The first girl I ever slept with was an Australian tourist I’d met through Tinder after our second date to Pride in London.
I impressed her by drunkenly (and successfully) running down an up-escalator. Then we had sex in her hostel. Classy.
I was homeless. But it didn’t hit me at the time. Like 92 per cent of all those who have experienced it, I was hidden homeless. This means I was without a place to call home but hidden from official statistics and not receiving support. The hidden homeless can include those who sofa surf, rough sleep, squat and sleep on public transport.
I was just living my life, surviving from one awkward drunk Tinder date to the next. I’d have a few hook ups a week if I was lucky. Talking to people on the dating app kept me half-sane.
When this didn’t work, at night I’d find a 24-hour McDonald’s, perhaps a rave then maybe a house party, ride a night bus or just roam the streets and sleep in train stations during the day.
During this time, I was a secretly shy baby dyke with internalised homophobia and low self-worth. Meeting queer womxn was hard, especially in queer clubs that were a c**k-fest full of tourists and straight people – how would I know who was gay? Let alone who’d fancy me.
Tinder solved that by opening me up to thousands of queer womxn only a right swipe away. I was more likely to be their type when I met them, combatting my fear of rejection.
This gave me confidence – and with every successful date, came somewhere safe to sleep.
Most of my Tinder dates had no idea of my situation. Or how they inadvertently helped me. I wouldn’t tell people. I was just a party girl with a sea of carefully planned Instagram posts to back it up. I became a master of disguise.
I’d use tester make-up in beauty shops, steal clothes, and wash in public toilets. I was lucky I could blend in. I would tell my dates I worked in retail, that I was a student, that we couldn’t go to mine because my parents were rich business people so they’d kick off.
Of course there were some awkward moments if they found out I was lying, but mostly I passed it off as being drunk, cryptic and not wanting to give too much away – after all, they were mostly first dates.
There was one occasion I persuaded a girl to stay out late and we drove around all night getting high because I didn’t want to risk sleeping outside. I only got with her so she’d want to stay out with me.
I didn’t intend for Tinder dates to become my method of survival. But they became the only people I could talk to and connect with. Looking back, there’s some I wish I’d just befriended instead. But it was my escape from reality and it was fun, even though it inevitably got me into a lot of ‘lesbian drama’.
In fact, the best thing about that time was being free to explore my sexuality and have fun doing it. London is big enough that I faded into the background. It’s a playground that, luckily for me, never slept. It was a blessing.
The times I was raving and Tinder dating were honestly the safest I could have been; the only time I ever found a sense of home, love or hope
Being from a small sleepy homophobic town, I had to suppress my sexuality to survive. Last Pride, there was only one rainbow flag in town and a far-right hate group burned it down the next day.
I only accepted my sexuality when I came to London in my late teens, when I was already homeless. Being queer, kicked out, left in the hands of dangerous people and having nowhere safe to go led me to homelessness. The impact of this on my mental health plus lack of support kept me there.
With the housing crisis the way it is, often the most organisations can do is advise you on how to stay safe.
It’s hard to prove you’re homeless without a letter from the person who kicked you out. Even in abusive situations authorities can discriminate and don’t believe you because of your sexuality.
I faced rejection and blame when I asked for help. I believed it was my fault and my problem to solve.
There are a lot of risks being a queer womxn on the street. My femininity and queerness made me a prime target for attacks and exploitation. When I’ve fallen asleep outside, I’ve been assaulted and pissed on by drunk men on a night out. I’ve been robbed at knife point and sexually attacked.
Later, when I got into temporary hostels I faced further discrimination, abuse and harassment, even from staff.
The times I was raving and Tinder dating were honestly the safest I could have been; the only time I ever found a sense of home, love or hope.
Tinder and clubbing helped me survive seven years of homelessness. I would not have survived this pandemic. The modes of survival I used cease to exist in lockdown. And underfunded services are being stretched even further. For people like me the pandemic is literally a death sentence.
Right now, I’m lucky. After receiving support over the last couple of years from Stonewall Housing (a homeless LGBTQ+ housing charity), I was finally housed just before lockdown.
Now I wonder if those who broke the rules of lockdown – just for the sake of getting out the house – realise how lucky they are to have a home. And if those with power realise that their actions, or lack thereof, result in death.
When we take things for granted like our home, our race, our sexuality, our family – we forget our privilege. People don’t tend to act on problems until it directly affects them. The truth is, in this economy anyone could end up homeless.
This Pride it’s even more important to spread kindness and look out for those mistreated by society. Remember, many of them fought for queer liberation in the first place.
Black people, trans people, homeless people, those living in poverty. They didn’t choose to be marginalised. You can choose to do better.
This will be my first Pride not homeless and I’ll be happily celebrating at home with my beautiful girlfriend.
LGBTQ+ Pride month
From 22-28 June, Metro.co.uk is spotlighting the voices of LGBTQ+ people and the unique challenges they face.
If you have an experience you would like to share, please email james.besanvalle@metro.co.uk with LGBTQ+ Pride week as the subject.
MORE: When I was homeless, I sold my body in gay saunas to survive
MORE: Pride 2020 must stand together with Black Lives Matter
MORE: My ex is now my best friend
source https://metro.co.uk/2020/06/25/pride-week-homelessness-sleeping-tinder-dates-12877534/
0 Comments