In the past decade or so, the downtown panhandlers in our fair city have embarked on an urban sprawl. It was weird when they came five miles south of downtown to my neighborhood but it was even stranger to see them twenty miles from the city on the off-ramp to my parent’s house.
I used to get irate with these folks. I viewed them as lazy. I’d see the same guy when I left in the morning and returned at night. Seriously?! I just worked my butt off at work and you spent 8+ hours begging? Really?!
Preconceived notions and stereotypes are usually corrected by one of two ways: education or experience.
I started a job two years ago and learned about poverty. I learned that while I’m thinking about and planning for my life ten, twenty, thirty years from now, a person living on the streets can’t see past today. He’s thinking about a dry, warm place to sleep tonight. Retirement plans? Savings accounts? Pfft. He’s more worried about if he’ll eat tonight.
Then there’s the issue of ‘lack.’ Lack of education. Lack of address. Lack of clean clothing or a place to shower. Lack of healthy relationships. Lack of resources.
The greatest misperception of a person who is homeless is that she chose that life. The biggest lie about a person addicted to substance is that it’s his fault. Sure, there are always exceptions to the rule, but the vast majority of people who are homeless or addicted to drugs or alcohol comes down to one thing our society shuns: mental illness.
If breast cancer is the prom queen, mental illness is the redheaded stepchild not cool enough for the AV Club. Sure mental illness is scary and uncomfortable – just think about what it’s like in the shoes of the person living with it. Imagine not being able to control your own brain. Let’s call mental illness what it is: a brain cancer. It’s just like cancer: they can’t control it and they sure as hell don’t want it.
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