It was a perfect storm. I had been living in a shared rented house in east London when my landlady told us she wanted the place back. Around the same time, my work as a freelance graphic designer totally dried up. Instead of being able to put my deposit money down on a new place, I had to use it to live. It ended up disappearing really quickly on accommodation and food. I was trying to find work, but nothing was forthcoming.
In June 2015, I found myself homeless. My first night sleeping rough was in a graveyard. I had tried to get into the church, but the door was locked. I lay down among the graves. You don’t really sleep, you just lie there and hope no one notices you. That night, I felt like my heart broke for myself. I couldn’t believe it.
Your view on the world changes. When you are poor, everything is taken from you. The worst thing is the loss of peace of mind. There are always people walking around you; there is always some threat. You have no internal place you can go to replenish your spirits. Your peace is stolen. It is a constant fight to survive.