it’s like so many other times in the past when individuals were seemingly put in place by some benevolent force to assist me when I really need them, and I suspect the agency that is the supportive part of my supportive housing is made up of these type of helpers. I've been in supportive housing in south side Jamaica, Queens for almost 3 months, and to say the transition didn’t go well would be a serious understatement. my current housing agency didn’t make me feel like shit about the roughness of the transition, though, like the one back in Brooklyn between 2021–2022 that made sure that I knew that everything that happened was all my fault because I was a jerk, they didn’t shame me for relapsing as if my substance abuse issues were some choice or moral failing and they’ve gone out of their way to check on me nearly every day. they’re even moving me to another house they control to get me away from both a drug infested neighborhood and a seriously unreasonable landlord who happens to sleep in the room right below mine and thinks me walking around in the domicile where I live after 10 pm is too noisy and quite unacceptable.
everything that’s happened here since my arrival, it kind of tainted the area over here in south side, Jamaica, and the apartment equally. for instance today was a gorgeous day, and it would have been nice to take a walk around a bit, being that i’m in nowhere near the financial shape to go to Manhattan and visit my favorite NYC parks, the unfortunate thing is that it just isn’t advisable for me to go to any of the central areas here in Jamaica due to the drug sales activity that no one even makes an attempt to conceal. do I even have the means to give into the temptation of crack dealers? no, but I also don’t want to be reminded of the dead of winter in the grips of a brutal crack habit. it’s just a painful memory from a very painful time that almost ended me.
so, on Monday i’m going to tour the new place, in a way nicer and more benign area called Queens Village which borders Nassau County, Long Island. I can’t imagine what would possess me not to decide to move there, and my housing case worker told me to spend the weekend getting my things organized to move out of here early next week. how fortunate am I? it’s not common for the average person to have the ability to just move when things go awry, or the means to do it. that’s one of the things about supportive housing (done correctly), there are professionals who can see something isn’t working for someone and correct the course before it’s a real disaster and it’s too late to do anything.
I noticed that I feel a lot better when I pay attention to the positive things going on that I can be grateful for. Lord knows how many fresh starts i’ve been granted for reasons that I can’t yet comprehend. i’m sure the new area will have it’s good points, and bad points but i’m looking forward to digging in and making a go of it. hopefully, it’ll get a little easier to find a 12 step meeting, and maybe a little part time gig that I can manage without too much anxiety.
here’s kind of a new concept (for me, anyway) I've been thinking about, that also helps me feel a lot better. the misconception that getting any help to get by is somehow a sign of weakness. I remember being so embarrassed by the accommodations there were in place to make it possible for me to do my school work, given that I have some learning disabilities. I guess being different is a lightening rod for bullying when you’re a kid and I would have done anything to avoid that. i’m not going to be ashamed that there are special accommodations that can help me live a decent life, you know, with a roof over my head. you gotta get in where you can fit it in, and make it work using the tools you have available. i’m reminded of the members of the Wu-tang clan remembering the young days of Dirty Bastard, who would never be ashamed that he was on food stamps and welfare, just because there was stigma against it, and it made the rest of his friends in the neighborhood feel less shame for themselves.
I've written before about how sick i’ve made myself when making comparisons to others, especially with the advent of social media. with the whole “oh, this person owns a home and a car and whatever else, plus they go to these marvelous places on vacation. All I own is my little samsung phone and I can’t even really afford to take the E train to west 4th Street”. it’s such a damaging train of thought, and really not good for self esteem. i’m not them, they aren't me. i’m sure they have things they need help with, just like I need help with things in my life. i’m not willing to look at myself as a loser, anymore, just because I utilize systems that are in place to assist sections of the population with the kind of needs that I have to avoid slipping through the cracks.
am I just where I want to be in life? absolutely the fuck not. but as I approach the fourth anniversary of coming to New York City with nothing but the clothes on my back and a viscous addiction to huffing canned air, i can say that a great deal of progress has been made, and should be celebrated.
hey, now: you could help me afford that lavish trip down the E line to west fourth street to go to the park I like to go to (WSP) because it reminds me that I live in a place with a wide array of people who do all kinds of creative things. “we’ve got to sing for our supper, love one another”- David Byrne :
https://ko-fi.com/evr0ck17
