Cardboard Castles- A struggle with homelessness

Jahlonnie and I never expected to find ourselves homeless in Ithaca. Our own hometown, the place where our parents did prominent things in the community. A place where the gorges and college students paint a picture of prosperity that feel worlds away from our reality. Our struggles began when our housing situations became unstable, forcing us to navigate the harsh realities of homelessness in a college town where the cost of living soared as high as the surrounding hills.

During the bitter Finger Lakes winter, we had found temporary refuge at the St. John's Community shelter, which has since shut down. Living homeless for a year in Ithaca has really stripped away every shred of stability and dignity from our lives. Each day of our lives became a grueling marathon of basic survival, with challenges that most people couldn't imagine. Hygiene has become a daily struggle and finding places to shower, a constant battle. The weather was and is merciless. Summer brought sweltering days with no escape from the heat, while winter means fighting to survive temperatures that drop well below freezing. We are learning every heated public space in Ithaca, developing an internal map of places where we can warm up without being immediately kicked out. The brutal winter winds whipping through start to feel like knives against our skin as we walk miles between services. Department of Social Services (DSS) became one of our biggest battlegrounds. What should have been a place of assistance turned into a source of constant frustration and humiliation. The paperwork seemed designed to break our spirit. We’d carefully gather all required documents, only to be told we needed "just one more thing," forcing us to make multiple trips. When we would ask questions about our application statuses, we were often met with cold, dismissive responses or told to "be patient.”

Caseworkers seemed to change constantly, each one knowing nothing about our previous conversations or submissions. We’d have to retell our story repeatedly, reliving our trauma while facing skeptical looks and invasive questions. Some caseworkers would even speak to us condescendingly, as if our homelessness was a personal failure rather than a circumstance. Another frustrating part was the endless cycle of emergency housing denials. We’d be told we didn't qualify, but the reasons kept changing. Sometimes it was "insufficient documentation," other times we were told we "had exhausted all other options." The goal post seemed to move every time we got close. When we would attempt to advocate for ourselves or question decisions, we were labeled as "difficult" or "uncooperative." Even “aggressive.”The implicit threat was clear – push too hard and risk losing what little assistance was available. We had to watch our words carefully, swallowing our dignity to navigate a system that seemed designed to wear us down rather than lift us up. The back-and-forth with emergency housing was particularly devastating. We'd be placed in motels for short periods, then abruptly told to leave with little notice. The instability made it nearly impossible to maintain employment or follow up on opportunities. Each step forward was met with two steps back. Transportation became another hurdle. DSS appointments were mandatory, but no consideration was given to how we would get there. Missing an appointment meant starting the process all over again. Yikes. The mental toll has become enormous. Hours spent waiting, being treated like numbers rather than people, and fighting for basic needs has left us exhausted and demoralized. Sleep deprivation has became our constant companion. Finding safe places to rest is nearly impossible. The psychological toll is devastating. We are faced with constant stress about where we are going to sleep each night, anxiety about our safety, depression from societal rejection as well as family loss, trauma from police interactions. Not too long ago, there was some sort of law enforcement convention where there were law enforcement agencies from numerous places. Well during this, Jahlonnie was visiting a bar where he was first verbally threatened by a white off duty police officer, whom of which proceeded to throw a drink in Jahlonnie’s face and call him racial slurs. When Jahlonnie called 911, no one was dispatched. Not an officer or a first responder. And he called FOUR times. When we finally decided to walk to the police station, Jahlonnie was laughed at. Along with all we are enduring, we don’t even feel safe reaching out to law enforcement. Other challenges we face are, the shame when recognized by people we know and being judged by outsiders looking in; just the strain of maintaining hope while everything seems hopeless.

Not to mention, when we first became homeless staying at Super 8, we had to relocate and St John’s was transporting our belongings to another hotel. During this time all of our belongs were tossed in the trash because of a “lack of communication.” We were told to write down all we lost and we would be compensated. We did that, however how does one replace things of value that money cannot buy? Memories that were just tossed like TRASH. We were absolutely devastated. Especially when the list racked the value of our things at over 2 grand and we were then told they could do nothing for us and are not responsible. Employment seems nearly impossible to obtain and maintain with no reliable place to shower before and after work, difficulty maintaining clean work clothes, no consistent sleep schedule, no permanent address for applications, transportation challenges and the stigma when employers learn of our situation.

The cruel irony of DSS housing assistance has became painfully clear to us when we started apartment hunting. The mere mention of "DSS" would cause landlords' faces to fall, or phone calls to suddenly end. The $360 per person monthly allowance from DSS is almost laughable in a city where even the most basic studio apartments start at $1,000 or more. The stigma is immediate and harsh. "We don't accept DSS" has become a familiar refrain, often delivered with thinly veiled contempt. Some landlords wouldn't even let us view apartments once we mentioned DSS assistance. Others would suddenly claim the unit was "just rented" or would ghost us after learning about our source of income, despite initially showing interest. The $720 combined allowance for both of us barely covers half of what most landlords are asking for rent. In Ithaca's inflated housing market, dominated by college student rentals and luxury apartments, this amount is woefully inadequate. When we did find landlords willing to consider DSS, we often faced additional hurdles, such as demands for double or triple security deposits, requirements for co-signers with high incomes and rental history requirements that ignored our current circumstances. DSS hasn’t adjusted rental allowance to match Ithaca's sky-high housing costs, effectively trapping recipients in a cycle of housing instability. The gap between the DSS allowance and actual rental costs means we would need to somehow find thousands of additional dollars each month, a nearly impossible task when also trying to secure stable employment and meet basic needs.

The disconnect between DSS's rental allowance and market reality reflects a broader systemic failure. While Ithaca prides itself on being progressive and inclusive, its housing market tells a different story.

Last, but surely not least, grieving the loss of our parents. The pain of losing parents is devastating under any circumstances, but experiencing such profound loss while homeless adds layers of trauma that few can comprehend. For the both of us, grief is something else we are carrying along our already difficult journey.

Jahlonnie's Loss:

- The deep ache of losing both parents, leaving him without that fundamental support system

- Facing major life decisions without parental guidance

- Missing the comfort of home during the grieving process

- Processing trauma while trying to stay strong in a hostile environment

The Loss of my Father

- The raw, utterly devastating pain of losing my father

- Unable to properly mourn in this chaos of homelessness

- No private space to process my emotions or break down if needed

- Added stress of funeral arrangements while housing insecurities still linger

- Dealing with family dynamics during loss, while struggling to survive

- The cruel timing of losing my Dad while already fighting for my stability

Our Shared Grief:

- Supporting each other through waves of sadness while both struggling

- Finding ways to honor our parents' memories despite limited resources

- Missing family traditions and comfort during holidays

- Feeling the absence of parental advice during our hardest times

- Carrying guilt about circumstances our parents didn't live to see improve

- Processing grief without access to consistent mental health support

The emotional weight is immeasurable. Questions that will never be answered, words that will never be spoken, hugs that can never be felt again, wisdom that can never be shared, pride that can never be expressed and support that can never be given. Through all of our hardships of homelessness, we both continue to demonstrate resilience and strength. Our story is not just about the struggles we face, but about the power of human perseverance and the unbreakable bond between two people supporting each other through life's darkest moments. Despite facing numerous challenges and uncertainties, we never give up. Each day is a testament to our determination to overcome our circumstances. Through cold nights, uncertain meals, and countless obstacles, we remain together, proving that sometimes our greatest strength comes from having someone to lean on. Today, our story serves as a powerful reminder that homelessness doesn't define a person's worth or their future. It's just a chapter in their lives that, while difficult, showcase courage, resilience, and the ability to survive against tremendous odds. Our experience has also exposed the harsh reality that homelessness isn't just about lacking shelter – it's about being stripped of your humanity by a system and society that often fails to recognize the dignity of those struggling, especially when those struggling are young and Black. The constant need to prove our worthiness for basic human dignity has worn us down.

We are reaching out for your kindness and compassion in hopes that you can help us raise money for secure and long term housing.

Thank you