For years, I used to walk by an old residential hotel. It had tall windows, and I would always see elderly men sitting in the lobby smoking. I decided to give it a chance. I still wanted to live around people. After filling out an application, I got a room right away with a shared bath. Breakfast and dinner were served six days a week. During my five years there, I learned to like baked chicken, the best item on the menu. Ironically, while there, I felt like I had my psycholo

The commute by bus from where I lived to my “life” downtown took an hour and a half one way. My housemate had brought home a brochure about a new facility closer in. A newly refurbished hotel had opened up for the mentally ill. Checking it out, I immediately fell in love with it! Each tenant had his own room. A cafeteria in the basement served three good meals a day. Peer counselors were on duty 24/7. In the course of seeing social workers and doctors, the mental health clini

Finally, after another year, I actually contacted the counselor of the three-quarter-way house. Maybe things would be better this time around. He returned my call and said a different house had a vacancy. Located in a blighted neighborhood, I didn’t care. I felt like I had experienced the worst already. Also, a new counselor had been put in charge. After a few adjustments with some of my housemates, this community turned out to be more congenial than the last. My social work

Some antipsychotic medications cause weight gain. I had a female friend from the halfway house with whom I used to go on outings. Being intelligent, bipolar, overweight, and divorced, her sister had custody of her two small girls. Her father had lawyers and court dates, trying to get the children back to her. She would go off her medications, ending up in the hospital sometimes for six months at a time. I met her again during a party at the halfway house. Even there she went