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Life on the breadline: 'Am I wearing out my welcome?' is a lingering question
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(5 months later)
Being homeless is more than the loss of the physical space – the ambience and decor you created for yourself to enjoy. It is more than losing that mental space where you feel comfortable, relaxed and secure. Homelessness is a state of being.
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People usually take it to mean no permanent physical place of residence; agency forms record NFA (no fixed address). “Accommodationally challenged.” Sleeping in a car, in a bus shelter, in a tent at the showgrounds or in a mouldy caravan. For those in such situations, there are not many real alternatives. Being homeless in Tasmania is like getting into a wet sleeping bag and realising it is full of angry scorpions.
The lucky ones manage to couchsurf or find a friend’s spare bedroom. A long-term housesitting gig is like winning the lottery. The desperate ones turn to crisis accommodation that itself is in crisis.
I became homeless recently when I came back from visiting my son for a holiday and found the locks on my house had changed. The reason for me becoming homeless is too complicated to go into here, but living on the breadline makes it almost certain that you do not bounce back or simply swap one comfortable situation for another.
Christmas on the breadline: 'There's always someone worse off'
Thankfully, I am not “on-the-streets” homeless. As disruptive as it was to my life that day, I now have a dry, safe roof over my head – I had people who cared about my welfare. I wrestle the social anxiety that only multiplies the uncertainty of living in a spare bedroom, trying to be a low-maintenance guest in someone else’s house. “Am I wearing out my welcome?” is a lingering question.
I am so very grateful, it really does save my sanity. Practically, I get the space to regroup and stabilise the major aspects of my life. I have the pleasure of a garden and the luxury of hot water. A dog to take on walks. Another small but timely “loot drop” from the Universe as I play this game of life. In the new year, I want and need to move on, and that is the next challenge.
Poverty is a tightrope in so many ways. You are not only balancing your budget down to single dollars, but seesawing to maintain social connections, emotional stability, a sense of place and of self. Lose any (or all) of those, and life becomes rather shit as you plummet down, trying to cobble together a parachute as you fall.
When you first become homeless, you try to maintain some dignity. A forced exodus from your sanctuary might give you a reason to reassess the true meaning you place on material possessions and physical structures. However, it is not that romantic to relinquish everything and go on the road, pretending to want the adventure travel aspect – a kind of put-it-off-until-tomorrow attitude that may help some cope with being homeless. Sorry, I did my backpacking in Europe 30 years ago.
Life on the breadline: 'I can't buy my way out of this cul-de-sac of life' | David Samuel*
Although my story is just one among many thousands of similar stories, whether homelessness is caused by vindictive housemates, medical conditions, domestic violence, changing life circumstances or financial hardship, especially in later life, it is real and in-your-face for everybody affected.
For those who have not been keeping up, the Tasmanian housing market is in crisis. There are many factors. Like other jurisdictions, there has been a serious lack of investment in providing the housing required. There are reports that University of Tasmania accommodation services is suggesting that already enrolled students look online for student accommodation. The UTas units are allocated to foreign students and unaffordable to locals anyway. This makes an already tight marketplace nearly impossible. Families are competing against overseas students for a place to live in Hobart. Hobart is the least affordable capital city to rent in. A worse situation looms in Launceston.
Local real estate agents gleefully report the strong demand. They are proud that the cost of buying a house has risen so much. They are celebrating the all-time low of 1.9% of housing stock available statewide, and they note that 22% of investors now come from overseas or interstate. Airbnb encourages greed, not sharing. I’m sure the agents will all be living large on the economic windfall over the holiday break, with nary a thought for the people they have helped displace.
Retirees have always been moving here in dribs and drabs, but now, to stretch their retirement dollar further, they are flooding in, competing against locals for the few available properties. I speak to people who are the first wave of climate-change refugees from the mainland looking to escape the heat, humidity, fires and floods by settling in Tasmania, forcing prices even higher.
Life on the breadline: 'Despite the stress I tell myself the best things in life are free' | David Samuel
Having managed to put aside nearly $250 in the couple of weeks before Christmas, the rollercoaster ride that has been 2018 seemed to be almost over. I thought I would just slow down, come to the end and alight. However, when your car has 430,000+ kilometres on the odometer, stuff breaks more frequently. I was hoping to get a couple more months use from it, before it was sold to a backpacker or for parts, but I need to spend nearly $200 in order to simply get me back and forth to the storage facility so I can sort my possessions out. Still cheaper than hiring a car to do all I need to get done soon. So much for savings – Centrelink don’t pay a Christmas bonus, no matter how proactive or compliant I may have been this past year.
I am mentally worn out, not just from my life circumstances, but also with what I call LECA (looming environmental catastrophe anxiety). The small emotional reserve I built up before I became homeless is now depleted. Overdrawn, actually. Sure, I can still manage a smile or laugh, because they make a socially acceptable “I’m fine” mask for me to wear each day. I just brush my teeth, wear “normal” clothing and give answers that don’t make others too uncomfortable, and I seem to get away with it. Being displaced is certainly nothing to laugh about, and stress brings no reason to smile. But I have learned to be invisible when I can, and a small target when I must step from my loneliness to interact with society.
I suppose I have the freedom to choose what I do and where I go next. The last six years spent in Tasmania has only seen my life go backwards. There is no reason for me to stay here. Once I find a buyer for my 50 crates of books and the Tupperware collection, perhaps I should head for Canberra. Maybe I could get there by May – or is it March now? – and pitch a tent on the lawn.
