Chris’ Story

Hello everyone. My name is Chris and I’m 47 years old. Today, I’m going to tell you my story, a journey that has taken me from the depths of despair to a place of hope and gratitude. It’s a story shaped by unique experiences across different continents and cultures. I’ve had to leave out many details for time’s sake but regardless, I hope it strikes a chord with some of you.  

I’m half English and half American. My childhood was anything but conventional. I grew up in Nigeria and Taiwan until I was 10, then moved to England for boarding school, while my parents lived in Saudi Arabia. I would visit them during the holidays, and every summer I spent time in New Haven, Connecticut with my grandparents. This upbringing created a patchwork of identity. And when people ask me where I’m from, I often find myself at a loss for words. For a while, I would simply state, I’m from my mother’s womb. 

People often comment on how fortunate my upbringing was, and that’s true. But it also involved many difficulties, such as having to constantly adapt to new environments, make new friends, and say goodbye to cherished old ones over and over again. I never had a regular home or had a chance to establish roots anywhere. Plus, I stopped living with my parents from a very young age.  

In total, I’ve traveled to 35 countries and each journey has broadened my mind and deepened my understanding of the world. At 18, I found myself in New York City and somehow landed in a commercial for Circuit City. With quite a bit of money in my pocket, I decided to escape the brutal New England winter and move to Mexico, where I fell in love with a girl who didn’t speak English. So I learned Spanish and ended up staying for the next two years. 

But my time in Mexico was not all sunshine and romance. It was also a whirlwind of partying with alcohol and experimenting with many different substances. I was attracted to Hunter S. Thompson, gonzo journalism, and experiencing altered states of consciousness. I loved Jim Morrison, I had an affinity with Jack Kerouac, his book On the Road, and Beatnik Culture. I even lived in an apartment inhabited by Neil Cassidy at one point, which I still think is kind of cool. I became hooked on pharmaceuticals that were super easy to obtain. The vibrant culture around me masked a growing darkness inside me. 

Leaving Mexico, I returned to England where I enrolled at the University of London School of Oriental and African Studies. There’s far too much to recount about that experience right now, but graduating definitely seemed like an achievement. However, overshadowing everything was my ongoing relationship with alcohol and drugs.

For years, I managed to DJ in underground club venues, play in bands, and even teach English as a foreign language at one of Europe’s most reputable institutions. But upon reflection, my addiction was like a dark shadow following me. I was gradually being ostracized by various social groups due to my erratic behavior and began to have fairly serious consequences related mostly to drinking alcohol.

At 28, I moved to Spain in search of sunshine and beach. I quickly connected with the music scene in Tarifa, Andalusia, started a band and found another teaching job. But despite the beautiful surroundings, my substance use continued unabated. I thought I was living the life, but somehow, somewhere around this time, I crossed the line from a functioning alcoholic to someone who is deeply entrenched in addiction. 

Eventually, my journey led me to Sri Lanka where I took a teaching job. However, it was short lived. I was fired within three months due to my drinking. I decided to finally return to the U.S. and stayed with my parents for a while, trying to figure out my next move. Instead of finding clarity, I slipped deeper into my addiction.

Vodka became my constant companion and soon enough I was fired from another teaching job.  Isolated and overwhelmed, I felt utterly lost. I flew to California to go to the third of ultimately many rehabs. I ended up in Santa Cruz not knowing a soul, but quickly found myself a room and a tutoring job.

Unfortunately, I was involved in an altercation one night whilst drunk and in a blackout. As a result, I lost everything including my job, money, family, pretty much any friends I still had and ended up homeless for the first time in my life. I burned all my bridges. This period was characterized by insane levels of despair.

I experienced what many would call a classic riches to rags scenario. I had to learn how to adapt all over again, but this time to survive. At times I witnessed both the worst and best of humanity. I felt invisible, unwanted, misunderstood, and was completely shocked by the stigma of being homeless. I constantly battled against fear, anxiety and hopelessness. 

I lived in the woods or at the beach, trying to avoid the streets and any trouble. Isolating was my way of surviving. Over the next few years, I cycled in and out of Alcoholics Anonymous, but just couldn’t stay sober. My confidence was totally shot. Being homeless is totally demoralizing. 

During this time, I would have most likely traded a roof over my head for a bottle. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs was disregarded as the necessity for alcohol superseded absolutely everything in my life -relationships, money, jobs, food, accommodation,values – it became more important than anything. I was so dependent on alcohol that I traded it for being homeless over and over again. 

I slept in the woods or on the beach. As long as I had a bottle, I was okay. I remember one time realizing I hadn’t had a conversation with anybody apart from saying “how’s it going” to the person at the liquor store for almost two and a half months. Not a single conversation with anyone. I just spent all my time in my head just thinking, daydreaming, reminiscing about the past, wondering how I’d gone from being an English teacher at one of Europe’s most reputable institutions, in a really successful band, to this. 

There were moments that were really beautiful while living out there. The stars at night and falling asleep to the waves crashing. But then you wake up (or woken up by the cops) and you have to move all your stuff. That’s one of the worst things about being homeless; what to do with your stuff, because you have to carry it with you everywhere and keep an eye on it at all times or else people will steal it. 

I’m going to skip over a number of years, but during that time, there were numerous hospitalizations, occasional jobs, I was constantly broke, and in and out of accommodations and sometimes jail. There were some good times though, for sure.  

Fast forward a few years to December 28th of last year, the day of that crazy storm, where there were up to 30 foot waves. I was camped out under the Dream Inn when a rogue wave swept the entire beach and carried me in my tent, semi floating, out towards the sea. Fortunately, I was rescued by the fire department, but even as they pulled me to safety, I was still clinging to a bottle of booze. All my possessions were once again lost. I was in serious shock.  

That day, I faced death in a way I had never anticipated. I guess it was a wake up call. There were times in the past when I had contemplated suicide. But somehow, there was something different about this experience. Something visceral that was truly profound. I realized I couldn’t keep living this way. I had to surrender. 

I entered detox soon after followed by a 30 day program at Janus. I then transferred to New Life. In this program, you are required to get a sponsor and a job. That got me out of the house and back into the world. And it was safe. I had a bed, I had food and I had time to ground myself, and really decide what I wanted to do next. While there, someone mentioned the Homeless Garden Project. I’d heard great things about the project and thought I’d go and check it out. I knew this place provided a supportive environment with opportunity for people like me and was really fortunate to get hired right away. Ever since I decided to get sober and off the streets, things quickly started to align. 

I’ve got absolutely everything I need. A great job, transportation and I’m getting back into good shape. I’ve got a bed, a piano, I am building community, starting to play music again. Life has truly done a 180.

I want to be able to be of service and help the world and people at the same time, if possible. So that may be my direction in the long term. I’m just slowly putting things back together. I don’t need a ton of money.  

Another focus is getting my record expunged so I can get a job more easily. I have a charge from 2012 that’s really making getting a job difficult. That’s another thing about my homelessness, it put huge gaps in my work history over the years which make me feel as though there’s no point in even trying to find a job. You know, people are going to just look at my work history and be like, what? And I’m like, well, I’m an alcoholic but now I can explain it clearly and explain that this is what happened and I’m sober now. 

When I first heard about the Housing Matters Speakers Bureau, I knew immediately that it was something I wanted to be a part of. I enjoy public speaking and thought that it would also help me be a part of another community. I really feel that the stigma attached to being homeless is devastating. People look at you like you’re a scum, or they don’t look at you at all. You don’t exist and it hurts so much. So I want to work to correct all these misperceptions of who is homeless, and what a homeless person is, and has to endure every day to survive.

This is not a problem that’s going away anytime soon and it’s only going to get bigger unless we find some way to come to some sort of common ground. The Speakers Bureau is a platform towards that. I want to advocate for homeless people and the issues surrounding homelessness because there are so many of them. 

When I was in my active addiction I had no hope. I’d lost all my confidence and was contemplating suicide on occasion. It was just like, what’s the point of this? Nobody would care, nobody loves me. But from that point to right now, I can see that there’s a point to living. I’m actually pretty damn cool and I’m really grateful for everything that has happened.

So, to God or whatever you want to call it, I’m really grateful. To the angels, the spirits. I’ve finally got hope. 

This story was collected in October 2024 by Andrea Feltz, Lived Experience Advisory Group Manager