The Price of Silence

When Good Intentions Pave the Road to Destruction

When is the last time you visited downtown Seattle? Or Portland? Or San Francisco? Are these places the towns you once vacationed to and felt safe site seeing?

Nearly thirteen years ago, I prayed for death as I wandered the streets of Tacoma in the middle of the night—no place to go, no belongings, everything I owned stolen along with my car. I was certain God could see the rationale in ending my waste of a life.

A short time later, I was arrested driving a stolen truck, trying to flee to nowhere with nothing. The moment I sat in the back of that Pierce County Sheriff’s vehicle, I knew my life was going to change. I was terrified and relieved in the same breath. The struggle was over.

Here’s the truth nobody wants to say: I was homeless because I was using drugs. Not the other way around. I didn’t start using when I became homeless. I became homeless when I started using again after getting out of prison for the third time.

I have been in recovery since that arrest. At forty years old, af…