text: I’m not going to go into details of *how* I became homeless because that’s still a part of my life I’m trying to understand. The most important thing you need to know is that I am no longer homeless. The following is a small glimpse into how life was for me as a homeless man in the UK. It is all truth, par a few names of people that have been changed because they may still face issues in their job for what they did to assist me. Little intro over. In late June of 2015, I was declared as an emergency homeless person. This label was given by a psychiatrist and an independent evaluator from my local council. I was deemed “high importance” because of my hospitalising suicide attempts in the past. I was under the impression this would mean I’d spend little time on the streets. I was wrong. For the first three weeks of my time on the streets, I was in one of the safest places I could be. An area that had foot patrols of police, security, and local Homelessness Support Officers. It was in-front of about a dozen shops, all of whom had external CCTV cameras. To give you an idea, this is the area and this is where I slept (the bench with a backrest) I was told by the night security for this area that I was permitted here from 9pm until 5am. At 5am, the day manager would begin his shift and he didn’t like homeless people. During the three weeks I was sleeping there, I had a few occurrences that surprised me. The first was that on my first night, a German business man from out of town paid for me to stay in a local hotel, including a full breakfast the next morning. This was a massive shock. He even helped me to the hotel with my bags and things I had. I was even more shocked when I saw the amount he paid for a total stranger to spend a night in warmth. The total bill, including late booking was £106.50. For one night. The second nice surprise came that next morning. The manager asked about the gentleman that accompanied me to the hotel and I nervously explained my current housing situation. Once I did, I went and had breakfast. I stayed in the room until mid-day, as that was when I needed to hand the key back and leave. As I handed my key back, the manager gave me a carrier bag with numerous contents. Inside was a Pillow (branded, but still very comfortable) and some milk cartons (UHT), coffee sachets, and sugar sachets. My day then became quite repetitive. Because I couldn’t stay sat in the Malls area during the day, even if I was awake, I decided for a few days to just slowly walk around town, sitting down occasionally. After a while though, and I’d get very hungry. I knew that begging in the town centre was against the law and that the CCTV network in the town would detect it instantly so vowed to never beg. And I can proudly say I never once asked for anything (unless offered, such as “would you like a tea or a coffee”). So my second day became one that I stuck to for almost the whole time I was sleeping at The Malls. At 5am, I would hobble along, through The Malls, through Festival Place, and then up to the “top of town”, and sit on a bench that was opposite a Greggs Bakery. I only chose there because at 9am most days, the sun would hit my face and wake me up properly. I decided to stay there because of how people were at the earlier hours in the morning. So I would set myself up. My biggest bag that had mostly sentimental things in I would put right next to me, my hand holding onto a strap. I then lay my bedding cover over my legs and tuck them in to reduce the draft. I then cover the bag and zip my coat up. I was snug and relatively warm. But then again, it was in the summer. So this is what I would see most mornings. I can’t find a shot that accurately represents my location, but hope this will do . It was really difficult to control my stomach noises when you can smell things being baked nearby. But then sitting where I was seemed to attract a bit of attention to me. I would often fall asleep for a moment or two, only to wake up when I heard footsteps (this became very useful at night, because if someone is approaching me, I would wake up faster due to a tad bit of fear). I would sometimes wake up when someone asked if I was okay, but because I was mostly tired and also didn’t want to be accused of begging, all I’d say was “a bit cold, but okay”. While for most people, that was enough and they’d be on their way, a short handful of people would proceed into Greggs to buy me something hot, be that some pastry, soup or a drink. After a few days, one of the people who closed up Greggs at 4pm began to bring out cold food that was supposed to have been thrown away at the end of the day. I was massively grateful to him, because he was essentially stealing. When I found out a few weeks later that he had been sacked, I felt really bad because I thought it was my sitting there that had caused it, but he told me that he had already started at another workplace and was looking for a way to leave Greggs as fast as possible. This became the norm for a while, occasionally a Police Community Support Officer would approach me, take my name, date of birth and ask a few things like where I was sleeping and if I was registered with the local council as homeless. Once I gave the required details, they’d leave. After a while, I noticed it was the same group on duty so it rarely happened after that. When the local council cleaner came around, which happened between 10 and 12 each morning, I would ask if he could take my rubbish from me. This was in part due to laziness. I had gotten comfortable on a wet, wooden bench and didn’t want to have to disrupt it. However the cleaner was happy to, saying that he’d rather me ask, than just leave it. I began to become acquainted with the routine and schedule of the council cleaning crew, and knew that if I did have rubbish, the morning collections were 6am, 10-12, then the evening collection was at 6pm. I also learned on my first Wednesday, that the bench was a bad place to try to get a couple hours of shut eye. Wednesdays and Saturdays were “Market Days”. Hearing burger sellers yelling “Beef burger, sausage roll, bacon butty, a pound” over and over again kept me awake and hungry. On the second market day, a local merchant was in need of someone to watch his stall while he popped to the bank. I was happy to, given that his stall was literally next to my bench (and yes, I had come to call it mine). I sat for a few minutes before he returned. He said the queue was too long in the bank for him to be away from his stall. I then offered to help him. He was, expectantly, sceptical at first, but when I told him I’d leave my bags with him, he agreed. I was given the paying in slip and money and went to the bank. When I returned with the stamped stub, he handed me a £5 note and thanked me. For three weeks in a row, I took his earnings to the bank, but it stopped when he stopped making as much. So I don’t want to bore you by giving a day by day blow of what happened because there was a LOT of repetition. It was basically a case of wake, walk, sit, wake, eat, walk, sit, sleep. I was always respectful towards the areas I sat and slept in, and I think that’s why I was allowed there for as long as I was. However, The Malls was a council owned property, with private contracted security. A new supervisor started. He didn’t like people sleeping inside at night. I felt a lot of anger and upset, but it was wrong of me to do so. It’s not a bed, it’s a bench. Yeah, it was under cover, so it was dry. Given the drafts of wind that would come in, it was difficult to sleep, but when I did sleep, I slept well. I always woke at 4am, and woke up a bit before moving on. I was never woken up by their staff (except the first night because I didn’t know what time to be awake for). Nights became eventful before the new supervisor. I would have people bring me food from the KFC opposite my “bed” and sometimes the manager at the Costa Coffee nearby would bring me a coffee when she closed up if I was around. But when the new supervisor came in, I was ejected. So I slept on a bench a few hundred metres from the train station. The PCSO’s had informed me it was okay to be there because it wasn’t on train station property and wasn’t on The Malls property, but every morning at 3am, British Transport Police would wake me, and ask what I was doing. After a while, I’d say “Sleeping” and then just go back to sleep. They’d wake me every hour until I left. I decided to find somewhere else, not just because of that, but also because the bench was metal, and as the air temperature dropped, so did the metal temperature. I woke up feeling colder than ever some mornings. So between August and October of 2015, I had no “fixed” sleeping spot. I slept anywhere I could, for as long as I could, and would often be woken up by either the police, or council workers. In October, I found a new, better place to sleep. I was sat on some steps outside Festival Place (the enclosed shopping centre) that is a designated smoking area, and decided to sleep there, sat upright. After the first night undisturbed, I continued until the Site Manager approached me. Before he could say anything, I said to him “I guess this is the part where you ask me to move on?” Having slept there for almost a week now, I had assumed I was safe to do so. But alas, even in what appear to be the darker times, surprises still exist. He informed me that it was private property, which got me thinking the police were on their way, but he told me I was permitted to sleep there between 8pm and 8am. He handed me a sleeping bag and roll matt that the Security Staff had all pitched in to get me. He told me that there was a hot water pipe under the third step up that kicked in around 3am, and I’d feel the heat if laying down. So that night, I set up my sentimental bag as my pillow, the Hotel pillow on top, and then I got into the sleeping bag. It was very difficult to get warm, but once I was, I fell asleep instantly. At 7am, I was woken up, but not by a member of security. It was by a road sweeper. Noisy fuckers, but a good alarm clock. I was gone before 8am came around, back up to near Greggs. The best thing is that the bed spot was around 500m from the bench. After a week outside Greggs and sleeping in the new spot, I finally was asked to move on from the bench. Apparently there were a lot of complaints. Thankfully, the police gave me this information in the evening. I collected my stuff, and because it was still cold, I went into the Subway that was in-between my bed and the bench. I had enough money to buy a hot chocolate, but unfortunately, they had already turned the machine off. When the “Sandwich artist” asked about the bags, I explained my situation. For the first time in my life, I had a Subway Sub. It was the best food I had had in a very long time. Better still considering it was free. I spent almost 2 hours in the store, talking to him, and keeping warm. After that, I vowed to go back whenever I could, mostly for the warmth. And that became a habit. I’d sleep on the private property of the shopping centre, and spend my evenings in Subway. But one morning, I woke up at 7am, soaked through. It had started to rain heavily. Hastily I packed my bedding up and went into the Subway. They had only just opened up and the morning staff member was in. She didn’t know much about me, except what the night staff member had said. She said I could sit in the store if I wanted, so long as I made one purchase. Each day, I’d buy a cookie. The staff got to know me more and more, and let me have a small plastic unbranded cup to fill with a drink from the drink machine. I didn’t abuse it, but if I was thirsty, would fill the cup and then just go back to my seat. I read my way through a book but began to feel tired. I drifted to sleep sat in Subway and fully expected to be woken up by the police or the store manager, but no. I slept through until around 3pm from 8am and only got disturbed around 12:30 when the local college came in for lunch. Just noise, not actual disturbing. Occasionally, I’d wake up and see things that have been put on the small table next to me, often from the staff but I once woke up around 1pm to a guy sat next to me reading a newspaper. Once he saw I was awake, he offered to buy me some lunch. Given that my food for each day was essentially a cookie and maybe a bag of crisps (chips for American folk), I said yes. He said I could have any sub I wanted, but I didn’t want to push it so just had a small one. Nothing special. As Christmas loomed closer, the nights in town became more active. A local nightclub owner saw me one night, and then every Friday and Saturday night for my time sleeping where I was, he would bring a cup of tea and some biscuits to me as they locked up. Fridays it’d be around 1am, and Saturdays, it was closer to 4am sometimes. The drunk people walking past, were amusing to me. At first I was worried I’d wake to one pissing on me, or something, but most would talk to me if I was awake. I would often awake after a night that clubs were open and find a few bits of change next to my pillow. It paid for my breakfast and sometimes if I was left with enough, I’d get a burger or something from elsewhere in the town centre. And then, in December of 2015, I got the news I was hoping for. Twice a week I’d go to the local council and ask if anything had come up. It took the best part of six months, but they had finally secured me a room in a shared accommodation building. It’s where I write this, and where I’ll probably be for a little while, but it’s better than being homeless. The purpose of this story was not to hoard karma or up-votes or whatever, but was to purely shed light on what I remember most about being homeless. It is 100% true. If you have any further questions about my time, feel free to drop me a message to my inbox.