The Trials of Man Solo - The Lights Are On, But There's No Heart Home

I've been wrestling with something for the past couple of weeks and it's almost driven me to distraction.  In a previous post I wondered if I could ever become one of the homeless folk we see on the street every day.  Heck, my last post was about being with and having friends I know won't let me die alone.  I am very lucky.  Am I also a hypocrite?

Here's my thing, I have a former co-worker with whom I had socialized a few times while he worked with me and dog sat his cute doggies a couple of times.  He hasn't worked with me for a few years and he seemed to drop off the face of the earth, I took notice when his Instagram went suddenly quiet.
Well, when I was in New York in October, I got a text from him saying he'd made it out of the desert with his two dogs and needed help to feed them (and himself).  I replied that I was in New York and couldn't help him.  I spent a good portion of my trip wondering what had happened to him and how he ended up homeless, living in his car.  Last I knew, he owned a fabulous loft in downtown L.A. and had inherited a nice chunk.  I also know that he has a wealthy family, along with a very well known artist cousin, with whom he was close.  And what the hell was he doing in the desert? Who is he, Moses?  I didn't hear from him again, until I was back in L.A.  I got a text during a Chico's Angels rehearsal about how he needed help because the car he is living in got towed.  I sent a text out after rehearsal to see how the situation was, but I didn't hear back from him.  I discretely discussed the situation with a co-worker asking advice (really asking for absolution) and I learned a lot about this fella I didn't know before.  Nothing too damaging, just tidbits about his behavior and life that I had no idea about.  It dawned on me that I really didn't know him very well.  I had known him well enough to know I thought he was clinically manic-depressive and wondered if he had gone of his medication.  I wondered how bad it had gotten if his family wasn't stepping in.  Then the guilt started setting in.

I always thought I would be The guy You Could Turn To.  I thought I would never be the one to let one of my friends go homeless in the street.  What the hell?  Then, last night I got a text from him, plainly stating that he was between residences and he needed a place for him and his dogs (which I have learned are pitbulls, one of which has bitten a person).  I'm ashamed to say I didn't immediately call him up and say, "Yes, please stay with me as long as you need!"  instead I just stared at the text, frozen as my brain overtook my heart and said, "Don't you dare!"  My head told me that this guy's problems were bigger than I had the capacity to help.  It went on that I didn't really know him, I had no idea what has happened to him in years and I didn't know what his stability was, as far as his medication.  Then, my heart pleaded to offer to take his dogs in, while he worked his situation out.  My head was quick to retort that I also didn't know his dogs, except that they are pitbulls, one of which has bitten a person. I don't think pitbulls are automatically killers, but I have no idea what their background is or how they have been treated.  I live in an apartment complex with many dogs (I may be the only tenant who doesn't have one) and I couldn't possibly take on the responsibility for their behavior, especially if they hurt one of the neighbor doggies.  My brain was cruel and said, "Once you let in a little crazy, you're taking it all in and it'll stay and damage you. DO NOT RETURN THAT TEXT."  So I didn't.  I just sat guiltily watching television hoping that he has found someplace.  Also, wondering, what if that was me?

Such are the Trials of Man Solo, learning to live alone, hoping not to live alone on the street.  Hoping that your friends have more compassion than you do.  I have no idea how to feel about this.  Am I strong for protecting myself, or am I weak for being selfish and not ignoring the very possible detriment that could come from taking in a manic-depressive person, possibly off his meds and/or addicted to drugs.  As I type that out, my brain is saying, "REALLY?", but my heart still quietly asks, "What if that was me?"

If he worked with me, he's heard of this.
If he's reading this, then please, go to PATH.
There is help for the homeless there.
I don't think I can help you with this the way you need to be helped.
Please help yourself.  Call.

If You are Homeless and/or Need Assistance
Call: (323) 644-2216
Email: path@epath.org

The Trials of Man Solo - If It Could Happen To Lucy...

Once again, I'm thinking in literal terms of the name of my blog.  I pass by a number of homeless folk as I walk to & from work.  Most of them are clearly victims of their various addictions.  It seems that they'll all be around and little by little, they'll disappear until one day at the end of the month, they all reappear.  I assume that has something to do with the shelter system and funding, which leads to a release into the wilds of West Hollywood.  Sometimes I wonder about their lives prior to being in their present situation and how close am I to becoming one of them.
Sure, right now I have a good, steady job and a great group of friends.  I don't do drugs and I rarely enjoy the hooch anymore.  What if I did something really stupid and lost my job?  How long would I last on my limited savings?  How long would I rely on the kindness of friends before I felt like a burden?  What would it take to get me out on the street, to where I leave shelter, or felt I had no where to go?  If I wasn't insane when I decided to take on the street, would I be out so long that it would drive me insane?  How long could I keep track of my limited belongings?  What would be of value to me as a possession?  Would I hold on to practical things or things with sentimental value? Would I keep a few Dunnys rather than a few cans of tuna?

Actually, it is very hard for me to imagine the situation that would take me away from my job, family and  friends - maybe it's an illness.  Maybe I can't work and none of my friends is able to care for me and my family is far away (Is Texas far from California?)   Anyway, such are the Trials of Man Solo; wondering how he would survive without that promise from someone that they'll stay by his side until death do them part, should something catastrophic occur.  It would be nice to have that little added feeling of security, knowing he's not in alone, that there's someone between the street and him.
My feeling is that there's no guarantee that they'd stay if things go that bad, but at least there would be a chance.  So, until I find my loving Street Buffer, I will try not to do anything stupid to lose my job, I'll try not to be a miserable grump and alienate my friends & family, I'll try to stay healthy and I will always keep the thought of Lucille Ball in STONE PILLOW in my mind to remind me that even pretend homelessness is awful.