Another Move

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 worker had switched locations, going to a clinic in another city. His replacement only took notes while looking at me. I just sat waiting for something to happen.

There is no cure for what I have. Many of my symptoms still hadn’t been addressed by the professionals. I still had euphoric moods, loud thoughts, and sometimes became irritable, angry, or exploded at the drop of a hat.

Before I chose to leave, just one incident occurred. A younger member of the house was using “crack” cocaine. He couldn’t pay for it, so his pusher came in and hauled away the living room television.

The counselor got wind of it and changed the locks before the young man got home. He spent several nights who knows where. I saw him a few days later in my mental health clinic, looking like he had spent the night in the weeds. None of this bothered me. I had seen it all before! Later, management put up a tall fence around the entire house.