Drug Adict Mother vs. Two Christian Mothers

Sean and I went out for ice cream after laying horizontal all day in bed together. Covid-19 has brought out the best in us. lol Our usual go to, Dairy Queen, was closed so we headed to Rita's. We were likely their last customer. On the drive home I saw a homeless person wrapped in tarps, all their personal belongings in a shopping cart by their feet. It isn't especially cold out tonight, it's April in Maryland, but damn it pulls at my heart strings, as I have been in similar positions.

And another memory flooded my mind as I shared with Sean this imprinting traumatic experience on our drive home, eating my ice cream.

To preface, my homelessness began in August 2011 the month I started AND dropped out of BYU for having sex with the first man I ever fell in love with. I had been living off campus, with special permission because it was a private religious university, with my aunt to save money on school experiences. (BYU-I was dirt cheap for a university as is, practically the same cost of my community college at home). The stipulation for remaining in her home was to be a student, and I no longer was, so I was asked to leave, even though I had nowhere else to go. But the full details on that is another story. My homelessness had been going on for well over two years at this point.

I was temporarily living with an old friend from elementary school. The first friend I made in the second grade, actually. We were both short in height and we both had the same birthday. Our friendship was short lived, though, as I started in that school halfway through the year, and she was held back to repeat the grade. I never saw her in another class again through the rest of our K-12 schooling together. Until I saw her at the Mummers Parade in October 2013 where she offered to help out by being room mates.

When that turned sour (as all living situations did at the time with high stress, high mental health symptoms, and yet another suicide attempt while in her home) I left on foot in the middle of the night. I had been talking with a guy from high school for potential dating purposes. According to him, I took his virginity. For the record, I will never be involved in a circumstance like that again. Ooof the inexperience is not for me. He conveniently lived a few miles away from where I was staying, and so I figured I'd head there first, to see if I could spend the night. I had all the important things on me. Wallet, photo ID, what little money I had to my name, my computer, a change of clothing, phone charger and my phone.

I could see his house in the distance through some trees on his winding road, and I texted him and asked him if he was home. While he worked at Target part time, it was late and he didn't drive or have a license. He depended on his mother to drive him around, and often would go on drives with her to get out of the house when taking his brother, who also lived at home, to work midnight shifts at Fed Ex. As I texted him this, I saw a car pull in and he said "just got home". I thought to myself great he's going to think I've been awkwardly waiting for him here in the bushes or something. . . I told him I was walking to his place and asked if we could talk, that I had a rough day/night and needed to ask for favor. I don't recall how late it was, but his parents weren't excited I stopped by so late, I believe they were devout Christians and remember them having some really odd rules for their children. I had only been in his home a handful of times but always felt uncomfortable, even for being raised in a cult. I never understood why so many of their children didn't graduate high school/dropped out and didn't have their license. I realize my judgement didn't need to be made, because here I was about to ask to spend just one night, until I could walk to town for a shelter.

I told my friend about the fight I had, just being released from the hospital from a suicide attempt and being thrown out again. He left the room to ask his mother about my request. She followed behind looking annoyed and concerned. She asked some of the most difficult questions, in some of the most demeaning ways. I remember non-stop crying trying to answer all of them. (What happened? Where do you live? What about your parents? What did you do to end up here? Are you employed? How did you get here? Why are you here? Why do you think we should help you?) She told me she remembered who I was from elementary school. I found this creepy and unusual because I never was close friends with her son, until only recently as an adult. I told her about my parents divorce, dropping out of BYU, my aunt kicking me out due to mental health concerns and being homeless for quite a while. She said she would talk to her husband and ask if I could stay the night. I remember feeling she was making such a big deal about me spending one night, that I told her she could say no and I'd just start walking into town, this scene wasn't necessary. She left the room for what was probably over 30 mins.

I sat there awkwardly, in confusion, feeling hollow after baring my soul to that woman and being met with frustrated, uncaring eyes. What I needed was a hug, to be told that things would get better, an apology that she thought she was doing her best. That's not the type of person she was, though. She didn't believe the story that my parents didn't care about me. I was surrounded by so many tissues sitting in the rocking chair next to the door, not making eye contact with the guy I had sex with the other day, feeling ashamed about the evening. He just sat on his bed, probably feeling crazy uncomfortable, and that pulling all his hair out, one at a time would have been a more enjoyable night than what was going on in the present. I shouldn't have stopped by at all. But the night was far from over. His mother returned with the phone in her hand and told told me she had called my step father. I looked confused and told her I didn't have a step father (I didn't), and didn't know what she was talking about. She looked at me puzzled and said "Lynn MIlls isn't your step father?" I grimaced at the sound of his name and her question. I said "My mother married him a few years back, but he isn't my step father." She ignored my comment and said "I had his old number written down and was able to talk to your mother, she is calling around tonight looking for a place for you to go. I just got off the phone with her."

I remember being so angry she did that because if I had thought my mother could offer help or support for me, wouldn't I have gone to her first? I was so tired of being treated like I was a criminal, drug addict or something that shouldn't be trusted to sleep on the floor in your home for one night. I wasn't a run away teenager, lost, in need of a ride home. I wasn't welcomed in my mothers home, I knew that, I dare not ask. So I told her "Let's just hope that Lynn doesn't beat her for you waking her up asking about me once she gets off the phone and everything is said and done. He abuses her you know..." He gets up for work at 4 am in the morning and hates being woken up for non emergencies. I'm not an emergency. I'm not important. I remember myself repeating in a mocking tone I heard Lynn scream at my mother and I a dozen times before for staying up past 9pm together. She looked dumbfounded at my response to her "trying to help me" as if I was being ungrateful or I had said something to hurt her feelings. I continued "I'm sure she told you that I wasn't welcomed there, I have no idea why you called. I know she can't help me. Lynn will not allow it." I choked on more tears, feeling shame to belonging to such a fucked a family, and her calling the people who have hurt me so much. She was wasting everyone's time. I know she didn't know what else to do and thought she was helping me, but that night got so much worse because of her. She tried to reassure me that my mom would want to help her child. I looked at her, angerily confident that she was wrong.

The phone rang and she walked into the other room. I took offense that she had to leave the room to talk to my mother alone out of ear shot because I was some kind of child who couldn't be apart of making decisions for myself. My face was red with more anger as I grabbed my things, about to just walk out their front door. She stopped me and told me that my mother did find a place for me. I looked at her waiting to hear more. She told me that she is writing down an address, that she also lives in Clear Spring and wouldn't be too far to drop me off. It took close to 45 minutes to find their house and drop me off. It was on the complete opposite side of town, closer to the PA state line. My friend came along and his mother voiced her frustration about finding this place and wished my mother was more helpful. I too voiced my frustration and told everyone in the car listening "This is why I don't call my mother and ask her for help at all. I'm sorry I didn't have great parents growing up who would house me even when life gets hard." She snapped at me demanding I call this person and ask for directions, that I got her into this mess and she was just trying to help. She could have turned me away and saved us all the hassle. But no...

"This person" was a family I use to babysit for while I was in high school. (I started babysitting at 14) My mother went to hair school with her years ago and she had four children I use to watch when they went out drinking on dates and for pool league nights. I remember that we called DSS on them once when I told my mom that they weren't bathing the kids in between seeing them a few times throughout the week. And when her boyfriend drove me home drunk, ran over a raccoon and almost hit a tree. My mom didn't allow me to go back. My mom was the one who scheduled these things for me anyways, I didn't have a vehicle or phone. These people were hardly a good option.

When we found the location, I grabbed my two things, thanked them for the ride and walked in the house. I hadn't even eaten but the instant smell of human and cat urine in their house made my eyes water. The familiar dirty living situation wasn't a surprise. Hoards of piles of things everywhere: boxes, toys, shoes, sometimes piled three feet high, all over the room. She had cleared off a spot on the couch for me when several cats noticed my entrance and came to greet me. I told her I had to go to the bathroom, and she pointed in the direction of the hall. It, too, was a wreck. I found where the human urine smell was coming from. It was ALL over the floor around the toilet, giant puddles, like a dog had an accident, but it was all over the toilet seat, too. It was also in the bath tub. What the heck happened here? I almost decided not to go pee but cleaned of the seat the best I could and hovered. I skipped washing my hands because there was no soap, and walked out. I remember thinking "whatever you do, don't walk around this house without your shoes on."

She gave me a hug I didn't want. She was intoxicated, and asked me if I wanted a drink. I told her I don't drink and she asked me "how old are you again?" I replied "20, but I don't drink regardless." I was still an active practicing Mormon. . . She said "It seems you've had a rough night. I won't tell anyone and you are safe here. If you change your mind, here you go." And poured me a brassy colored beverage and left it on the standing table in front of me to the right of the couch. I plugged in my phone and sat down when she noticed I chose not to drink it and questioned me again. "You really aren't going to drink it?" Feeling pressured and confused how I was unclear about my previous decline, I said, "No, but thanks for offering. I'm just going to go to bed, thanks again for letting me crash here," with a smile on my face.

She said "I have something else that might help you relax." and she left the room and came back with a credit card and a dollar bill and some crushed up white powder. (probably Xanax) I had no idea what it was at the time, and she snorted some as I pretend to mind my own business. Her long standing boyfriend came in and grabbed her arm to pull her away and smiled at me and tossed the dollar at me as he guided her to the kitchen. I overheard him tell her "Babe she said no, let her alone." and "I don't think you should be doing that in front of her." I think that was the first time I heard someone stick up for me, which was kind, but odd. I knew he was just as much an addict as she was. I knew he was at least drunk, he said something like "just not tonight," as I remembered (his) piss all over the bathroom. I couldn't think that a woman could possibly make that kind of mess. She replied in her drunkenness "I was just trying to help her relax and have some fun, she's had a rough night."

I just looked at the slowly unrolling dollar bill, it had mostly unraveled by now from no one touching it. I listened to them argue and I took a quick photo of it and the line of drugs for proof and put my phone away as she walked back into the room. She noticed I hadn't touched anything and I pretended I was getting ready for bed, considering if I should take off my shoes or not. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her use her hand to dust the line of drugs that was on the table into the glass of alcohol I denied and swirl the glass a little. She walked over and sat the glass on the coffee table, knee level, in front of me, as if it was some chamomile tea or hot chocolate before bed. I told her I was going to bed and she said okay and goodnight.

I laid down on the couch thinking to myself my nose was getting use to the smell of piss already, I didn't smell it as strongly anymore and got annoyed knowing that my clothing was going to smell like it when I left. The house was getting quiet. He went to bed already and she was doing something alone in the kitchen. The Christmas tree and holiday decorations were up, it looked pretty reflecting through the dark substance in the glass in the dimly lit room and I began to cry. I remember praying, thanking god for protecting me. I could have ended up anywhere tonight, but that this couldn't be the worse there was. (How fucked up was that? I had the nerve to thank a sky daddy for this place? Ooof.) Christmas lights look pretty through tear stained lashes, too, and I cried silently to myself, feeling so alone.

She entered the room again, but I was already laying down so I kept my eyes mostly shut and peered through my wet eyelashes, pretending to be asleep. She took the glass and walked back the hall way. The door closed and that was the last thing I heard that night. I was left to my racing thoughts from the evening's events. Angry at my mother for finding me this place. Angry at myself for allowing it to happen. Angry at "my friends" mother who thought she was helping and would never know what transpired after she dropped me off.

I woke up as if I had only just blinked through sleep, to stumbling in the hallway. I heard birds outside. The toilet flushed, a bedroom door closed. It was two of the kids I use to babysit, getting ready for school. I didn't know they were home. I had no idea their ages at that point. It was 10, 9, 6, and 2 but that was 4 or 5 years ago now. So 13? 14? and 7, maybe? They got ready on their own quietly, had a pop tart and got on the bus. The house was quiet again as I felt the need to get out energy and hunt for food. The kitchen had it's own bad smell. Every surface in their house was dirty. Every burner on the stove, there were dirty dishes in the oven, dried crusted food on every dish, both sides of the sink completely full of dirty dishes.

I looked out the mess spattered kitchen window having a moment of silence to myself, just taking in the moment, sighing and giving into hunger. I looked through the fridge and cabinets for something I could eat. I remember trying to clean up briefly wanting to be appreciative for a place to have stay. The least I could do was help with chores... but I gave up in utter disgust and exhaustion, not caring and also settling for a pop tart, and grabbed some other snacks to throw in my bag for when I left.

She woke back up, and came in the room. She told me she was running late and asked me if I wanted to come along to a doctor's appointment. I said sure. I just wanted to get out of the house. Turns out we were visiting her parole office for a piss test. She failed.

My mother called me, as expected, to berate me and tell me how angry her husband was that someone called either of them for my well being the previous night. I believe the phone call was during her piss test and I told her briefly what happend and she didn't believe me. (Again, sheltered family.) I told her I was able to get a photo and sent I it to her. She got angry but I told her to leave it alone until I was no longer with her anymore. I reminded her that this woman took me and my own mother didn't. She blamed her husband.

This is one of many stories of the dozens of people I encountered during my homelessness. I think sleeping in a tarp on the side of the road is probably less dramatic than some of the stories I could tell. So when I drove by that homeless person eating my Rita's ice cream, it triggered some hard emotions. You can't help everyone, even if you want to. Recounting these memories are difficult at times and keeps me humble and makes me grateful I am in a safe place right now with people I love. It makes me truly wonder how I got through what I did. I'm glad to be in a spot to be able to document them now as they come to mind, recalling as many vivid details as I can. Pretty much reliving the trauma, and hopefully healing this time from these high stress moments.

Looking back at these events while knowing that there is much worse in life, doesn't make me feel any better about what happened. I was raised in a cult. Sheltered and unprepared for the real world. While I'm grateful I never got into drugs or had any children or a teen pregnancy, people still treated me poorly. It was always the lowest of the low who took me in. It was always the worse off who didn't judge me. Who told me I would figure it out and be something in the world. Between the the drug addict and the Christian lady... obviously the drug addict took me in. But I wouldn't have chosen either of them. If I wasn't stranded 45 minutes down unknown back roads in the middle of nowhere, I probably would have left that night on foot again.

Sleep was my only escape from the real world that night. Not drugs. Sleep still is my escape. Sleep, a tiny glimpse of death? Lets hope death doesn't have any many vivid bad dreams as life does.

Special thanks to my editor: MC_hammer