong places. For me, once again, the state and their profound wisdom let me down.
I couldn’t seem to find a place I fit in; I began to wonder if I should be around at all. My self-esteem plummeted because there was nowhere else to go, no one to trust and nothing to hold onto. About five months ago I arrived at Camp Hope, a homeless encampment. I was penniless, confused, and uncertain of my future. At first, I thought Camp Hope was just another barrier, like other organizations I had tried before.
Instead, it has become a place of refuge for me, my pets, and my fiancé.
Camp Hope is more than a place to sleep, have a shower, and receive a meal. It is a community, a family: not like the dysfunctional families I grew up in. Our people at Camp Hope may be broken people, but they are caring and helpful. No other organization can provide the safety and security, and care that I feel at Camp Hope.