Published: August 05, 2019
One day I put a note on the seat of my car telling my wife I would change my name and live on the street
I was 66 years old when I was sleeping on the streets of Sydney. I was homeless. All my life I had been oblivious to the plight of homelessness. I never thought about it and never cared about it. Why would I? It wasn’t anything that affected me. I had a home, a loving family and no need to work as I was a self-funded retiree.
But for 20 years I had suffered severe depression. The extent varied: sometimes I was just down, sometimes the depression vanished, and on two occasions I suffered a total breakdown – one of which resulted in me being unable to work for three months.
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