Penn Station

One of the things I hate most about activism is waking up before dawn. Today I woke up at 2am so that I could get myself from Brooklyn to Penn Station for a 4am train to DC. I was approaching Penn station and questioning my life choices, when I noticed a concerning post from a client on social media. He's a client I know well, and I know he has had a lot of challenges recently, so I contacted him. "Mentally, I don't want to be here anymore," he said, "I really don't want to be here anymore." As he started to tell me about the medical and family issues he was struggling with, I got to the station. At that hour, most of the entrances are locked, so I was kind of absently looking for an open door, and also looking for an opening in the conversation, someplace I could insert a little sliver in the unrelenting darkness of my client's thoughts. As he elaborated on the details of his problems, I wandered through the lower level of the port authority, unfamilar since the renovation, trying to find my way to the Amtrak level with time before departure running low. In our conversation I also kept running into locked doors, a need for income, but an inability to work due to health issues, but being denied for disabilty benefits because of problems with documentation... "I can understand that," I wrote him, "it's a lot, but I don't think it's impossible." "With no help, everyone expected me to navigate it solely. I get seen as an addict, homeless bum, before it gets addressed.". "Honestly, thank you for the talk," he said, a door trying to close. I jammed my foot in it. "I am offering to help. You don't have to do things alone. I know you are neither of those things" I wrote. Just then I came across an Amtrak worker. "Go up through there", he said pointing. "If you give me a plan and what I have to do every time, I promise," he replied. "I just need to know it will be resolved." A few more texts, working out some details while I stood waiting for the boarding announcement. And then I got on the train.

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