Visions Journal

Keeping up appearances

Mike Farley

Reprinted from the Out of Sight, Out of Mind: The unseen reality of hidden homelessness issue of Visions Journal, 2024, 20 (1), p.31

While still swinging a hammer, I admitted to myself and others that I needed help. I was labelled an alcoholic, an addict. I had never learned how to acknowledge and express my feelings in a healthy way. Especially not on a job site or at the skateboard park. “If only you quit drinking,” I was told, “life would sort itself out.” 

A request to put the proverbial plug in the proverbial jug would indeed be one part of that sentence. The second half would go: “and commit to a year of living with your fight or flight response jammed into overdrive, understand that you will still be broke and on the verge of homelessness, cry, cry a lot, scream, yell in unison with your family to confront difficult emotions, learn that true strength comes through vulnerability and learn to laugh at yourself.” It’s a big ask, but that long, snaking sentence would be a good place to start. 

One path taken, another back

During highly active addiction, my actions were not choices. Nobody chooses to live deprived of morals and accomplishments. I made early choices to experiment with drugs and alcohol. However, due to my clinically diagnosed attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, depression and anxiety, I don’t really think they were choices once repeated. More like impulses that affected the rest of my life. 

Sometimes the innocent mistakes of youth end up haunting our adult selves. Or it can be life circumstances that are wholly out of our hands: an accident, a layoff or an unexpected mental illness can take us out of the workforce. Any one of us could potentially land in a precarious living position. These woes are exacerbated now with the global financial situation. 

After getting sober over six years ago, I still resorted to stealing groceries. There was daily anxiety about how I was going to eat, whether I could keep my phone turned on or if I would be living on the street and showering at the pool before going to work as a manager for a well-respected construction company, helping clients build their multi-million-dollar dreams. There was the fear that I would be found out, one so visceral I could taste it.   

Eventually, I started pulling myself out of the pit of despair I had languished in for so long. Honesty and a touch of humility took me a long way in gaining back the trust of friends, family and—most importantly—myself. 

On a new track 

Once on the path to recovery, I found it hard to connect to people in support groups or anonymous meetings. Friends were still happily indulging as “normies.” Even though they were supportive, many just didn’t get it. 

I found my peace through yoga. Living down the street from a cozy yoga studio in Fernwood, I found a community that met and accepted me as I was. I could be a normal person, having normal conversations that weren’t focused on my problems before class, then slip into an evening of bliss after an hour of mindful movement and meditation. 

Those normal interactions made me feel human again, more than “just an addict.” They gave me the confidence to continue showing up for myself, at work and personally. This confidence allowed accountability, which in turn led to better paycheques, easing my financial burden. I’m privileged to have a family that could support me, which isn’t available to many who are also victims of generational suffering. Miraculously, I still have a very supportive friend circle and fiancé, despite the trail of bourbon-soaked destruction I left in my wake. 

For those on the verge of losing what they have in the way of housing: the fear and embarrassment I went through by not wanting to ask for help was unnecessary. It happens to more people than we realize, and there are people out there that want to help.