This is the answer I received from a handful of people while raising money for Sydney's homeless
It's the same thing my grandfather tells me when Australia's homeless problem was brought up on the News or the government considered a new payment scheme for those doing it tough without work.
The homeless are often thrown under the blanket term of dole bludger. This is Australian slang for someone who lives off government handouts while doing as little as possible to add value to our society.
Not only was I raising money for food and packs of necessities, I was also spending the night on the street with those who call it home.
I'm good at building rapport and told I'm easy to talk to. As a personal trainer I communicate with people every day. So why not take these skills onto the streets and really listen to what homeless people are communicating, not just saying.
I heard a lot of peoples stories that night. I'm going to share only one, in the first person.
I grew up in Redfern in the heart of Sydney. I am an indigenous Coorie man, the youngest of three siblings.
My mother would often take me to school with large sunglasses on to cover her black eyes. My father was incredibly violent, he hated me, and always did, even until his dying moments in hospital as I sat next to his bed.
I was the only one by his side. One of my other siblings had died from a heroin overdose, and the third was in prison at the time.
Once when I was 12 my father took a steel replica pistol and struck my mother for serving him a dinner that was only warm, not hot enough for his standards. This split her face open, blood gushing over her eyes mixing with her tears as I did my best to seal the wound with my young hands.
After this beating my father sat down to eat the meal anyway... I left my mothers side and quietly walked to the knife draw.
I slide out the largest knife we owned and was poised to cut down my father where he stood. Before I could my mother appeared in my peripherals, her top now covered in blood. She just stood there, shaking her head. I dropped the knife and abandoned to my room.
On another occasion I broke my wrist, but hid it from my parents because I knew my father would bash me and my mother in a rage had he known he would have to pay for hospital bills. It healed relatively well and has given me no further problems.
I was removed from that household and became institutionalized. Moving in and out of boys homes.
I never had any admirable role models and soon fell into drug use and crime. At 20 I had my first shot of heroin and had been addicted ever since. Even seeing family members die from it wasn't enough to stop me. If anything it gave me more reason to numb myself.
I turned to crime as a way to afford my addictions.
I ended up spending 6 years in prison and 2 years on parole as a result. By this time I had a son who was quickly growing up.
The day I heard he had been arrested for murder broke my heart the most
He was only 27 at the time and is now serving a 20 year sentence. I'm so disappointed in myself as a father.
I did alright keeping a roof over my head, but the last 7 months I have spent on the street. I'm not sure I'll ever get back into a house. It all just feels to much any more.
I've turned off heroin, but have resorted to methadone a number of times and will shoot up ice whenever I can get my hands on some
This was made obvious as he was currently in a great deal of pain. The result of an attempted injection that had missed his vain.
Most homeless people out here just move from payday to payday. Spending there money on drugs and alcohol. All to mask the fact they can't live as a normal member of society, or at least don't believe they can.
We have a community out here though. We seek company among others who have abandoned themselves.
Do they choose to be homeless?
I believe they do. The same way an average person chooses not to be a millionaire.
Not because they can't be a millionaire; but because we have never had the role models, the support or the belief that it is possible for us.
These mental blocks are in everyone's lives and often prevent people from losing weight or to stop smoking.
For the homeless these mental blocks stop them from doing what we all take for granted, living a happy, fulfilling life as a functioning member of society.
And just as 70% of Lotto winners end up losing all their money because they have not changed their mindsets towards wealth. Giving a homeless person a house, or even a job, will usually end up with the same result. Back on the streets at tax payers expense.
I don't know how to resolve this issue, but I plan on returning to Sydney this weekend and gaining a better insight into how these people function day to day.
Follow for more stories of those doing it tough and please share love and compassion with those around you, no matter their circumstance.
Yours, with Purpose