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$5.00 / Issue 60

ONE WEEK ON
THE STREETS
journal and photographs by Vince Shumate

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All words and photographs by Vince Shumate

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I’m now in Asheville, North Carolina. It’s a beautiful city nestled in the
southern Appalachian Mountains. I’ve been here since November. I was here
for a while the year before last but headed south to Sarasota when it started
getting real cold. Spent about nine months in Sarasota. Back now in “Beer
City.” There are more breweries here per capita than in any other city in the
US. I’m sober now and have been for 86 days. The beer scene doesn’t trigger
any thoughts of drinking, not anymore. I’ve been to a lot of different cities, but
Asheville is the only one I’d like to someday settle in. If I ever settle anywhere.
I only have two people that I can say are true friends in Asheville. They listen
to understand, not only to reply. Two wonderful people who I probably bug a
little too often. Janet has a family and dogs (Kiwi & Huck) and Doug works
downtown. They’re not related. So I get to go and bother Doug and Cory (his
dog) anytime of the work week. I seldom get to have face time with Janet
except on Facebook where I message her at least once a day to keep her up
to date with my doings. If Doug’s not at work and Janet is busy at home,
I basically have no one to confide in. That’s when journaling morphs into
therapy.
Make a gratitude list when you’re feeling sad or depressed. Your whole outlook
on life will improve. Don’t take my word for it; try it just once, and you’ll see
for yourself.
Before you read about a week of my life, I need to preface it by telling you
about the day I decided to quit drinking.
As I said, today marks 86 days sober. I’ve had absolutely no urges or cravings
to drink. I’ve even gone to three bars while hanging out with friends. I did
so because one of my friends said they thought they may have a drinking

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problem and said they wanted to talk to me about how I quit. The thought to
drink never enters my mind. The thought of alcohol itself enters my mind on
occasion. Alcohol is not the same substance I once considered it to be. It used
to numb me to the world. I used it for escape and to anesthetize life. I thought
of it as my best friend. It was always there to pick me up and take me away–
only to slam me down later.
That’s where I was 87 days ago, slammed down harder than I’d ever been. I was
walking around town about 5am on a cold, rainy, and dreary Sunday morning. I
was jonesing for nicotine and walking the sidewalks to try and find a cigarette.
I was starting to go through alcohol withdrawals, and I expected them to get
much worse. While I was walking around starting to shake, chilling, sweating,
nauseated, with a headache, and those damn racing thoughts, I notice a little
black object sticking out from the bottom of a raised lamppost. I reached down
and picked it up. It was a nice lock-blade knife. I was close to the courthouse,
so there’s a 100 percent chance that someone going to court stashed it there so
it wouldn’t be confiscated at the courthouse metal detector. They forgot to get
it when the got out of court or maybe went directly to jail.
I picked it up and just stared at it. Stared at it way too long. When my eyes did
leave the knife they shifted to my left wrist. My eyes then went from my wrist,
to the knife, to my wrist to the knife… I realized I was going to have to make
a decision. I had to decide to live or die. I couldn’t decide. I was in that much
mental pain. The racing thoughts were just too much. I walked around for
about an hour focusing on the pros and cons of life and death. Someone once
said that suicide is not a choice, that it happens when the pain becomes greater
than the resources to deal with it. I believe it wholeheartedly.
I eventually decided to reach out and get help. I’m so grateful now that I did.

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My eyes then went from my wrist, to the knife, to my wrist…

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I went to the hospital and told them exactly what I was going through. They
sent me to a detox/crisis center. I was there for a week. I was able to get an
injection of Vivitrol before I was discharged. It’s an opioid blocker that has
the side effects of stopping any elation (buzz) I would get by drinking and also
decreases the craving for alcohol. So I had somewhat of a parachute when I left
there. Each Vivitrol shot lasts 28 days. I thought that I should be able to build
up a better support network in that time because I couldn’t keep getting the
shot. Didn’t want to. That one shot was over $1,300. It was covered under some
type of grant, so I wasn’t obligated for the cost.
I didn’t really expand my support network, I just strengthened the one I had.
Something else I did was that I came to see alcohol in a whole new light.
When that knife was in my hand, I wasn’t seeing the knife. I was looking
Death in the eye. The full impact of alcohol usage had hit me head on.

Day One
I’m still sleeping rough (residentially challenged), so starting my day around 3
or 4 in the morning is the norm. I found some clean, dry cardboard and slept
behind a church last night. The weather wasn’t too bad, cool but at least it was
dry. I walked about a mile to the Harris Teeter grocery store (HT) for my
coffee run. They have a small café area with microwave, coffee machine, little
tables, and wi-fi. I buy Folgers instant single packs of coffee. I get seven for a
dollar. I finally applied for and received my EBT card, so I have a little money
to eat with – about $6 a day. Did you know a chicken salad sandwich is $5.99?
Just one sandwich and I spend all I allot myself for the day. So I end up eating
lots of oodles of noodles and canned beans.

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Behind the church where I slept.

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There’s actually someone sleeping there.

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I didn’t apply for a card right after my last one lapsed. You know why? Going
to sign up at DSS would have cut into my drinking time. I swear that’s the
truth. So I set up my little office at HT every morning. Coffee, computer, legal
pad, earbuds, and wifi. I’m good to go.
After coffee this morning, I was walking toward town and noticed a guy asleep
in the Parks and Recreation flower garden with traffic whizzing by on two
sides of him. Maybe he wasn’t asleep. I know how this guy feels. I hope he is
getting sleep. Total exhaustion will cause you to lay down anywhere, anytime.
Better that than falling down. I get so little sleep. One time in Wilmington, I
went without sleep for so long that I started hallucinating. Sleep deprivation
cause can cause irritability, anxiety, depression, as well as higher cognitive
thinking such as planning and judgment. It has even been known to cause
death.
Just a bit further up the sidewalk I see this. This is what happens when you
try to hide some of the things you just can’t carry all the time. People will be
looking for a spot to hide their own clothes, run across yours, rifle through all
your stuff, take what they want, and fling the rest to the dirt. Hell, probably the
only thing they got was something like a tube of toothpaste and a stick of gum.
I saw two other similar piles of clothes strewn about like this on the same
day. All three were women’s clothes. Not having a safe convenient place to
store things makes a difficult situation even worse. In a few cities I’ve been
to, occasionally a non-profit will have some storage for the homeless. There’s
usually a waiting list to get something like a plastic clothes bin. If you are
fortunate enough to get one, you will only have access to it at certain times
on certain days, usually being able to access it once a day at the most. I would
say that someone could get rich by opening a storage facility with only small

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lockers since there is such a great need for them in every city. It’ll never
happen. Most homeless people don’t have money for the essentials of life,
much less for anything else.
It’s about 5pm, and I’m sitting in the Edible Park. It has a boardwalk with fruit
and nut trees and will have a vegetable and butterfly garden when it warms up.
Anyone is welcome to help themselves to the foods growing here; you’re only
asked not to take more than your share. I came here because it’s so peaceful
and relaxing. I find the need to get away from people on a regular basis, the
need to think without interruption. The stairwell in the Edible Park reminds
me of my journey, uphill and steep with few places to pause. Whatever is at the
top has yet to be seen.

Day Two
Slept behind a church downtown last night. I never know where I’ll end up
sleeping. Walked to HT for my usual routine of coffee and tried to make some
kind of plan for the night. The weather is supposed to be right around 32
degrees tonight. Thirty-two degrees and below and the Veteran’s Restoration
Quarters may declare the weather code “Purple” at which point they allow
veteran and civilian homeless people to come inside, have dinner, and sleep
on the floor in an area between the dining hall and the stage. The VRQ was
once a motel on Tunnel Road that was purchased by Asheville Buncombe
Community Christian Ministry to help and house our veterans. There are
some great people living and working there. All they ask for is respect. The
veterans deserve respect and much more for putting their lives on the line for
this country and our freedoms.

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The VRQ was once a motel.

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Walking around and wondering what I’m going to do to weather the cold
tonight. I have no stand-by place that’s warm where I can go. I’ll call VRQ and
see if it’s going to be code purple. I called around 3pm, and the person who
answered the phone said they had not received any word yet about the code
determination. More anxiety about the coming night. I’m already cold, and the
sun hasn’t even set yet.
It’s about 5 now, and instead of calling, I emailed the VRQ hoping for two
things: 1) that someone is in the office, 2) that they say code purple is on. I
explained in the email that I had called earlier and was told a determination
had not been made. I also explained that the temperatures were supposed
to hover around 32 degrees around 5am and sincerely told him that I was
not equipped to handle temps in the lower 30’s. I got a reply in 17 minutes.
They told me to come on out, and that VRQ would have a bed for me. I’m so
grateful that people care. I wish better for the ones that don’t. Whew! What
a load off my mind. I would get something to eat, sleep, and shower. All three
were overdue. It turns out that they did NOT call code purple. It turned out
they had a bed for an overnighter.

Day Three
After having a hot breakfast of eggs, bacon, and grits, I decided to make a call
to Swain Recovery in Black Mountain. They have a 42-day residential program
that will allow me to focus on my addiction and mental health issues without
incurring all the stressors that come with life—especially with life on the
streets. I need help merging with the sober world and society as a whole. It has
been a long time since I’ve done so. I feel like I don’t fit. I don’t even know if fit

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Wondering where I will sleep tonight. This guy’s bag got ripped into.

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My office at Harris Teeter

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is a good word. It’s like I want to make plans for the future, but how can I do
that when I don’t even know where I’ll sleep each night? Swain may give me
the time and guidance I need to take the first steps into LIFE.
I called and got a phone tree that wanted my name and number so they could
call me back. I was calling from the VRQ house phone, so it was not possible
to leave a number. I don’t have a phone and haven’t had one for a long time. I’ll
try calling from somewhere else.
Went to an AA meeting this night. My first one since I quit. I didn’t go
because I was thinking about drinking. I went to try and find out what other
drunks did if they had found themselves in my predicament. The meeting was
small, about nine people. Finding an AA homegroup takes a while. You have
to shop around. Not all are going to be a good fit. The same goes with getting a
sponsor. I found out that it’s easy to take the first sponsor that offers to be one
for you. That’s also a mistake. You have to get to know people first. There’s a lot
I could say about my choosing a sponsor, but I’ll save that one for later.

Day Four
This day started as usual. Coffee and breakfast burrito at HT. I was there from
3 to 4 this morning. They close at 4 am so they can do the housekeeping thing.
They reopen the café again at 6am.
I finished reading ‘Buddhism for Busy People’ a few weeks ago, and through
the day I practice some of what I call mindful practices. When I do this, I relax
a bit. My mind clears. I urge you to take a look at it. The book, not my mind.
My mind would be clear, so you couldn’t see anything anyway.

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Went out to C3 to get out of the cold. I’m getting to know a couple of the peer
support specialists there. I try and observe their actions. In only six months, I
will start the process of getting certified as a Peer Support Specialist myself.
I have to send in the application for the training. It may take three months
to be approved and get in the hours of training required by the State. So nine
months from now, I could be employed in a job that really won’t be a job at all.
I enjoy helping people. If I can help anyone, especially a young person, avoid
the hell I went through for 30+ years, it will more fulfilling than any paycheck.
But that paycheck will enable me to break this cycle of sleeping rough.

Day Five
Slept behind a retail store off Biltmore Ave. It was a pretty good spot–out of
the wind and on clean, dry cardboard. There was some foot traffic through the
nigh, but it was on the sidewalk about 100’ away. Went to HT for coffee then
back to town.
At Harris Teeter saw an older gentleman was having difficulty getting up on a
tall stool to sit at the half counter. I looked around and all the tables were full.
I went over and asked him if he’d like to sit down at a table. He smiled big and
said he would. I moved some of my “office” to the side and we sat and began a
real chat.
I found out he’s 88 years young and used to do alcohol research in the 1960’s in
New York. He asked about me, and I told him everything.
He told me of a story about a practice they used to do to drunks that shook
me up…a lot. He said at one time the cops used to pick up drunks and take

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I’m getting to know a couple of peer support specialists at C3.

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The shortcut path to the liquor store is a slippery slope.

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them to some sort of hospital/jail/asylum where they would be put in straight
jackets and sometimes even had their tongues PINNED to the straight
jacket. Supposedly to keep them from swallowing their tongues. He said he
didn’t believe it, until he saw their tongues. We talked non-stop about alcohol
addiction.
We’d been talking for awhile when I was residentially challenged. He asked
me if he gave me a little something. I never told him I needed a thing or asked
him for money. I told him I wouldn’t take money for asking him if he’d like
to sit. He smiled and said he just wanted to help. He said, “It’s only twenty; I
wish I had more to give you.”
We talked more and I got to meet his wife later.
What a beautiful morning and beautiful conversation between two complete
strangers.
It started pouring rain, but luckily I had a small umbrella in my pack. I hate
any extra weight in that appendage, but when it starts raining, an umbrella can
be worth it’s weight in gold.
Went back out to C3 to talk to the peers. On my way down Biltmore, I got a
picture of a shortcut path to the liquor store. Maybe some of the grass will start
growing back on it, since I don’t use it anymore. The picture is very symbolic to
me. In more ways than one, it’s a steep downhill path. A slippery slope even if
it’s not muddy. And it seems like Mother Nature wanted to make it even more
slippery by adding gumballs to the mix. That slippery slope can lead you to the
bottom faster than you could imagine.

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Day Six
I slept behind the author Thomas Wolfe’s childhood home last night under
the portico. It usually is pretty quiet here. It’s one of my favorite places just to
go and sit and write. After I got up, I went nearby to stash some belongings
where I thought they might stay dry for a while. Rainy, windy, muddy, and
I was wearing shoes with absolutely no tread on them. Of course I fell and
busted my butt on a slight grade. Less than five minutes into the day, I’m cold,
wet, muddy, and hurting. I can’t wait to see the technicolor bruises I’ll have
shortly. Limped a mile up to HT for coffee and a breakfast burrito.
I checked the weather, and cold temps with high winds around 30 mph are
predicted. That should mean the VRQ will declare code purple and allow us to
come in for dinner and a warm place to sleep. Code Purple is not a statute or
city code that can be enforced. Each individual shelter decides. I thank God
they do open their doors.

Day Seven
Slept fitfully. My back and neck have been bothering me quite a bit. I think it’s
a combination of osteoarthritis and the fact that I have this appendage on my
back over 12 hours a day. When I do get some kind of housing that lasts more
than one night at a time, my biggest gratitude will be that I can stop wearing
that damn backpack all day. Some days, I have to eat a lot of Ibuprofen to keep
the tears out of my eyes from the pain.
My friend Janet helped me by furnishing me with a phone. I would have
gotten an ‘Obama’ phone, but I have no address for them to mail it to. When

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I slept behind the author Thomas Wolfe’s childhood home last night.

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I tried to use the address of a local day shelter that the homeless can use to
receive mail, they told me that the government phones can’t be shipped there.
I asked why, and they said the government will only ship a certain number of
phones to any one street address. I thought the phone program was for people
who can’t afford them. Who is a better example of someone who can’t afford a
phone than someone who doesn’t even have their own mailing address, much
less an address? I asked if the phone could be sent General Delivery, Asheville,
NC 28801. They said yes, but also said they weren’t sure. I asked how I would
find out if it could be shipped general delivery. You already know how they
replied, “You’ll have to call our Customer Service number.” I just shook my
head and still do every time I think about that.

Tomorrow
There’s always a tomorrow. I don’t know what mine will hold. Uncertainty is
always a pain, but looking at it from another perspective, it leaves all kinds of
doors available. Some will open, and some will remain closed and locked. One
day in the future, I’d like to become some sort of liaison between the homeless
and others who may be able and want to help. A lot of people, businesses,
and organizations either don’t know how to help, or even if they can. I’d
like to clear that up for those who want to help but don’t know how apply
their resources for best efficiency. Now that I’m sober, I don’t feel that I’ll be
homeless much longer. Living homeless for so long has left indelible memories
of changes that can be made. Changes that can help all people, not just the
homeless. I will give back. I will never forget who I am and what I came from.
I am mindful. And Vince.

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