Debbie Doneburg looks out the window of her bedroom on a fall afternoon.“I’m thinking about why did I let this happen,” she says.
Until My Heart Finds a Home
At 70, Debbie Doneburg is still searching for a sense of belonging.
Text and Images by Sophie Proe
A slamming on the front door pierces the silence.
"Are you home,” a visitor yells at her front door. “Let me in!"
Exasperated, Debbie Doneburg says, "Who? Who is it?"
Silence.
She opens the front door. A gripping scent of animal odor and stale cigarettes escapes the house.
Piles of boxes stand in the entry waiting to be packed. Debbie's breath is visible through the frigid, filtered light, as she returns to her room, the space she keeps locked away from the rest of the house. She lights her crack pipe and holds her dog Coco close as she gazes out the window.
Her greatest desire is to leave.
Debbie Doneburg says she is fed up with dealing with one problem after another. She sits in her cold living room waiting for a change.
"I feel like a prisoner in this house. I feel like there's nowhere to go.”Debbie, 70 years old, has called her residence on Plymouth Avenue in Rochester, N.Y., home for the past 15 years. Since 2012, this single floor house has been a sanctuary not only for her numerous animal companions which include Coco the dog, a cat, two kittens, fish, hamster, lizard, tarantula, rat, and a raccoon, but also survivors of sex trafficking, people struggling with theft, drug use, and sex workers. Despite the lack of trust of the people coming through her house, with whom she maintains a toxic relationship, she considers them family. In the loneliness of her addiction, Debbie has kept her door open to them in exchange for drugs, money, and company.
Debbie was born in Dade County Florida in 1954, adopted by Peter and Ella Boyko, who claimed they found her near a swamp. Her father's military service required relocations every three years which led to an inconsistent home life while her mother cared for her. Through these difficulties, Debbie faced her internal battles: bipolar disorder, PTSD, depression and anxiety. Approximately 13.9% of adults aged 50 or older experienced any mental illness according to the 2022 National Survey on Drug Use and Mental Health.
Growing up, Debbie faced many challenges in her childhood that she did not fully understand. At 14, she was raped by stranger near her home that resulted in a pregnancy. Her mom, Ella, took her to an abortion clinic with no explanation of what to expect or feel, and never spoke of the incident with Debbie or her father.
A photo of Debbie lays on her dresser. "That's what I used to look like in 1996. That is when I was dancing. When I gave a fuck" Debbie said. She worked various jobs, including Kodak, as a construction worker, and then as a stripper for ten years
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Archival image provided by Debbie
Debbie looks at her family photos in her extended room.
A year later, Debbie started smoking pot because "during that time that's what people where doing.” However, she didn't start using crack until she was in her early 20s, when she moved to Rochester in 1975. She has struggled with addiction for most of her life. Debbie explains her dependence on crack saying it helps her to function and carry out daily tasks. According to the 2022 National Survey on Drug Use and Mental Health in the United States, it is revealed that individuals aged 26 or older, 0.4 percent, representing 877,000 people, reported using crack in the last year.
“I’m no different than you, I just have an addiction,
but I am the same way you are. ”
Debbie lights her crack pipe in her bed with her dog Zeus laying beside her. Crack costs $20 a bag.
“It’s like a cup of coffee. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done all this. I wouldn’t have cared. I don’t get high on it anymore. It’s basically a waste of money. It just makes me feel better. It’s a bandaid, that’s all it is."Debbie gravitates towards animals for comfort and emotional support. Within the companionship with her pets, she discovers a sense of belonging and sanctuary. The loyalty and love Debbie receives from her many animals stands in contrast with the distrust she has come to expect from people.
Debbie dances with her dog Coco on Christmas listening to “Ain’t Got Enough Dick to Go Around” by Wheeler Walker Jr.
“I could be out in the country watch the stars at night, not people knocking on my door all 24/7. I’d have a life. I’d would be with animals that would make me happy. Animals don’t hurt you and they don’t expect nothing in return except for love.”(Top) Debbie’s “Dream Board” hangs in the house on Plymouth Avenue. (Bottom left) Debbie lays in bed with her three dogs. (Bottom right) Debbie gives a kiss to her raccoon, Bandit.
Debbie is also the mother of her own four children, Aaron and Noah, who are twins, Desiree, and Karlie, all raised without the help of her two ex-husbands. Desiree, her third daughter, was raised by Debbie while Karlie, the youngest, was taken in by her godparents, the Lohouses, at the age of 12. Debbie’s relationship with her sons, Aaron and Noah, is distant, with them both living out of state and little to no communication. Aaron and Noah raised themselves through high school. Noah moved in with the Lohouses, as well, his sophomore year providing him with a stable environment. In regards to her relationship with Debbie, Karlie states, “I’ve always loved my mom, but watching her live her life style, which has always come first, was difficult so I distanced myself. We aren’t estranged, I just feel I live in a different world than my mom and made the choice to do what’s best for me. But I worry and care about her, always.”
(Left) Debbie sits on her bed on Christmas day looking at the bags of photos of her four children when they were younger. (Right) On Christmas, Debbie watches her grandkids, Devon (left), and Tatiana (right), open up the presents she gave them.
In early February 2024, Debbie's landlord attempted to evict her, going as far as threatening to remove her belongings. She packed her valuables and entrust them to her friend Joe, last name withheld, for safekeeping. Debbie knew she could depend on Joe who always helped her around the house and often provided transportation. Meanwhile Debbie had paid too small an amount toward her gas and electric bill resulting in the power being turned off. Despite the harsh winter conditions, and rather than seeking alternatives, she stayed in her home relying on heavy layers of clothing, blankets, and her dog Coco for warmth. With the threat of eviction, not only is her housing at risk, so is her sanctuary with her animals.
“I’m sick of this, it’s freezing in here. I’m not going leave, he can’t kick me out,” says Debbie.
“I want to go home but I know my home isn’t a home.”
On February 17th, after experiencing a headache and dizziness, Debbie suffered a left middle cerebral artery (CM) stroke in her home. After the incident, she spent three days in the Emergency Department before being admitted to the Rochester General Hospital Stroke Unit. She remained at Rochester General for almost a week before being transferred to a rehabilitation facility on February 26th. At the rehabilitation center, Debbie had speech and physical therapy until March 8th. Despite the medical care, she expresses feeling "trapped" within the facility, yearning to return home to her animals. Throughout her recovery, Debbie’s daughters Karlie and Desiree, along with their children, regularly visited to provide their love and support.
(Top) Debbie lays in bed at a rehabilitation facility on March 4th, 2024. She waits until it is time to go to physical therapy. (Bottom Left) During physical therapy, Niko Ryan, physical therapist, helps Debbie improve on her balance. (Bottom Right) Debbie smiles at her granddaughter, Journee, last name withheld, during physical therapy.
Debbie has speech therapy with Morgan Wright and Lauren Holland on March, 4, 2024.
While Debbie was in rehabilitation her friend Joe gathered as many of Debbie’s belongings as he was able from her residence on Plymouth Ave, including all the boxes Debbie had packed and everything removed from her walls. Joe stored what he could in his and his son’s basement until Debbie could retrieve it. During this time, Debbie’s daughters, Desiree and Karlie, discovered that the landlord had removed her things from the premises and piled them in the street. Anything that Joe did not rescue was either taken by others, lost or discarded. Meanwhile, arrangements were made for her pets. Coco was taken to Lollipop Farm, animal shelter, while Bandit, her raccoon, was taken by the Department of Environmental Conservation. No one seems to know what became of the other animals, Joe stated “Environmental Services were supposed to stop by but I don’t know if they did.”
(Left) Debbie’s house now empty on March 7, 2024. (Right) Debbie’s belongings piled in the street on March 7, 2024.
My biggest fear was take my stuff and end up in a garbage pile. And everyone says well you're alive. Yeah I'm alive but part of me is dead. ”
(Top) Debbie picks up her bags of clothes, and additional things that were given to her by rehabilitation on her daughters porch on March 8th, 2024. (Bottom Left) Debbie embraces her daughters dog on the steps once she got home from rehabilitation. (Bottom Right) Debbie sits on her new bed with a cigarette in her hand.
After the completion of rehabilitation, Debbie is embarking on a new chapter by moving in with her daughter Desiree, and her five grandchildren. While Debbie acknowledges this transition as a fresh start, she does not perceive her daughters residence a home. For Debbie, home is defined by being surrounded by animals, her art, and the objects on her walls.
“A home is mine not everybody else’s. I won’t have a home until I have a home myself.”
Debbie sits in her new room at her daughters house looking at her empty wall and her new things. “I’m feeling a whole lot of things and they’re not good.”
"The more drugs I did, the more I smoked the less I had to feel. And now... Unfortunately I'm feeling a whole lot of things and they're not good. I don't wanna get back there again."