by Darla Harvey
I am a 40 year old homeless woman. I am educated with a Bachelor’s degree and I am also a struggling artist. My story of how I became houseless isn’t much different from that of anyone else who finds themselves in the same predicament. As a divorcee, I moved back to Denver in 2011 and got mixed up with the wrong person who ended up using me for what little money I had from the settlement. And in Denver’s lousy and overpriced housing market, the money ran out out rather quickly.
I had anticipated Denver’s art market to be more impressive than that of Spokane Washington, considering the scale and cultural diversity here, and I tried every avenue I could think of to sell my work and be as prosperous as I once was--to little avail. I eventually had to take on two roommates for a two bedroom apartment. I looked for work but found nothing that could pay the bills or suit my skills. I was drowning in debt and became discouraged, depressed and started drinking heavily. I ended up selling almost everything that was of value.
It was shortly before Christmas and I was going to be evicted the following month because I couldn’t pay rent, so I packed up my car, abandoned my apartment and headed north to Montana. Up there was tons of work, good paying jobs but at a price. Fracking was the game up there and people from all over the country flocked in droves to cash in on the destructive nature of this new method of well drilling. I found myself living in a camper city outside of town. It was lonely and boring. After working 14 hour days there was nothing else to do but drink. After staying in Montana for just four months I decided to come back to Denver. Even with the work I found, I was still drowning in debt and struggling to survive and slowly going insane from the lack of mental stimulation that my creative mind needed.
It was spring now but after coming back to Denver I had nowhere else to go but my car so that’s what I did, lived in my car until the day came that I had to sell it while it was still worth something. I couldn’t afford the maintenance or the insurance anymore and it was slowly falling apart. I sold my car for a meager $1,000 and used the money to pay for a small room in a communal house. That housing situation only lasted six months. The lady I rented from was absolutely insane and she kicked me out in the dead of winter for reasons unknown to me.
Luckily at the same time I found a small studio space in the Santa Fe Arts District for the same price I was paying at this other place. I wasn’t supposed to be living in my studio at the time but me and four other people were doing just that. It was a good gig. I had a place to work and a place to be around other people that weren’t crazy. It was nice until we all got the boot about four months after I moved in. The building wasn’t up to code and it was illegal for anyone to be living in the basement, and the gallery itself was shut down for a couple months. This broke my heart but I complied to leave with a promise that I’d have a studio in the future if I hung around and helped with renovations and volunteerism. It was around the time the Urban Camping Ordinance came into play and for a year now I’ve been living out of a shopping cart and couch surfing.
Over the past year I've been struggling with one thought on a daily basis...why am I homeless? I could get a job but I am disabled physically to a certain degree..and I have anxiety issues, PTSD, and manic depressive disorder. All of these make it difficult to be around crowds and have a normal life style. I take medication but is this an excuse to not re-enter society?
I am very blessed to have a place to make art and have a small refuge from the boredom and stress of street life.. but every evening I must return to the streets. I feel like I live a double life, a very strange one. Since the camping ordinance, I have found it difficult to find a place to lay my head at night--either for reasons of avoiding people that want to hurt me or finding a space that is quiet and free from harassment. But I still ask myself everyday....why am I homeless?
Quite honestly, in homelessness I find some freedom from the shackles of mundane life: go to school, throw yourself into debt, work at a job you hate, be a slave to mass consumerism, get married, throw yourself further into debt, buy a house, have kids..blah, blah, blah. I’ve been there and I don’t want that lifestyle anymore…although I will always be open to the idea of the man of my dreams sweeping me off my feet and helping me get off the streets.
I am a 40 year old homeless woman. I am educated with a Bachelor’s degree and I am also a struggling artist. My story of how I became houseless isn’t much different from that of anyone else who finds themselves in the same predicament. As a divorcee, I moved back to Denver in 2011 and got mixed up with the wrong person who ended up using me for what little money I had from the settlement. And in Denver’s lousy and overpriced housing market, the money ran out out rather quickly.
I had anticipated Denver’s art market to be more impressive than that of Spokane Washington, considering the scale and cultural diversity here, and I tried every avenue I could think of to sell my work and be as prosperous as I once was--to little avail. I eventually had to take on two roommates for a two bedroom apartment. I looked for work but found nothing that could pay the bills or suit my skills. I was drowning in debt and became discouraged, depressed and started drinking heavily. I ended up selling almost everything that was of value.
It was shortly before Christmas and I was going to be evicted the following month because I couldn’t pay rent, so I packed up my car, abandoned my apartment and headed north to Montana. Up there was tons of work, good paying jobs but at a price. Fracking was the game up there and people from all over the country flocked in droves to cash in on the destructive nature of this new method of well drilling. I found myself living in a camper city outside of town. It was lonely and boring. After working 14 hour days there was nothing else to do but drink. After staying in Montana for just four months I decided to come back to Denver. Even with the work I found, I was still drowning in debt and struggling to survive and slowly going insane from the lack of mental stimulation that my creative mind needed.
It was spring now but after coming back to Denver I had nowhere else to go but my car so that’s what I did, lived in my car until the day came that I had to sell it while it was still worth something. I couldn’t afford the maintenance or the insurance anymore and it was slowly falling apart. I sold my car for a meager $1,000 and used the money to pay for a small room in a communal house. That housing situation only lasted six months. The lady I rented from was absolutely insane and she kicked me out in the dead of winter for reasons unknown to me.
Luckily at the same time I found a small studio space in the Santa Fe Arts District for the same price I was paying at this other place. I wasn’t supposed to be living in my studio at the time but me and four other people were doing just that. It was a good gig. I had a place to work and a place to be around other people that weren’t crazy. It was nice until we all got the boot about four months after I moved in. The building wasn’t up to code and it was illegal for anyone to be living in the basement, and the gallery itself was shut down for a couple months. This broke my heart but I complied to leave with a promise that I’d have a studio in the future if I hung around and helped with renovations and volunteerism. It was around the time the Urban Camping Ordinance came into play and for a year now I’ve been living out of a shopping cart and couch surfing.
Over the past year I've been struggling with one thought on a daily basis...why am I homeless? I could get a job but I am disabled physically to a certain degree..and I have anxiety issues, PTSD, and manic depressive disorder. All of these make it difficult to be around crowds and have a normal life style. I take medication but is this an excuse to not re-enter society?
I am very blessed to have a place to make art and have a small refuge from the boredom and stress of street life.. but every evening I must return to the streets. I feel like I live a double life, a very strange one. Since the camping ordinance, I have found it difficult to find a place to lay my head at night--either for reasons of avoiding people that want to hurt me or finding a space that is quiet and free from harassment. But I still ask myself everyday....why am I homeless?
Quite honestly, in homelessness I find some freedom from the shackles of mundane life: go to school, throw yourself into debt, work at a job you hate, be a slave to mass consumerism, get married, throw yourself further into debt, buy a house, have kids..blah, blah, blah. I’ve been there and I don’t want that lifestyle anymore…although I will always be open to the idea of the man of my dreams sweeping me off my feet and helping me get off the streets.
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