PTSD is a curse. It shows up at the least opportune times—scary and out of control. A flashback to a hard, desperate, and uncertain time.
Many of our homeless have it, but his was particularly bad and he hated it. Those that knew him well could see it growing during times of stress, almost always impossible to reverse once it started.
How he hated it. He would try so hard to stay out of stressful situations that would trigger it—but that is difficult when you’re homeless and often preyed upon.
He would 5150 in the emergency room as a potential risk to himself when he recognized that he needed help to come out of it. Easily more than 20 times a year he landed there. He would spend a couple of weeks in a mental facility and then be back out on the streets again. The cycle repeated itself over and over again.
But he was a praying man—always turning to God, and often experiencing miracles. One of those miracles came in the form of the award of disability. He would now get money each month. “Hallelujah!” could be heard throughout Elk Grove—not only from him, but from those that had walked with him over the years of this exhausting journey.
Recently, he sent a text message of thanks with a picture of his new home in Oregon—a tidy, safe place. Never had a little apartment looked so much like a little slice of heaven.