A friend gave me protection when my husband gave me none. (my homeless story of early Aug/Sept 2026)

Remember? Not much editing lately!

(Posting finally because some woman who likes me back mentioned I don’t post enough stuff)

I’m just gonna say that it all started months ago. My husband and I got a notice that we were to be evicted, because our property management of our rental gave us the proper amount and legal amount of days to pack all of our shit in vacate. They gave us notice that we were to leave within a few months, and then we didn’t do shit during those few months, and my husband blames me for not helping when I helped a significant amount to the best of my ability. While his daughter did almost nothing. But he allows his children to stay in leisure mode on a frequent basis. I’m serious when I say this, those kids feel panic and irritation when it comes to keeping your room, clean and doing dishes, to a level that the average child, whether abused or not, has never comprehended (I’m totally kidding but I hope you get even a little what I mean or what I’m getting at- I will not explain further) Anyway, he actually told me that there’s not that much left to do, and I helped with a lot, which made me feel like I really helped with a lot, and when you say something like that to your wife, it’s supposed to be the truth, when you love someone you tell them the truth about your thoughts, and feelings, you don’t just lie, especially if you’re used to your partner never talking about their goddamn feelings, am I right? Anyway, he said that I helped enough and that I could go and stay at my dad’s house so that I can recuperate from the mental and physical load that I was under which my husband doesn’t think requires rest because “well I’m doing a lot and I don’t get to rest” he likes to pull that shit with me on a frequent basis. He then proceeds to tell me four or five days in that he needs me back to help with taking stuff from inside the house, to the car, and then into storage, which is my proof that he’s a liar. Not only was I told that there was nothing else that I needed to do and he understood, he was lying about two things, he was lying that there was nothing else to do, also just to make me feel better and people please, which I do not do for him, which is what he wants me not to do, but do you get what I’m saying? I’m being told one thing and then he reacts to me doing another. Anyway, the situation here is that he didn’t like that I said no to that, but I’m done helping and then I’m resting because I’m fucking autistic, I have chronic pain, and major anxiety issues so of course I needed the rest. Which my husband has mentioned that he cares about, but has proven to not care about based off of this real story that I am saying. So I told him I was going to rest and he didn’t like that. He got upset with me, he told me that I do not help him, which is proven wrong based off of our history and the last 20 years of my body and energy that I have given him. He’s not the only one that works hard, I had a fake a lot of orgasms.

But I digress, he got upset and left and told me that I’m not allowed to come back to the house, and of course I didn’t like that, who wouldn’t, so I just sat there in tears after he left, and then my dad came into the living room taking his side because all he sees is my mother. He sees that person he cannot stand that he had this last negative association with. When he looks at me and my husband, he sees him and Brandy. That’s the life I live. My dad likes to pretend that he understands my side, but in reality, he finds every opportunity to avoid being on my side.

And then my dad told me that I’m not allowed to come back after I tried to go on a mental health walk and yelled fuck you, which is his right because it’s his house that he rents, but the fact that I usually do not participate in much hostile arguments, especially in my family, it’s become extremely rare for me to fight with any of them as a survival tactic to be able to keep staying at their home so that I could have a break, a mental health break away from my own husband and stepchildren. This life isn’t fucking easy, having autism, and nobody understanding how to deal with it, react to it, except it, embrace it, learn about it, hurts… just pick up a fucking book and read, Google every question that you can think of, and think them up for God sake. Think of questions about your loved ones and ask them. I’m so goddamn sick of all the memories I have of me sitting there and listening to everyone’s fucking bullshit, everyone’s pain, everyone’s sadness, meanwhile, I didn’t ever get as much airtime for my miscarriage, me becoming homeless, not being able to afford legit and evidence based autism testing…. I didn’t get as much of time to talk about much. But I was always listening here. The one who spoke less, the one who was there to listen.

There are far less people who are willing to sit and listen to me, then there are who would rather I shut the fuck up and get out of their life. Hence why I was abandoned.

Anyway, after being kicked out of my dad‘s home, and not being allowed to go back with my husband, simply for doing something that his fucking children have done for years, be literally fucking useless and depressed. Hey, I’m allowed to say it because we’re all fucking depressed in this family, even though we like to pretend that we are not in some occasions. I don’t do that shit. I said how it is. This family is fucked. Even the family connected to it by blood. It’s all fucked. And we like to pretend it’s just one or two people, when it’s literally every single person creating the environment that they’re in. But I have somehow managed to wiggle my way into a situation where I have become a scapegoat to children and my own husband.

Now I’m not playing victim, I know I’m not a victim, I survive, survival is in my fucking blood, to the point that I’m hyper vigilant enough to walk around Washington Square Park all night and morning and then go sit at the library to take a nap in a chair (I haven’t decided yet) I know exactly how to survive. I don’t need my mocking husband to tell me what he said in text that he sent while he was falling deep asleep, and I was panicking at my friend’s house while my friend slept, and I was trying to figure out how the fuck to survive the night because my friend couldn’t keep me at his house after 3 AM because he had to go to work, anyway, this is what my husband said, “you’ll figure it out, I believe in you, your resourceful” this man has spent this whole marriage, grasping at anything that he can to weaponize against me. Even my skills. And it absolutely fucking baffles me. I am in shock at how I can keep going back to this man time after time. Day after day. Not even wanting sex with him yet I do. This man has 1000 tiny points of my soul merged with his. Yeah I know I need to fucking sever that. Even if it means cutting out parts of myself. But I can’t. I don’t even know what parts.

After he said that I wasn’t allowed to go back home, even though the eviction was happening, and it meant that he was squatting like the pathetic male provider he is, which has become pretty typical over the last several years of being with him. Constant excuses for not taking my ideas that would help him sore. But he would take opportunities to teach karate when I found those, and I was the main one to find them for him.  Before the eviction happened, I wasn’t allowed to go back so I went to the park near my dad‘s house, right after he told me not to come back, and I sat on a Park bench for a while, and then my sister showed up and was really mad at me, which didn’t make sense because she was agreeing with me for months that my husband‘s behaviors were the worst, and she acknowledged that she witnessed me trying my best, especially from hearing my side and his side of the whole story of all the problems in our relationships, hell for the last almost 3 fucking years of our marriage, she’s heard all of it. She’s heard both sides, and she often picked mine. Often understood mine. Acknowledge that I was the one being abused and taking advantage of and being misused. She acknowledge that, and then the day at the park, she looked at me like I was one of the worst fucking people to exist in her life. Got mad at me, and I told her that I can’t have a normal conversation if she’s yelling at me just like she can’t have a normal conversation if I was yelling at her. Which I wasn’t. I was being calm. I was distraught and heartbroken and genuinely feeling like killing myself, which I did not attempt to. So then my nephew was also there, giving me advice, being very kind, understanding me, and then I walk away because my sister goes on her bullshit about how my behaviors are bad and then I am doing everything wrong, which makes no fucking sense because for the last three years, she has acknowledged that I have not been doing things wrong in certain occasions, and that I will admit if I don’t do anything good, and she’s also acknowledge all the fucking good shit that I have done in my marriage and within the family. And her turning on me like that was a fucking gut punch, and I don’t say that for just anything when I’m writing out my thoughts and feelings, this was a fucking gut pinch, this was a first start of my ginormous panic attack that happened at the Humane Society, I’ll get to that later, anyway, I had to walk away, I called 911, I didn’t know that I could call 988, I do not have cell phone service, because I turned it off for mental health reason so that I could just use a flip phone, which my husband got me and still has not given them to me, which makes sense because of the situation that we’ve been under. So at least I can acknowledge things if other people will not. Anyway, I called the police and told them that I was having suicidal thoughts, they came by talked, then they had Amott come by, we talked, I got dropped off at a crisis center, but I can only be in for 23 hours, and I’m going to skip over the details of all that shit, you go in, you talk to three different kinds of professionals, maybe five, they give you shitty resources, which actually don’t help you, and while you’re there, they don’t actually give you medicine that the nurse their prescribes you, you have to ask for things, far too often, even if you forget it really easily. Anyways, after that, the only resource I could give me was going through a woman’s homeless shelter, so I ended up at Geraldine E King, and I was there for 30 days, I then got news from my husband that we had to have me with Teddy, our dog, my fucking dog, who I took care of 98% of the time, I had to take him, and he was nervous, and he didn’t like where he was, he winded a lot, he wouldn’t sleep, knew or not, it pissed off a lot of people which caused me anxiety, because I am a people pleaser and try to avoid people so they are convenience. And my husband set up a time to vaccinate and neuter him, and then we went the next day. And then I spend some time with my husband after he dropped off the kids at the library and we did some errands, we ran out round and did Instacart orders, laughed, try to have some fun while I try to ignore the fact that I was anxious as fuck, and my body was not gonna let me forget, anxiety is not a fucking choice, and people really need to understand that. It’s different than just choosing your feelings, it’s a visceral thing within your nervous system and even your bones sometimes. It was my chronic pain certain emotions, cause a lot of distress with my body, and her husband who says he understands that and talks about it, you think that he would accommodate me when I tell him a fact, but he takes it as a lie or dramatic.

He ended up telling me that he wanted to have sex in some public bathroom somewhere and thought that that was getting me all horny when in reality it fucking wasn’t. Like, I thought that he couldn’t set the bar lower, and he fucking did. He ended up fingering me in the Smith’s parking lot, barely touched the clitoris, he turned me on for like 10 seconds, didn’t even give me an orgasm, God’s fingers just a tiny bit wet, and then that’s when he proceeded to tell me he wanted to fuck in the bathroom. This is my goddamn life, being homeless, and married to a man who says shit like this in a text message. “ I love you, always will, but I cannot rescue you right now” so I proceeded to say, and this is the very last text, as I typed this up at 2:21 AM while I’m walking around Washington Square Park, i say, “You’re my husband. Rescuing me is your duty.  It’s literally your only job as a good Mormon husband.”

And a big part of me wants to block him after that cause I don’t wanna see what the fuck he has to say however, he has the upper hand in many areas which is what he wanted to begin with. Whether he’s narcissistic or not, which I don’t think he is, I know that that’s a narcissist move. And that’s the choice that he’s allowing to embrace and enforce.

Anyway, after he doesn’t make me orgasm, which I’m fucking used to, he proceed to go pick up the kids, and then we go to the Humane Society and pick up Teddy and as I’m walking out with his leash and his papers, I was holding them because in my soul, I claim the biggest bond to him, while walking out I ended up handing Jason the leash in the papers because my stomach was erupting with so much fucking anxiety and pent up, repressed tears, fear, worry, anger, and myself and others, hopelessness, English, things I’ve read that Jesus felt when he was in a lot of fucking pain with Satan influencing him or some shit, and you know the fuck what? As I was in that position, having a three hour panic attack, unable to control it, trying my very best, not remembering how to fucking handle such a debilitating panic attack because the last time I had one like this was when I was 10 years old. While all was happening, he still proceeded to in very subtle ways pin blame on me, which is why I kept saying sorry and not once while saying sorry did he actually say “no it’s OK” or  you do not need to be sorry for feeling all of this“ which I’m sure he doesn’t remember, but I have told him many many fucking times. Mostly when he’s talking about his feelings regarding other people and things, but I still put my empathy in that which is funny because just within the last two weeks, he has told me that I’m not empathetic, which many autistic women are accused of women in reality, we are far more empathetic than the individuals that we associate ourselves with a daily fucking basis. And I’m not going to be told that I’m not empathetic by a man who wouldn’t try and have or keep his wife, with him. Anyway, I ended up crying and heaving, and that debilitating and painful panic attack while going off of two nights of no sleep, and then onto another one and then onto another one, as I typed this, I am on my fourth night of no sleep. Except yesterday night I had two hours which was because I had a quiet calm place to sleep, the crisis center. While I was dealing with all of my panic attack. Bullshit, my husband is talking nonsense, subtly pointing blame at me, it’s a pattern I noticed, you can’t fool an autistic person. At least not for long. And the mcot team was called, we talked, I tried to figure out resources, but couldn’t really, but I ended up back in the crisis care center, they had nowhere to put me or over me. I should say, that I was willing to take, I cannot go into a shelter again, I prefer the street just like my mom did for the longest fucking time. And I guess I’m a lot like her in that aspect and that’s fucking OK. Anyway, after they got me an Uber, they dropped me off at St. Vincent’s, which doesn’t have that much help for homeless anyway, it’s the least helpful of all the options they gave me. Anyway, I ended up there and I was fucking terrified, I didn’t know what to do or where to go so I asked someone while crying and they’ve basically told me to stop fucking crying, they didn’t say the F word, I’m just saying that because that’s my emotions about this, swearing and a little more edge to the actual emotions that I’m trying to portray here. Anyway, he basically told me that I don’t need to cry, and I am very annoyed way, and I told him that I’m new to it and he said well you don’t need to be scared of any of us, we’re all just like you, which was really fucking weird an ass to say, like I’m judgmental just because I’m new to poverty? That’s really fucking weird to assume. Anyway, he pointed me towards his large gate area that covered the entrance to the St. Vincent‘s building and told me that that’s where I can get items, I didn’t know what the fuck the items were, there was no flyer, there’s no welcoming committee, other than a bunch of homeless people that could hear be violent, non-responsive, or genuine and kind like this man mostly was. Anyway, it ended up being a black bag with some sort of Chito ball looking chips that were actually spicy and delicious, some ham sandwich with some sort of white cheese and mayo, which is actually really fucking good, even though I avoid ham at all costs most of the time, but these situations you just fucking go at it. Anyway, there was also this desert thing called sponge, this one was a mango one, but I haven’t had it yet, I’m saving it in my bag because, my girls got a fucking eat, even if it’s all you can get at the moment. Anyway, I was also given a tall glass of water, which I was happy about and then my next glass of water came from a friend who ended up getting me later, I’ll get to that in a little bit. So then I ended up walking all the way to the fucking space museum. I can’t remember the name too because I’m so fucking tired and it’s now 2:35 AM, anyway they said it was closed, which makes no sense, why the fuck is the door unlocked and able to open? But whatever, I digress from that… But I really had to go to the bathroom and that led me to think of city Creek, those bathrooms are clean and I just wanna get in and out, I don’t wanna just chill in there, because I know that a lot of homeless people end up being nagged whore tattled on for sleeping in a bathroom stall. I need to invent a way to be able to do that but look like I’m actually taking a dumper that’s way too long or some shit. That doesn’t hurt my back. Anyway I’m not noting that in this because why the fuck not? Anyway, I went to city Creek, went to the bathroom, my anxiety left my vowels in a fucking chaotic mess, and that’s amazing for someone who didn’t really have much food today. Anyway, I was fucking terrified because there was a lot of man. I even got cat called by a couple of them in very disgusting ways which I will not disclose here because I don’t remember what the fuck they said other than that it was sexual in nature I then ended up going all the way to Desert book because that’s what I thought of when I thought of a place to charge my phone, which was dead by the fucking way… I spent my whole time at the crisis center on their outdoor patio, trying to connect to this satellite to be able to even message my own husband, just for him to tell me about the school stuff that could be told to me any other time. And then he tried telling me that he was gonna get rid of Teddy, which we ultimately did, and that caused a lot of emotional stress. Anyway, I went to Desiree book, and I quickly walked towards a worker at the back of the store, near the back, at a desk, and ask her if she had a charger I could use in that my husband‘s car broke down, which was all true because he told me the car broke down, which is why I had to be dropped off at St. Vincent… Which I forgot to mention, my bad. Anyway, I sat and read a book while my phone charged, and then I went outside, and sat at a table with my phone after my phone charged to about 17%, and I connected to the Wi-Fi because the satellite wasn’t working that well, I didn’t know city Creek had Wi-Fi but now I do. And I started messaging all these people that I needed to message to let them know where I was and what was happening. And then I ended up getting picked up by a friend who let me rest at their house till 2 AM when they had to start going to work, and they gave me some green, to keep myself calm in this sudden situation in my life. And then he gave me a hoodie, a hat, a backpack, and a box cutter, to protect myself, because I’m sure I would need it at some fucking point. Which is why I titled this blog post or essay or whatever the fuck you wanna call it, “a friend gave me protection when my husband gave me none.”, because that’s exactly what happened. The only man that protected me in this entire situation tonight was my closest male friend. And not my own husband. I admit he had to be home, wherever it is, at 9 PM, that’s his curfew along with the kids. And I get that, as I have said. However, this man could’ve empathize, genuine empathy, he could’ve given me a weapon of some sort like my friend did, he could’ve stopped by to find me and holding me while I was crying before he headed back, he could’ve said fuck it and just stayed with me in a car and the kids, and our dog, and we just live in the car. We don’t need a lot of things, but each other, and that’s the very thing he and his kids don’t understand. I would gladly live in a car with a little to no items, just to figure out our situation. If I were the parent in charge, the head of the household, the one who gets listened to the most, that would have been my choice. But that’s what most women do, as I have found out from living with women in the women, shelter, their stories are very similar and have many similar parts, one of which is that women tend to, according to all the stories I’ve heard from over 50 different women, is that they would much rather sleep in their car that they have, and give things up that are important, like family, and pets, just to be able to stay in a box, instead of something that could roam and be parked at different places to camp. I have watched many TikTok, videos of people in van life, or just in their regular car, and they’ve all been able to save up money in many different ways, they make their own rules, anyway, my husband didn’t help me, so I have been walking around aimlessly for the last few hours, it is now 4:14 AM as I typed this in, and I just met a woman, helped her carry her things, she gave me two Gummies, to help with my anxiety, she also gave me a couple handful of chips, we sat and talked at a bunch of different bus stops while we tried to get her and her stuff to Palmer Court which she mentioned she lives at and I found out that she actually knows my mom and I even helped her bring her stuff into Palmer Court by ducking under the gate, this woman was having major heart and leg issues, so of course I was going to fucking help her get her stuff to her room at least I got far enough to where she can rest sooner, but I got caught, and I got escorted off the premises by two security guards, and I don’t even feel bad about it because that woman needed the help. And no one was fucking helping her. So I guess call me a fucking saint or something I guess. Anyway… Now I’m sitting outside of some Honda car lot, at 900 S. and Main Street, and I’m leaning against an upside down, U-shaped, bike lock bar or some shit, and saying the rest of my story so that as the night goes on, I will continue. But my back hurts, I am an extreme pain, my knees are an extreme pain, mainly my left one, my right one is a strong bitch, just like me fuckers. What I love about being out here though is that it’s extremely quiet, for the most part, there was an old man that was walking past me, he’s homeless, and he was yelling, profanities, and stomping on the ground like he was stomping on his ex-wife for some shit, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, there’s some good things about this and it’s not just a quiet, but it’s also because there’s a lot of liminal space which is very soothing for me. For the most part I have been OK at night time is compared to during the day. So I think I will just walk a lot during the night, and then go to city Creek around 5 AM or 6 AM, I haven’t decided yet of what would be appropriate and what wouldn’t get attention of security officers… so I stay awake at night time now, I think that’s going to be my decision until I can get somewhere else more safe. I’m choosing to be awake at night because it’s beautiful, it’s quiet, it’s a real world liminal space, enough to call my obsessed autistic line, and end up meeting some people. I learned her name today, which was nice, she shared with me words, snacks, anxiety relieving medicine. And friendship. I think I need to invest in everything Black just so that I could put it on and then lay somewhere in the shadows. At night time so I can actually at least lay the fuck down at night. I don’t know. I’ll figure this shit out as the days going on. But as I was typing all of that, some guy on a bike rode by and just started talking to me, he’s like majorly ADHD, and I believe very autistic due to the very immense lack of eye contact, he also started asking me very inappropriate question some of them weren’t inappropriate, but they were very random, and it’s OK, I was scared at first and grabbed the box cutter in my pocket, but after a while of trusting a little bit more, I noticed body signals, the tone of his voice, I even put a little distance just to be cautious, and it was all fine. And then he started talking about how he’s been horny all goddamn day, and he just tried to flirt with a woman, he met me, and it never goes anywhere… And I didn’t respond because why the fuck would I?  And then he started talking about how he doesn’t like to masturbate with his own hand because it feels like another man is doing it to him and that’s very gay and he’s straight. And I was just an odd how open and vulnerable this guy is and then I remembered since that’s the whole population of homeless people, at least most of it… And that’s something I’ve learned for real. There’s no escaping the absolute openness and lack of giving a fuck that exist within this whole population of people, plus me, that are just sick of hierarchies, sick of life, and it’s constant unfairness, wanting to be free, and that just screams autistic, which is interesting because autism is highly prevalent within homeless and unsheltered communities. And I am now fitting into a statistic. I’m a living and walking statistic. And not even just because of homelessness and autism, but because of being ex Mormon and gay, sometimes shit just fucking happens naturally doesn’t it? In this case I was let down by a government and systems of the government. Along with family members. I absolutely refuse to live in a place that puts so many restrictions on me, doesn’t accommodate my autism, and just all around doesn’t try to understand me and people like me. Especially doesn’t try and help us succeed in any way, shape or form, because if they really did try, they would be learning more about you, they would be asking you questions about what you need and how you need it, as the same in any relationship.

Anyway, it is 4:41 PM as I reached this part of my writing, and I am still at 900 S. and Main Street, just sitting at the base of crossing Wright, on the east side of Main Street and 900. I am currently waiting for Palmer Court to open up and allow visitors, I will have to find out from some stranger what time it opens because I have no access to Wi-Fi, and the satellites will only let me message people. People with iPhones, of course. Because turning off my service made it so I can’t text anyone or call anyone however, I can still use my iCloud info, my email, and use that for “texting“, it sends text, which is nice. Anyway, I am safe right now, and I’m gonna make going to the library a regular daily thing. I’m gonna try and visit my mom at least a few times, and my friend also lent me a charger or gave it to me, I’m not sure but I’ll wait till he lets me know. And he will be helping me out as well because he’s just fucking cool like that and at this point he’s my homie, at least that’s what he calls me. We are Homies. And my Homie do play that game, the “protect women“ game. Which is in a fucking game, but my husband treats it such. That man is no longer worth my time or effort. I can’t do it anymore. I still might but this whole relationship is pathetic. It’s weak. It’s beneath me. And it’s like I’m doing meth. My relationship is meth. Because my husband is everything wrong with it. And I need to be with a woman, multiple even. I need to be loved right. I need to be held right. I need to be enjoyed right. I need to be appreciated right. And you know I also need to be told that my food is delicious. I need to be enjoyed slowly. I need to be made wet first. I need to be treated like a woman. I am not the pathetic loser my husband sees.

I may be on the street, but that’s not my fault. I am not at fault for being on the street, it is the systems in relationships that have failed me. And I say this again, I am not a victim, I refuse to claim that title, for I am a survivor of systems in relationships that do not fit me, and refuse to accommodate when I put in millions of accommodations. I’m in a strong bitch. And I’m filled with fear on a daily basis. And those two things can exist simultaneously. And they do. And I’m grateful for friends who really genuinely care. And mournful of husbands who don’t. Anyway, as I keep Brandon playing on, letting out all the thoughts and feelings that I can, it is now raining at 4:51 PM. It’s just sprinkling for now but we shall see. Yep it is raining more at 4:55 PM. I wish I could sit down, but I will get in trouble if I do any of that. So I need to find a spot where there’s almost no light, so that I could sit down or lay down without getting in trouble. All I have is the hat and the hoodie, hat, and my bag that my friend gave me is actually getting wet and even trying to do the voice record on my phone is difficult because it’s raining. I wish I had an umbrella. Well, it finally stopped raining. I actually kinda liked it, as I usually do when it comes to light rain or even heavy rain to be honest. Anyway, I am now walking back to the Honda sign so that I can be in bright light just in case something bad happens to me, and it can be seen by security cameras, this is the type of fucking hypervigilance that the lack of care for homeless people and autistic adults, breeds. Anyway, I am walking back from sitting for a good 10 to 15 minutes with a highly schizophrenic woman and the guy on the bike who left 10 minutes before I did. And I just sitting there trying to rest, because she was sitting on some stairs and I don’t know if she’s violent or not so I just chose not to sit right next to her, but I still chose to sit by her because she reminded me of this one woman at the women’s shelter who always talk to her voices in a mean way, so it scared me at first, however she was very nice when you spoke to her. So that’s why I chose to sit with that lady. Because it was kind of comforting. 85% of that Shelter is fucked, but the 15% of it is hopeful. I also just now remember telling the dude that. I dress like a boy because I’m scared of getting raped and he said that he ain’t gonna do all that to anyone, and that made me trust him more. He’s very nice. He says he goes around this area every day. Because why? I do not fully know.

Anyway, I don’t know when breakfast is anywhere, and I don’t know where, whether it be St. Vincent’s, the Geraldine, King, women’s shelter, or wherever the fuck else, I don’t know. So I’m probably just going to eat the two Oreos I have in my bag that I got from St. Vincent’s then got dropped off by the Uber from the crisis center. My legs hurt it’s 5:11 PM, my feet hurt, I need to find a grassy spot that is in the dark, that is nearby. Week I just really need to figure all this out. I need to have some sort of routine if this is gonna last forever, however, I do not think so because I have a friend that I made at the women shelter, who actually asked me to move in with her, and we’ve agreed that I would do a lot of cleaning, cooking, I would be full on willing to stay somewhere Rent free as long as I’m allowed to do all the housework. My husband wanted that from me, but what’s funny is you don’t do that to a wife. Especially a wife you know has so many fucking issues with her body and is being very honest with you that she can’t just stop things like panic attacks.

In this specific situation, I am desperate as a non-monogamous, pansexual, lesbian, leaning woman, who is embracing the kink lifestyle, especially 20471, I am just greatly desperate for a casual yet romantic relationship with one or more women who would allow me to be their sub and servant, to cook, clean, rub their feet, I know it sounds silly and like a sexual fantasy, but this is a 24 seven relationship/dynamics that I have been yearning for for my whole life and never really realized it till now. And I am hoping for that kind of relationship as soon as possible. And not just because I’m homeless and I need housing but also because that is the kind of relationship/dynamic that would heal so many parts of myself. And that’s coming from a woman who has spent a whole year, researching kink and it’s benefits to mental health. That’s a whole other blog post in itself. But I hope you understand what I’m saying, I’m trying my best to explain… I’m tired as hell and I just wanna visit my mom and take a nap. I don’t know when the visiting hours are, but I will find out. And then I’ll try and connect to her Wi-Fi if she has it, if not, I may have to go to the library… She may help me out since she understands homelessness, because she has been chronically homeless on and off since before, I was even born. And now she’s at a place, Palmer Court, and I’m really really hoping that she has stopped meth, and is not lying about it. But living in a place like that, I can understand why one would keep doing something that they know makes them feel good. Even if it is wrong and really dangerous for your body. I mean, look at alcoholics in those who choose to drink alcohol over smoking a joint, taking deep breath or going on a run or even going swimming. We all have our devices, so worse than others. We all have some sort of addiction, I don’t give a shit what anyone says. It’s a fact. And George Carlin would agree with me. Everyone has some sort of an addiction. Each and every one of us human beings are doing something a little too much, or perhaps a lot too much.

Anyway, right now I am sitting at the corner directly across from the Honda sign but facing Palmer court. Night, morning night and daytime are 2 totally different dimensions. It’s crazy. Just the vibe. The different colors, smells, feelings, lighting, shadows, sounds… god I AM autistic. It’s perhaps the only reason I am so poetic.  And thank God, though, my phone is at 76% and I think it’s because I left the airplane mode on, not like that would make a difference, because I don’t have cell phone service nor am I connected to Wi-Fi. Nor am I trying to connect to the satellite. Not a lot more people walking around, and a lot more cars moving about, it’s 525 in the morning, and I’m tired as a motherfucker, but I’m too high to care. Cloud nine helps me process my feelings and thoughts, it helps me figure things out, and it helps me get my shit together. So it’s a good thing. I am saving what my friend gave me along with what my new friend gave me, she gave me two Gummies and I ate one earlier so that it would last for a while.

Now it’s 6:38 in the morning and I have been offered math by two different people, one person who actually has met my mom multiple times which is nice, but I turned down the mess, it was either shooting it or smoking it and I don’t wanna do either. I’m just gonna keep telling people that it’s only weed for me. I am extremely tired and just wanna lay down and fall asleep. But I know that police monitor certain areas.

It is now 10:43… met up with my mom, smelled her doggy peepee filled apartment, got some rye bread from her apartment lobby, ate 2 slices, went to some homeless court thing at library, got some toothbrushes and socks and deodorant, went into library, sat at cold table, contacted my friend David, he brought me a small pecan pie and a coffee. He’s coming back at 12:30. Ish.

I ended up leaving because a friend from the shelter wanted to go to a hotel with me but we did DoorDash orders before hand then it turned out we didn’t have enough money so we ended up staying at flying J and showered together. Which was nice. No we didn’t do anything sexual but the green that a friend gave me I shared a bit with her before we attempted to sleep. And we kinda cuddled and caressed each other, I braided her hair and rubbed her leg which she than said “goddamn you’re making me horny” it was just nice to touch a. Woman even for a little bit. Even though there was no sex or kissing. I like the butterflies in my stomach. It was nice to feel butterflies of happiness from a crush and not the overwhelming anxiety I’ve been dealing with for weeks building up. It was nice. I want more of that, from many other women. I loved that. I like casual but real full intentioned intimacy, it’s a big reason why I’m embracing a non-monogomous lifestyle. It feels healing. That friend couldn’t have me with her longer, she was dealing with lots of anxiety and stress and we talked it over and I decided to let her have time with herself and her dog, she needs it.

I ended up pulling out $50 and giving it to her because she spent money on food and the $17 shower that we took at flying J, she also spent her money on gas and I couldn’t keep myself in that situation where I had nothing to give financially and that’s what she needed and wanted. So she took me to Mount America so that I can get money out and I gave her my $50 and I told her that I’m still her friend and that I’m not mad at her and that I’m extremely grateful for how much she has helped me. And then I ended up walking to the Shelter and getting my stuff from there, and while I was there going through all of my stuff that they packed for me, and organizing it with an individual bags that I would keep by my side while wandering downtown in the streets, as close to the Shelter as possible so I could stay safe, I talked with a few friends that I made there, it was nice. And it’s Wilde thinking back a couple years ago didn’t have these many friends, and I guess that’s one of the most healing, and optimistic things about being homeless, despite there being a lot of crazy people, mean people, there’s a lot less judgment, and there’s a lot more good people. I did this experiment, which was very, very real, for me, and I did a lot of thinking and over the last decade of my life, the last 10 to 15 years, I’ve noticed that if I am crying in public downtown, often times it is those who have far less, those who are dressed and worn out clothing, who look a little messy, often sometimes it is those who stop and ask me if I’m doing OK. It’s those kind of people that put in the time, energy and effort and asking me questions with the desire and intent to help me feel better. And I noticed that often times this happens far less with those who look decent, seem like they would have a lot of money, and are very pretentious.   So I’m grateful for this situation although still a bit terrifying. Anyway, I didn’t have any place to go after I left my friend‘s car, so I went to the women’s shelter, got my things, split it all up and got rid of some stuff, donated it to other women there, and then a friend there gave me a ride to my husband‘s car, in magna, I changed my clothes in the back of the car, he took me to 7-Eleven to get a hotdog, and I also grabbed some yogurt, blueberry Chobani, Greek yogurt, which was awesome, and I had lots of relish and mustard which helps with digestion, I’m still thinking about and caring about my digestion. My gut health is important.

Especially now that I’m on the street.

Speaking of gut health….

It’s 9:57pm and I just shat in a Loft bag. I needed to. Right that moment. Thank god I had a bag, napkins and a water bottle. And my hoodie to hide my ass from the camera at the salt lake health center on the block across diagonally from the women’s shelter.

Just went on a Walk and saw a group of bicycles and one was doing a trick where the back wheel was on the ground and the front wheel was in the air and the bottom was also on fire. Well not full on fire, the sparks that metal makes. You get what I mean. Living downtown and being homeless (right now on the street surrounding the shelter— like a level being taken away in one of the residential treatment programs I was) lets you see wonders you don’t normally see in a regular neighborhood.