A homeless guy took a picture of me and my stuff, and I'll never forget it.

Before I started transitioning from male to female, I was homeless in San Francisco for three years. I was completely unrecognizable to my old self or anyone who knew me back then, especially after I got clean. Now I'm a freelancing software engineer. It's been a long road.<br><br>When I was on the streets I witnessed a lot of death and lost a lot of friends. There was nothing to look forward to but the tedium of wandering the city all day in the heat, cold, and rain, and trying to find something to eat. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you could get a warm meal from a shelter, but that was a rare luxury because the lines were too long. Food stamps came in handy, but they were hard to keep because they'd get stolen, and the process of getting that money put back into our accounts was a full-day ordeal. Sometimes the lines would move a little faster if a volunteer distributed a few sandwiches, fruit, or energy bars. If you were very lucky, someone might give you a gift card. But when the food ran out, you were on your own. That meant scrounging every corner of the city for scraps in the garbage, or waiting at a MacDonald's until they threw away their leftover food, which was usually a long and hopeless wait. There was the library, but they often had very strict rules about homeless people loitering in there.<br><br>I never panhandled because I was afraid of being arrested, but a lot of people did it. They'd often yell at each other over who got a spot on a street corner, even if that spot was rarely frequented by pedestrians. It didn't help that there were always tweekers walking around, stealing other people's stuff, threatening people, and shouting obscenities and racial slurs at random people walking past.<br><br>I knew a homeless guy who always carried around a sock full of rocks. He said it was for his own protection in case he got into a fight. I liked him because he was kind and well-read. <br><br>I knew a homeless guy who always carried around a baby chicken in a cardboard box. His name was Charlie, but he said his name was God when people asked. He was an asshole, which got him into a lot of fights, but he loved that chicken. It broke my heart when it died.<br><br>I knew a homeless woman who always sat at the bus stop, reading a book. She didn't want to talk to anyone. I never knew her name, but she always seemed very kind. <br><br>I knew a homeless guy who said he was a war hero because he'd served in Afghanistan. He always talked about his time in the military. He often got really drunk and screamed at people walking by, especially if they were wearing turbans.<br><br>One night I met a homeless guy who offered to let me sleep on a bus bench with him if I let him fuck me, but I said no, so he left me alone. I was forced to sleep somewhere else. God knows where. I don't remember.<br><br>I knew a homeless guy who always had a stupid grin on his face. He was always in and out of jail, and he'd get arrested just because he wanted to feel safe and have a roof over his head. Everytime he got out of jail, he'd tell me all about what it was like and how he warmed himself up in the cold by doing jumping jacks. He didn't like being homeless, but said it was better than being in jail. He had a drinking problem and would often beat up his girlfriend. I saw him beat her up once. But he was very kind to me, and he'd often give me his last bottle of water or piece of food even though he was hungry.<br><br>I knew a homeless guy who got shot in the balls by a cop because he wouldn't put down his knife. The news said he was mentally ill, but that mentall illness can't be used as an excuse. I saw the whole thing happen. The cop kept screaming non-stop at the top of his lungs, "Put down the knife! Don't come any closer or I'll shoot you!" The homeless guy kept walking towards him, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Shoot me! Shoot me!" He sounded like he was in a lot of pain when he fell to the ground screaming.<br><br>I knew a homeless guy who used to be in the NFL. His name was Dave, and he was very kind. We'd walk together at night and look for things to eat in the trash, or we'd collect recyclables to cash in at the liquor store. He always looked out for me. I never knew how he'd lost everything, and I never asked. I was just glad he was my friend.<br><br>I liked these people.<br><br>One day I met a very different homeless guy, a guy in his 60s who had a camera around his neck and a small backpack on his shoulders. His name was George, and he'd had a wife, kids, and a good career, but he'd lost everything due to circumstances I can't remember, maybe because of health problems or losing his job, I don't know. I do know that his wife became an alcoholic after they lost their home and never recovered from it, and that he'd recently found out she'd died alone in a shelter, surrounded by strangers.<br><br>George and I met each other one night, sitting at a bus stop, sharing the last remains of some stale, moldy donuts that someone had put out in front of a church that was shut down for the night. He told me all about his story and his beautiful life before he became homeless, then he told me he'd recently been diagnosed with cancer and was out of chances. There was nothing he could do to get better, and he'd been told he could die at any moment.<br><br>He'd recently bought a camera, and he carried it at all times, even though it had cost him his last bit of money, because he said it helped him live in the moment. He said it made him see the world in a different way.<br><br>As we sat at the bus stop together he said, "I want to take a picture of you. Are you okay with that?"<br><br>"I'm okay with it if you're okay with the way I look."<br><br>"Don't worry. I like the way you look."<br><br>He took out his camera, lifted it up, aimed it at me, and snapped a photo. I'll never forget that photo. He took it in a way that made me look like a normal person, like anyone else walking down the street, not like a beggar or a vagabond or a street rat or any of the other cruel names people called us. He didn't see me that way. He saw the beauty in me, and he captured it.<br><br>It's been seven years since that night, and I'll never forget George and the picture he took of me. I don't know if he's still alive, but he changed my life. He made me see myself in a different way. From that moment on, I felt empowered. I finally felt like I had a reason to live, and that however bad life got, I was still alive, and I still had so much beauty to appreciate.<br><br>I've been a software engineer for three years now. Sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror I get a little spooked because I don't recognize myself. I don't look anything like I used to. I look completely different. But I'll never forget who I was before, and I'll never forget George and the beauty he saw in me.<br><br>George changed my life, and I'll always be grateful to him. At this point in my life I have more than I ever thought possible. I work remotely, I have a partner, I have health insurance, and I travel frequently. I've never been happier. I still have a long road ahead of me, but I finally feel hopeful for the first time in my life. And I finally feel like I'm living for myself.<br><br>Edit: I'm very surprised by the response this post has gotten. Thank you for all the kind comments, awards, and messages. I've never had this many replies to a post before, and I'm grateful for all of you who've taken the time to read my story. I'm not a good writer, and I'm not very good at responding to comments, but I appreciate all of your support and kindness. Thank you for reading.