Motor-Mouth. (Part One)!
By Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
A man who is homeless shares his story.
Motor-Mouth is my name, and panhandling is my game. Hey, gotta make some money, so I can feed my ever-growlin' belly and try to get some substinance, ya know?
My real name is Cameron, but I have a bad habit of talking constantly: hence, the nickname of "Moter-Mouth". I am also bi-polar; when I am manic, I talk like a busted record: I never stop. I can't help it; it's how I am. (When I'm depressive, I don't say boo; don't like people seeing me sad and blue, so I hide myself until I'm over my slump.)
I been homeless since I got caught using drugs: my parents, they threw me out. Am now clean, but haven't been able to find decent work, and now I have this bi-polar shit to deal with. Am trying to get on SSDI or DI, but ain't makin' any headway, 'cause "I don't have a valid address". It's very frustrating!
Right now I live at the shelter with approximately five other people (the numbers change: the colder it is, the more people; when it's nice and/or warm out, it's just a select few). It's not too bad as far as shelters go: at least I have a place to lay my head and can get food in my belly, but I still can use the money. That is why I panhandle; I try to sell some of the key chains or lanyards I've been making, and it gives me a little cash, but people don't like me to do that, so I do it when nobody can catch me. I do it on the sly.
I haven't heard from my family in years. I don't even know if they even realize that I am still alive. As far as they are concerned, I might as well be dead. I don't exist in their eyes, which breaks my heart, 'cause I'm tryin' to keep clean and get my life back before the drugs took everything away from me.
Christmas and Thanksgiving are the worst times for me. I miss my family bad during these times the most; it's all I can do to keep from puttin' a gun to my skull and blowin' my brains out to end it all. I hate not having my family know about where I am or how I'm doing!!
Just say a prayer for me; pray I get my disability, and pray I get some job soon; I hate living on the streets like this, not knowing if I am going to eat or not or end up in jail 'cause some goon caught me panhandling again! People tend to frown on that, y'know.
*To be continued.*
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Short Stories by this author
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