Nowhere familiar felt safe to me and I moved out of my home with nowhere to go, which was terrifying (Picture: Hannah Green)

Growing up I saw homeless people on the streets, but I never thought that I would one day be in a similar position.

However, having spent most of my adult life battling mental health problems and just over a year being homeless, I’ve discovered that the two issues often go hand in hand.

After being sexually abused as a child, and then sexually assaulted at uni, I decided to run away from everything that seemed familiar. As soon as I graduated, I moved overseas and got a job. During that time, my mental health was brilliant, but when I returned to the village where I lived a few months later, everything quickly went downhill.



The flashbacks and nightmares started straight away. I started drinking excessively to cope and I didn’t want to be alive.


My family struggled when they found out what had happened during my childhood, but they understood why I couldn’t stay in my hometown.

After sofa surfing at a few friends’ houses, which still left me feeling very vulnerable despite their kindness, I was extremely lucky to come across Scarborough Survivors, a local mental health resource centre. They referred me to Nightstop, a charity that helps homeless people under 25 by placing them in the spare room of volunteers.

Over the first nine nights, I slept in four different places. While I felt grateful not to be on the streets, not knowing where I was going to sleep at night and then being sent to strangers’ houses triggered overwhelming anxiety.

Stability is vital for recovery, but being homeless offers the complete opposite.

Most days I completely broke down. My mental health was at its lowest and on several occasions I felt like I wanted to end everything.

With an estimated 103,000 young people receiving help for homelessness in 2017/18 and 80% of them struggling with some form of mental illness, it’s vital to feel safe, especially with PTSD, which is what I was suffering from. Stability is vital for recovery, but being homeless offers the complete opposite.

Eventually, I was offered a supported lodgings placement, where I stayed for three months.

Having a fixed abode with meals and familiar faces was a massive relief. However, the landlady also accommodated male exchange students and as my PTSD is male-specific, it became really distressing.

The presence of men gave me panic attacks. I wasn’t sleeping or eating properly and was regularly self-harming. But as the charity didn’t have any other placements, it felt like my only option was to just deal with it or risk ending up on the streets.

So many young people like me find themselves homeless due to no fault of their own, and our efforts should be on tackling the causes of homelessness instead of just treating it as it’s found.

Desperate to leave, I ended up going back to Nightstop and put on a waiting list for another hostel. Each day was anxiety filled as I lived in limbo; not knowing where my bed would be for the night or if a room at the hostel would become available. I spent so many hours pounding the streets, waiting to find out where I would end up that night.

After a few weeks, I got my hostel room. By then I’d started to receive trauma therapy and with a lockable door and my own bathroom, I began to feel less at risk.



I realised that the majority of the young people living in the hostel were lovely, just troubled. It was often hard to see past the anger and frustration felt by everyone while I was living there, but they were just trying to deal with their own issues in the only way they knew how.

Many of them weren’t receiving support for their mental health, and probably should have been.

In September, I was offered a flat in a block well-known for being the scene of drugs and crime, someone had even been stabbed there the previous year. I didn’t want to take it, but as I’d already turned down one flat as I didn’t feel mentally ready to live alone, I was obliged to take it, which left me feeling extremely let-down and vulnerable as I knew I would no longer feel safe.

The staff assured me I would be fine, but instantly I hated it and ended up crashing on the sofas again.

I know I’ve been very lucky because unlike many of the young people I have met in the past year, I never spent a night on the streets. But homelessness and mental illnesses are complex and chaotic.

Fundamentals like opening a bank account and claiming benefits are impossible without an address. These tasks are overwhelming when accompanied with mental ill-health.

Thankfully, I’ve now moved into a new privately-rented place in a different block, where I feel safe for the first time in years, which has had a really positive impact on my wellbeing.


Things are looking up – but it’s been a hard journey. I’ll be forever indebted to everyone who has helped me over the years to get me to here, to a place where I finally feel safe and hopeful for the future.

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