A self owned home. Life's own base camp. The reason of life.

"Life had gone so wrong. Everything had broken down ”.

It's easy to take what we have for granted. A job, a home, a girlfriend and a few kroner left over at the end of the month.
I am writing this to remind you of the beauty of having our own name on a door, behind which we actually live.
A home is the biggest. Something to return to to rebuild power for the next day. Our runway. The castle of the pulse and shoulder lowering. The protected place where no one comes to us, where time and breathing are ours and no one else's. An absolute confirmation of identity.
An amazingness worth never forgetting. Then pinch your arm.

For me, it has not always been so. My own home has at times been nothing more than a distant dream I hardly dared to dream.

January 2000, Hornsgatan went down on Södermalm in Stockholm. Sees a man walking into a tobacco shop.
Already when he crosses the threshold, he prepares to take a 500-ing from his wallet to pay according to plan.
I think "one day I will also have one like that".

The same day I walked myself to Norrtull where I hid a bag of pawn bottles.

I was 39 and had just lost everything. By definition homeless. Everything was gone. My home, my finances, the love, the friends, the paperwork for my own child.
I spent my days wandering. It was life without a key in my pocket, without food for the day. Troop, hope, courage and strength shone with their all-too-obvious presence.
It was also winter and the exclusion was mercilessly cold, in so many ways.
Every morning I went to Mariakliniken and picked up a bag with 3 tablets. There was 1 painkiller, 1 sedative and 1 for sleep.
Life had gone so wrong. Everything had broken down.

That 500-man became a driving force for me. He had something I did not have, but wanted. He probably also had the room heat and maybe even someone who longed for him.
Completely unknowingly, he became my target image.
I could also have hated him for his prosperity and in this nailed myself in misery.

But he became my driving force. My motivation. I would just go into the heat again, cross the line to the inclusive side of life.

3 months later, malnourished and frighteningly alone, I dared to swallow my pride and sought food through social. I had still paid taxes in my life and thought that "maybe I can ask Sweden for help".
Little did I know that I would meet there what became not only survival but also life. A man with a cold. A young Social Services woman who brought cordiality, sensitivity and the gift of giving to work.
She not only saw me, she also believed in me. And she gave me the chance.

The way back was strenuous, filled with mental warfare and total sacrifice. I still do not understand that I was powerful with it. But the dream of one day having a banknote in my pocket again, a key to my own door and maybe even love in my life, yes it had been nourished.

Two years later I went into the said tobacco shop, there on Hornsgatan on Södermalm in Stockholm ..
I took a 500-ing out of my pocket already when I crossed the threshold.
It was the biggest of days for me.

Because now there was also a door somewhere in a Stockholm suburb that said Per Holknekt.