Where From? Where Now?

(You may find the contents of this story upsetting.)

This is Kerry’s story, told in her own words:

“I’ve got my own place now. I’ve been living here for five weeks. I was quite nervous, because I don’t want to mess it up, and I’d never lived on my own before. I quite like it now. I wouldn’t want to go back on the streets.

I had a baby when I was 18. My mum reported me to Social Services because she thought I weren’t looking after her properly. She thought it’d be better if my daughter lived with her. Even though I don’t get on with my mum, I prefer my baby to live there than go into care. We haven’t really talked that much since. We speak on the phone and that, but I don’t see my baby. She don’t know that I’m her mum, she thinks of my mum as her mum. I think that’s what made me leave really, because obviously I was upset.

I came down to London with my ex-boyfriend. I’d never slept rough before. As we were walking about we saw people begging, and then when it was time to find somewhere to sleep, we’d walk past some shops and there’d be people bedding down. It was quite scary, but then I got used to it, got to know them.

I was with my boyfriend for a couple of years, but he was abusive. When I was on my own, it was scary at first. I slept behind Starbucks, and I slept on a walkway near the shops – so if people walked past they could see me sleeping there. It’d be really noisy. Some people would ask me why I was on the streets and if I wanted any help. I used to tell them to go away or just say ‘No, I’m fine’. I didn’t really like telling people my business.

If it was cold, then I was freezing. I used to put cardboard down, because it makes it a tiny bit warmer. If I had a blanket, I’d put it right over my head, but if not it would just be the cardboard and a dustbin bag. I used to put my legs in the bag and if I had a jacket I’d put that over my head. I’d still be freezing, but better than just laying on concrete.

The main horrible thing was going through bins when you was hungry. You do what you’ve got to do to get some food really. It’s not nice – it’s degrading. People used to go past and look at you like you’re disgusting. Until they’ve gone through the experience they shouldn’t judge you.

At times I would be sitting, begging for hours. I used to hate taking money off people. I used to hate lying to them. Obviously, you are not going to say ‘Can you spare some money for drugs?’ because they wouldn’t give it to you. You’d have to say, ‘I want it for food’.

I’ve been using drugs for years. I started the heroin because it makes you go to sleep. I used it to keep warm, but then once you get hooked you have no choice [but] to get the money to get some. That was all I used to go and beg for. That’s what I used to do every day, it was my routine. Getting up, going begging, going to score, coming back, begging again. Never used to eat, nothing like that. I didn’t like what I was doing, but I just couldn’t stop.

I was a prolific beggar. I’ve been to prison a few times for begging. I kept breaking my ABC order [acceptable behaviour contract]. I liked it in there though. The most I got was 60 days and I got my own cell, so nice and warm.

The outreach team kept coming to offer me accommodation and help but I didn’t want it. I didn’t want them to get me into a hostel because I’d got too used to it on the streets. I haven’t got much confidence around other people. I like being on my own, I like my own company really. So I think that was it as well.

St Mungo’s gave me loads of support. If they had just given up I wouldn’t have got help on my own. I was worried about getting the ASBO for begging and going to prison for five years, so I thought I might as well give it a go. So I think it was good they keep coming back to find me and offer me help.

I went to one hostel but I didn’t like it and went back on the streets for a couple of months. It was too big. It was mainly the people. Them kind that go out looking for trouble. It didn’t feel right there. I know it sounds stupid, just didn’t feel like I settled there. In the end I went into a small hostel and I don’t know what made it happen but I liked it in the end. I was in there over a year and a half.

I would tell people not to turn down the help. I don’t know what they’re going through, but I was stupid not to accept the help. I know I weren’t ready for it, but I feel now that it was stupid not to. It was only when I moved into the hostel that I really started to change my life. I went back on my methadone and I’m stable now. I started eating more. I started keeping my appointments.

And then I applied for a flat and was accepted. All I had before I moved in here was that telly that the spot [outreach] team bought me when I moved into the hostel. All I need is the carpets, a washing machine and a cooker. I have everything else really. So once I get all that it will be more homely.”

(All material on this page is copyright of Georgina Cranston.  Text editing by Sarah Carrington.)

This is Michelle’s story, told in her own words:

(You may find the contents of this story upsetting.)

“I’m a parent now. Well, I’ve been a parent for a while, but I’m actually a mother that’s able to look after my children now. My twins run me ragged on a daily basis. I live in a flat which is my own – it’s rented from the council. I am waiting to start college, hopefully to do a music course.

I don’t really have any memories of when I was little. I kind of block them out. I wasn’t bad, but my family made me bad. They used to be bullies and I was the black sheep for some reason. I don’t know why, but I was always getting smacked about, or I was getting abused verbally. And other things happened as well, which I’m not going to talk about.

I became very boisterous, very in-your-face. I kind of retaliated, fought back at them. It didn’t get me very far. It got me put into care when I was 10 until I was 17. My mum will swear black is white that I put myself into care. But the way I look at it, there was obviously something wrong at home if I put myself into care. I lived in 14 placements over a couple of years.

When I was 13 I used to run away from foster placements and ended up sleeping rough. They used to take me back and I’d run again. My little plan, running away, just hoping my mum would get worried and actually want me back, never worked. My mum never really wanted to know. All I wanted was to be with my mum, but she’s openly admitted she doesn’t love me.

So I ran away to London and it was just a rollercoaster from there. On the streets, that’s the only place I felt welcome. It’s bad to say the only place for a child of 13 to feel welcome is in the gutter. I used to sit on the Strand and just sing. I like to sing – that’s my passion. People used to walk past and everyone thought I was great. So I felt good about myself for the first time. That just kept drawing me back to the streets.

I moved into supported housing but that didn’t really work for me and I came back on the streets. I’ve been really unsettled in life, running away from problems. It’s not as bad now because I’ve learnt to deal with it. But back then I used to just to uproot and run, start afresh somewhere else. But it always catches up with you in the end.

I smoked cannabis since I was 13, my mum gave me my first joint. I tried crack when I was 15 or 16. I never touched heroin until I met my ex-partner. I don’t think it was love. It was a case of pity for him and the fact I wanted to be loved. I didn’t know he was a drug user. Two weeks after we got together, I saw him with a needle sticking out of his groin. He said he’d come off it – but he was using behind my back.

As soon as Social Services found out that I was pregnant with my baby boy they told me my child was going into care. They made a point of letting me know that they would have supported me had my partner not been around. I wasn’t given that chance to be a mum. I knew I’d be a great mum. I thought, ‘I’m such a failure,’ and it just went from bad to worse.

I was using [heroin] when I was pregnant, but not until after they told me they was taking him. I thought what’s the point? After I’d given birth, I got to cuddle him. It was the best thing ever. I really hit rock bottom when they took my little boy away from me. That just made me run a mile and not face anything. They took the only thing – the only chance I had – so why not just throw it all away?

The drugs blocked out all the pain. It was non-stop drug abuse. I was sleeping rough in the middle of snow without a blanket, I was in a bad way. I’m not proud of anything I’ve done whilst on the streets or on drugs. But when you’re on heroin or crack you just lose all morals, all self-respect, everything. You just think you’re invisible to the whole world because everything’s blocked out in your brain.

[One of the hostels in London] helped me realize that there is better out there and made me look in the mirror and decide right, this is it, I need to change now. I need to sort my life out.”

(All material on this page is copyright of Georgina Cranston.  Text editing by Sarah Carrington.)

This is Keeley’s story, told in her own words:

(You may find the contents of this story upsetting.)

“Social Services kept chucking me from pillar to post. I was in 29 placements in less than two months. Children’s homes, foster carers, children’s homes, foster placements. I was about 12. I just had enough. I’ve been let down a great deal by a lot of people saying they’ll be there and they haven’t.

I was on the streets for about a year at the age of 13. It is young, but sometimes that’s life. I had to grow up very quickly. I was very streetwise. It’s like another sort of family network where I was the youngest. I was always looked after but because I’m very independent I still had to go and get my own money. At that time I was also taking drugs – heroin and crack – so I had to fund that habit. Shoplifting – that’s how I survived. But I relied on them vans that come round with the food and the hot soup and blankets.

When I came here [St Mungo’s hostel] it’s just so different. Everyone cares. It’s like a big family. They are always there. When they say they are going to be there they mean it. When I came here I had such a chaotic life, and I convinced myself that I wasn’t going to stay. But it just turned me around because there is such great support.

The staff are always there, they always ask you if you are OK, how you are feeling. It’s not just a job to them – they get very involved because they care. You have your own key worker – Deb is my key worker and she’s been wonderful. As for Julie, the manageress, she’s just the best. I’ve been shown a lot of love, a lot of caring. And that counts – because a lot of people don’t have that. And when they come to this hostel they settle down. You feel so wanted.

I vowed I would never stay but I have been here four years. It has been on and off. Once, I left for my boyfriend. But that was a violent relationship so I’ll say no more. The other times were when I’ve gone to prison. I’ve been to prison eight times. It’s the drugs. You need the money for the drugs so you commit crimes. I was lucky enough to get an HDC tag [Home Detention Curfew] which I have on now. They spoke to Julie and she said they would have me back, otherwise I would be in prison until February [another five months].

When you go into prison, you are off the drugs so your emotions start coming back. To be truthful, when I first went to prison, I wasn’t ready to come off heroin. I was alright taking it and I didn’t want to come off it. I was 18, and I thought I knew everything. Looking back, I wish I had just come off and stayed off. That’s the hardest. The temptations, the people you see, your associates. There’s a lot more support in the prisons now. There’s AA meetings and NA meetings where people come in and share their story. They’ve been there, seen it, done it. They’ve been through it, they’ve had a bad time, but they’ve recovered and they are in recovery.

You have to sort something out [for accommodation] while you’re in prison, and the majority of the time that doesn’t happen. So you just go back to your old lifestyle. Drugs, drink, back on the streets, shoplifting, thieving, begging, doing whatever you can to get by. Because that’s the only life you know.

I found yoga good. I’ve done yoga in prison. It’s a mindset thing. If you just set your mind into your own space then you can block everything out. It’s very relaxing. Very. I used to be a gymnast when I was younger. I started when I was about five or six. I went to Liverpool Interstrada and the next year I was going to Russia for Cambridge House. But unfortunately things happened in my family. I did everything – bar, beam, vault, floor. Put it this way, I probably would have ended up in the Olympics. I can still do the splits.”

(All material on this page is copyright of Georgina Cranston.  Text editing by Sarah Carrington.)

This is Lorraine’s story, told in her own words:

(You may find the contents of this story upsetting.)

“I have been homeless for four-and-a-half years. My mum moved abroad and left me with £200. It was a happy childhood, don’t get me wrong. Apart from when I was four, I stopped talking for two years because I lost one of my triplet brothers. I got talking again, and then I lost my other brother. I love my dad, but he became a heroin addict when I was 13, and now I can’t be around that.

Since I was homeless, I have never been on my own. I was advised to come to Central London to sleep on the street. I met one of my brothers, who is homeless as well, so I stayed with him one night and then I made friends. And gradually my little family built up. I met my boyfriend on the Strand, getting free food. We’ve been together for three months.

It’s hard on the street.I was in cars, squats, hutches. [Lorraine’s former sleeping site is now used by a homeless couple, as shown in the photograph.] I’ve slept out on the street too. It’s cold, miserable. No one gives you the time of day. You have to think of being a strong independent woman, otherwise the streets will eat you alive.

My council won’t house me any more. I got kicked out of so many hostels for not paying my rent, fighting with people. Just not listening to the rules and regulations. I don’t like being told what to do. I can’t live on my own because I feel insecure and confined, and it’s really lonely. I’ve got depression, schizophrenia and ADHD. I’ve needed help from services with housing, and more help looking after myself personally and mentally. Because if you have got mental issues and you are on the streets it will make it ten times worse without no medication. You have to be careful. That’s why I like to come to places like Crisis. I like being around my boyfriend and other people. I’ve got a bed now at my boyfriend’s mate’s.

Christmas is a very upsetting time of year, not being around my nieces and nephews and sisters. Last year was really hard. It was the first year without my son, as he died in a car crash.

But this year it was wicked. I loved Christmas this year. I was with the man of my life, with my mates, and I am in Crisis so I am really happy. I’ve had my hair done. It was down to my shoulders and now it is into a bob and front fringe. I painted my boyfriend a picture. My boyfriend has been doing puzzles, he loves puzzles and I’ve been doing quiz books. There’s everything in Crisis. It gives you hope and things to think about for the future. It just helps your head a little bit more. On the mental side, it makes you happy that there are good people out there willing to help you. People go out of their way on Christmas to help us out. You just have to be willing to help yourself, that’s what it is.”

(All material on this page is copyright of Georgina Cranston. Text editing by Sarah Carrington.)

This is Sharnia’s story, told in her own words:

(You may find the contents of this story upsetting.)

“Before all this, I was a mother. I gave my daughter to my mum. Then I was on the road, I was homeless. I see my daughter if I want. But I don’t want her to see me this way.

[Before detox] I have been using drugs for two-and-a-half years. This person came into my life, into my house – he started to beat me up, bring in drugs, even when I didn’t want it. He locked me in my house all the time. Stabbed me in the leg with a SCART lead. I had to try and protect myself with my daughter’s buggy, otherwise I’d be dead.

When I got the strength to get rid of him, he’d really ruined my life. I lost my house, my daughter, my family. Everything. I just thought, ‘What’s the point?’. I was lost and I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was keep smoking drugs.

I am about to go to a detox for two weeks. To get my life back. Because there was nothing good coming out of smoking joints. I don’t want to do it no more. I feel scared, emotional, excited, curious. It’s not gonna be easy. [With] no drugs in my system, all my emotions, all the things that’ve happened to me are going to be coming out. But you know that if you do carry it through it will be amazing. You will be the bestest person ever, and you will get back all the things that you was like before. My family. And being sociable the right way, getting people to respect you, being independent, going to work in the community and just sleep better. A peaceful feeling.

[After detox] At first it was quite upsetting. I was off the methadone for three days before so I was craving and everything. They wouldn’t give me the methadone straight away. They said we have to be really wanting it. So I had to be in pain, cramped, shaking, sweating to get it. You got no drugs and no substitute to keep you settled. You get agitated, restless, wanting something that you ain’t got. Your body needs it. It’s calling for it.

The pressure was all getting to me. It was Christmas so I was a bit emotional not being with family. There was bickering, there was quarrelling, there was tension with other residents, having a go at me because I was all over the place. They didn’t understand that they’d passed that stage because they’d been there longer. And I just got all down, so I packed my things.

I was on a downer for about a week. I just couldn’t believe that I’d left. Because what did I come back to? I’m glad I went through it, because I know that when I go again I can’t let people upset me and walk out. I’m not giving up just because I left detox. I am making sure I am ready and strong and 100% in it for me and only me. And then I will be on my way to rehab to get my life back.

I have wasted enough years doing this. I want to get my life back now. Just being who I was. My life. Me. An intelligent young lady. Independent. Potential. Whatever I want I can achieve. And I did achieve. Always going to school, challenging myself. Everything I interviewed for, I got. And I’m good at a lot of things. Acting, dancing, drawing, just having my own style and imagination and creating things. My dream is to be a singer or an actress. I’ve been a singer all my life. I’ve been in a choir and sang in the Millennium Dome. Gospel, and things like that. I want to go on X-Factor.

I want to have my own business. Go to college and open up a hairdresser with a massage parlour. Save money and go to another country and have a restaurant. And in the evening have a wine bar so it goes into a club. And have more kids.

Home to me is somewhere that has a family and everybody in it. A home is where you are liked and you know you always have a room there. Here at St Mungo’s, they are supporting me with things that I want to achieve. Giving me a roof over my head. I have had my ups and downs but they have been there for me. Always having someone here when you are upset. Always someone to listen to you. Knowing you are not alone. This place is my life, my rock and, if I didn’t have it, boy, I don’t know where I’d be.

Each year I put it off my daughter grows up another year and thinks, ‘Where’s my mum? She don’t love me no more’. She’s seven now. She knows I’m still her mum because I still call her and speak to her and I still love her. But I don’t want another year to go.”

(All material on this page is copyright of Georgina Cranston. Text editing by Sarah Carrington.)