‘Everything happened so quickly’: Eileen sleeps in her car in a Canberra park

Alan Stephen can clearly remember that he heard that his brother had died.

James had taken his own life on 44.

“Immediately I just went into absolute collapse,” said Mr Stephen.

“Everything around me just felt like it was crumbling.”

Weeks later Mr. Stephen felt numb.

“I remember that I was constantly walking around the unity because I couldn’t work out simple things, such as a shower or a meal cooking,” he said.

The mental health of Mr Stephen fell so dramatically, he was unable to work and was eventually evicted from the house that he and his brother had shared.

He had to go some somewhere samaritan house, a crisis accommodation with 13 beds for men in the north of Canberra and says that it was thanks to one man.

“If it hadn’t been before Bryan, I would have been on the street,” said Mr Stephen.

‘Every case is different’

Bryan Duke is the team leader of Samaritan House and was connected to Mr Stephen after calling for Onelink, the central access point for Canberrans who need housing, disability and family support.

“Any case and every situation is different.

“With Alan he was a man who … suddenly needs our support, only a bed above and outside.”

Moving to crisis accommodation with 12 other men was a frightening prospect for Mr Stephen, who identifies himself as belonging to the LGBTQIA+ community.

“Being unsafe was that I was really worried about,” he said.

But he didn’t have to worry.

In Samaritan House he found exactly what he needed: support, home -made meals and people with similar stories such as his.

He stayed three months before moving to Minosa House, a smaller homelessness service with six beds also exclusively for men.

Now, more than a year since the death of James, Mr Stephen has a stable house, he regularly sees a psychologist and studies community services at Cit – a performance that he spends on the continuous support and case management that he has received.

“I was an official and I was able to do my work before James passed, but deep down it was really not my passion,” he said.

Cold nights and ‘paralyzing’ hunger

See how Mariha Ratonski makes a cup of tea in her kitchen, it’s hard to imagine that she was under a street lamp that fear for her life.

But at the age of 15 that was her reality.

“I think you sometimes block the memories about how terrible it was,” said Mrs. Ratouski.

“I remember it was hot, but the nights were still cold.

The eldest daughter in a traditional Catholic Croatian family, the relationship of Mrs. Ratonski with her parents had become more volatile as she got older.

One night during the summer holidays it escalated to the point that she was worried about her own safety.

She packed a bag and walked out of her youth center.

“I just started walking,” she said.

“I ended up at the top of a hill and I just didn’t know what I was going to do, where I would go or who I had that I could go.

“At the age of 15 you know nothing about the homelessness services or the sector, so how do you know where you can get support?”

Mrs. Ratouski usually slept roughly in the coming months.

“The people who are out at night, you don’t know who they are or what they are going to do,” she said.

“And what I saw at the age of 15, you are absolutely terrified.”

The hunger was paralyzing and the lack of basic hygiene filled her with shame.

She was grateful for the strange night that she could stay with friends or extensive family.

“In your slat and you eat as much as you can get through the following days,” she said.

“I remember that I took muesli bars from the pantry and put them in my bag and you feel almost unfair, but you are just so hungry.

Then everything changed.

From homeless to homeowner

On the first day of the school year at St John Paul II College in northern Canberra, Mrs. Ratouski told a familiar teacher what had happened and how she lived.

“Then I started to connect with services,” she said.

“The school was incredible – to be able to give that wrapping support and even the consistency of having to go to school to go to school five days a week, felt really important.”

Mrs. Ratouski spent three months on a women’s flight before moving to transition housing.

From there she was approved for social housing, where she lived until just over a year ago.

“I recently switched from social housing and bought my own place, which is just incredible. It’s just the best,” she said.

Overcoming homelessness and becoming a homeowner in less than a decade, is a performance Mrs. Ratouski, who is now 24, puts down on hard work and saving every spare dollar.

“As soon as I left the house, I was saving,” she said.

“I received Centrelink and I worked as much as I could, just to save as much as possible.

“To finally get there, it is surreal. It is incredible.”

Sleep in a car

That stability is something that Eileen* can only dream of.

For the mother of two, the house in Canberra is usually in her white van.

“I always say that I had three houses and a stock portfolio and now I have a car,” she said.

Eileen, who identifies herself as native, says that she has endured years of abuse and compulsory control before she finally ended her marriage in 2018.

That decision started her on the way to homelessness.

Eileen sold the property that she had with her ex-husband in 2020 and said that she did not meet the requirements for every form of long-term housing support.

While the Covid Pandemie struck and then continued, she bounced between bank surfing and temporary accommodation, but on time she no longer had any options.

Eventually she noticed that she slept in her car.

“Somehow I felt safe,” she said.

“I lived here 25 years ago, just through the park, and I know the area.

“There are always pillows, blanket, towels, matte, clothing and I have bags so that when I go somewhere, I look no different than other people.”

A gym membership means that Eileen has 24-hour access to a bathroom and every two weeks she connects with other rough sleepers in a park.

“In the past two years we have supported each other in hours of emergency.”

Desperate to break the cycle

Eileen said that her lack of stable housing meant that she lost custody over her two sons-the one now lives with her ex-husband in Canberra and the other lives with her parents in the north of New South Wales.

She splits her time between the two places and when they are planned to spend time with her son in Canberra, she often books a cheap hotel room.

“I try to get a little early and I have my bags with things that make it at home,” she said.

“I run inside and put salt and pepper and sauce in the kitchen, add spray to the bathroom.

“Just things that look homely.”

Eileen has learned to cope with the head on the street, but is desperate to break the cycle of homelessness.

She said she still hoped that one day she would feel safe, find work and get shared custody over her two sons.

But she knows that it will only happen with stable housing.

“Housing is the biggest,” she said.

*Name has been changed.