My Downward Slide
From stable and housed to addicted and homeless
By Mike Cook
I had a great childhood. My mom and dad were there for me my entire childhood and all the way up until my early thirties when my father passed away.
My life started well.
My wife, two kids, and I moved to Myrtle Beach because we’d always wanted to live near the water since we were kids ourselves. Well, unfortunately, my wife and I got addicted to methamphetamines. We were maintaining at first, but then it got out of control and slowly began to change my life. My wife would stay up for days, and after being up for forty-eight hours straight, she would have some crazy idea of something I've done that if she had been sober she would have known it would be impossible for me to have done.
Before the drugs, we both had full-time jobs. But because of our addiction, my wife lost her job. Then I lost my job. We lost our single-wide mobile home that was one block from the ocean. Then the family had to split up. I sent my three-year-old little boy to stay with my mom in York, South Carolina, left my seventeen-year-old stepdaughter at the beach with my father-in-law because she wanted to finish high school there, and sent my wife to a rehab in Florence, South Carolina. I went back to my hometown of Rock Hill, South Carolina, with twenty dollars in my pocket and a plan of working and then getting us a car so we could get out of the weather until we could get a place. I was gonna work and save until my wife got out so I could make sure she had somewhere to go while I went to rehab.
Well, she had to leave rehab early because of complications with her insurance. I hadn't had long enough to get a car, so her mom went and picked her up. After talking to her mom, who doesn’t like me at all, my wife called me and said I needed to get clean myself and hung up on me and wouldn’t return my calls.
I got a job working for a local company. One day I was helping someone move, and that was where I crushed both of my heels and had to have reconstructive tendon and ligament surgery because of a nasty fall. We had already cleaned out the house and garage. The last thing was his man cave, and it was the size of a small two-story house. He had a loft that was nineteen feet above the ground and the last thing up there was an old couch. Heavy. I decided I would go down backward because I am taller than him. It was a huge mistake. He missed the first step and all of his weight, along with the couch, pushed me violently through the hand-railing and I landed perfectly on my feet. The pain was excruciating. I knew then that I was royally messed up. I couldn't stand or even let my feet touch the ground.
After surgeries and me teaching myself how to walk again, I had no place to go but the streets. My wife, still with her mom who doesn’t like me, took my son, changed addresses, blocked me from all social media, and then changed her phone number.
So there I was in a wheelchair. Could only get in touch with my mom who is on disability and my half-brother who was about to get married and just moved into a new house. I had no clue what to do.
Obviously, I wanted to be working. I’ve always worked. But while I’m trying to get a job, what do I do? I have to eat and drink. Because of my injury, I can’t do the physical jobs that I used to do. I did application after application for “sit-down jobs” like call centers, receptionist, etc. Supposedly businesses don't discriminate, but I still haven't gotten so much as a call back. I was left with no choice but to figure out something without breaking the law.
I cannot just walk up to someone and ask for money, so I did the next best thing. I went to a dumpster, found a cardboard box, tore off a piece about a foot wide and probably eight inches tall. I decided that the piece of cardboard would be my way to eat, drink, and basically do anything that requires money. I went to Dollar Tree and got a black Sharpie marker. I have a pretty good sense of humor, but sometimes I did not really feel like being in a funny and talkative mood, so I made two signs out of that one piece of cardboard. One side was for my “just surviving days,” and the other side was for my more humorous days. One side said, “Homeless & Hungry; Anything Helps...” The other side said, “Spread Some Cheese on This Cracker.”
That’s how I became a panhandler.
I have good paying days and not so good paying days, but on my good days, after I get everything I need, I don't just go out and spend it on anything. I actually have a Chime account, and you can load the card for free at any Walgreens.
Despite what people may think, there are a lot of really good people that are homeless. There are some people out that call me and let me stay with them whenever they get enough money for a motel room. They know I'm supposed to be elevating my feet most of the day. They know I don't sit out here and feel sorry for myself. I do not ask any other homeless people out here for anything. Not a pride thing. I just know everyone is struggling in some way. We have to work together and help one another where we can.
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