Some of my childhood friends had wanted to be teachers, firemen,
lawyers and other things when they grew up. Not me. I had always
wanted to be homeless. I often sat and thought as a child,
wouldn't it be great to be homeless, suffer from a mental
illness and maybe have a drug addiction or be an alcoholic as
well?  One day I just walked out of my life. I quit my job, left
my home and all my belongings, and said goodbye to friends and
family. Then I hit the streets.  I couldn't decide what to do
first. I had all these choices. What kind of mental illness did
I want? Maybe I should become schizophrenic, with voices that
would scare me? Some paranoia? Maybe some depression, or mood
swings. What street drugs to become addicted to? The options
were endless. After deciding on my mental illness, I worked on
my drug addiction. Then I started thinking about where I should
live. Under a Dumpster? Out in the weeds by the railroad tracks?
Out in your back yard? After I found “Camp Paradise,” I started
thinking about my in