From a young age, my mum was my favourite person. But due to an illness, she favoured my sisters, and this showed in her behaviour towards me. I grew up angry and resentful and at the age of 15, after many turbulent years, my mother finally kicked me out and I became homeless.
I had no choice but to sofa-surf. Sometimes I would stay with friends who lived with their parents, other nights I stayed with friends who lived in their own in hostel rooms. On the nights when neither of these two options were available, I would sleep on night buses or in car parks.
I no longer had my school uniform and had to drop out of school half-way through year 10. I began shoplifting from supermarkets to get food, mainly sandwiches, but also bottles of wines. Drinking not only boosted my confidence with the older group of friends I now had – it also kept my anxiety pushed down.
Social services were not aware of my shoplifting, but they did know that I was no longer attending school, had no permanent home and was not keeping great company. Although my mum didn’t want me living with her, she wasn’t comfortable with me sleeping on the streets. She would contact the local authority regularly, asking them to provide me with accommodation.
The answer was always no. As I had ‘somewhere to sleep’ most nights, social services argued that it would not be appropriate to place me in care. They said it was too late, that I was too old, and that foster care would probably cause more distress even though I was resorting to sleeping in car parks. Though the relationship with my mum had broken down, social services insisted it was her responsibility to take care of me. The problem was, my mum thought it was theirs.
