I Was Homeless in College — But These Decisions Saved My Life
The thing about rock bottom is that it gives you the perfect view of where to go next
When I was about 15 years old, my mother bought me a suede shearling jacket from Burlington Coat Factory. It was two sizes too big but I didn’t mind; this was the early ’00s, when there was a direct positive correlation between flyness and the degree to which you were swallowed by your clothes. Eventually, the jacket went out of style and into the closet, and wouldn’t see light again until I rediscovered it in college. It was still comically large but I decided to give it a shot anyway.
I lived on dollar store hot links and TV dinners, and my only discretionary income was the $40 I earned each week by donating blood plasma.
I didn’t have much of choice. I needed a blanket.
As a first-generation college student at an expensive and prestigious HBCU, I didn’t expect to ball out. But I was poor — and I don’t mean regular college-kid poor. I didn’t stay in the dorms, and I didn’t have a cushy meal plan to sustain me. I lived on dollar store hot links and TV dinners, and my only discretionary income was the $40 I earned each week by…
