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| A symbol for transgender people |
I was working at our dining room
table that overlooks Washington Street when I heard a knock on the door. By the
time I had got to the door, the person had already gone and I looked back out
the window to see 2 men and my friend Laura. I went out to see what the
commotion was about.
When I got down to see them, my
friend asked me to take her (she identifies herself as a female though she was
born a male) and her friends to the
recycling center across town, the only one that was open. I was a bit hesitant
because as I looked at the guys she was with, it was obvious that they were
some of the homeless types who usually sleep in the canyons near our apartment.
I didn’t know if they would attack me as I drove or something else. Yeah, I had
some fear come up, and perhaps it was healthy. But, as I spoke with her and
because I had known her for half a year, I believed I could trust her. And so
we loaded up my truck and the three of us set off for the North Park recycling
center.
While waiting for the line to go
down, Laura and I had a chat that showed her ill state. She shared with me how
she had been sleeping in the canyons for the past several days and had relapsed
back in to her meth habit. She had been living with one of the guys and she had
just spent the night collecting their recycles to get some cash. He had
admitted the money from the recycleables were to help his drug habit, while she
said she just needed some money. The tension between them was a bit ripe as
they waited for their money from the recycles. After hearing of her past
several days, I bought some lunch for her and tried to convince her to go back
to her program-based housing.
As the conversation continued, her
mental illness, the effects of the drugs, and her sleep deprived state became
so obvious. I could tell she was in a really bad place. She started sharing
about suicide by cop. I found out what that meant as she described how she
wanted to die and would try to use the threat of violence to cause law
enforcement to react. She kept saying, “they are coming after me” and that “the
police have been told that I am selling drugs, but I am not” and also that “her
family was going to disown her if they found out about some of this stuff”. I
even learned she was so paranoid and in the dark, that she had a knife on her
for protection and she was threatening to use it on the supposed law
enforcement coming after her. I encouraged her to surrender her weapon to me.
Laura ended up saying yes to going
back to her group housing and so I took her home and dropped her off. It was a
week or so later that I heard that after brief stints back on the streets, she
moved out of San Diego to work on her drug rehabilitation. I keep forgetting to
take the knife out of my truck. I stashed it under my floor mat, perplexed on
how to get rid of it. Yet, it is still there and serves as a reminder of the
pain someone, a friend in the community is in. She is why we are here. We are here
so that the deeply broken might find the One whose love heals deep scarred
wounds.










