“The Day She Forgot Her Own Name”
She hadn’t slept in four days.
Not because she didn’t want to because she couldn’t.
The encampment had been swept twice.
Her belongings were taken once.
Her partner was arrested for “loitering.”
Her medication was thrown away during a cleanup.
By the fourth day, she couldn’t remember her own name for a moment.
A hospital labeled it “disorientation.”
A psychiatrist labeled it “possible psychosis.”
A police officer labeled it “drug‑related.”
But the truth was simpler:
She was exhausted.
She was grieving.
She was overwhelmed.
When a volunteer sat with her, gave her water, and let her rest, her memory returned.
She didn’t need a diagnosis.
She needed sleep, safety, and someone who didn’t assume the worst.
By the Street Sentinel