Sarah's

I lived at Sarah’s for 13 years. She had a little mental health colony going with six condominiums, a house, and a duplex across the street. Two more houses were on the other side of town. All in all, she had 60 people under her care.

Again, there were all sorts of people I hadn’t encountered before. Three or four drove cars. Some went to school, a few had jobs, or did volunteer work. Many went to psychiatric day treatment. A lot of them did nothing all day, maybe because they were so low functioning. Felons were blended in; most were nice people. There were residents who had been with Sarah 20 and sometimes even 30 years. I liked the structure that was in place. We all had chores; sometimes it was cooking or cleaning. I cooked. One of the long-time residents taught me how to prepare meals for the seven residents in my condo. I loved it.

When I first moved in, a new bed inhabited my side of the room. I shared the downstairs with two other men. Right away both acted “funny.” It seems I had replaced someone who died at the foot of his bed. He had gone off his psychiatric medications and his diabetic pills. Having not eaten for quite some time, he had a heart attack while my new roommates looked on.

One of the men, John, had brain damage from birth. He stuttered and talked “baby talk.” The other, Sam, weighed over 300 pounds. Soon, I found out he urinated and defecated all over the place. Sarah had to evict him because she wasn’t licensed for that.

Both had tragedy in their lives. John saved his mother’s life after his father attempted a murder/suicide. His father succeeded in killing himself. Sam had been in therapy since he was five years old. His mentally ill father beat and raped him between the ages of nine and twelve. I am still friends with John and Sam.

There were serious physical illnesses at Sarah’s. Heart disease, cancer, anything the general public would suffer from. People didn’t always take care of themselves. We all had to be on the lookout for symptoms of any kind. I “overdid” in my attempts at helping people. Sarah tried to keep me from getting too involved. Unfortunately, after a few years, I fanatically went to the kitchen and the living room in the middle of the night. Sometimes faucets or stove burners would be left on, and I felt responsible for ensuring that everything and everyone was safe. Many times residents were in crisis.

People came and went, depending on their physical health and mental stability. In the summer, barbecues were held on a large patio. Ribs, hamburgers, hot dogs, along with potato salad and watermelon were served. Everyone from all the houses came and socialized. Sarah celebrated the holidays with special food for those who had nowhere to go. Birthdays were always remembered with a cake.

My psychiatrist suffered a bout with colon cancer. Afterward, he lost his license due to his “open office” where there was no privacy and people heard everything that was shared. He also prescribed too much of an expensive new medication. A new psychiatrist came to Sarah’s, a woman missing the bottom portion of one leg. Eventually, she overmedicated me by prescribing an addictive anti-anxiety pill. She did, though, see each individual privately. My kidney abnormality kept coming up on blood tests. Sarah had sent me to an internist cardiologist. The new psychiatrist sent me to a kidney specialist. He diagnosed kidney disease. My internist told me not to see any more medical doctors besides him. After a year, he was able to see that my kidneys were only slightly damaged. Lithium may have been the culprit.

One day, the psychiatrist didn’t turn up at Sarah’s. Two months passed before we learned she had died. I had been going to a drug, alcohol, and mental health group. Finding it fascinating, I stayed for a year. A lot of sad stories for many nice people. Such a struggle to maintain their sobriety and return to the world. Although some groups proved to be overwhelming. Sarah, of course, had resources for a psychiatrist and groups. A day treatment program being available which included counselors, psychiatrists, and groups. It’s been five years, and I’m still there.

One day, there was an incident with one of the residents in the houses across town. He became threatening. The sheriff and some of his men showed up, guns drawn. Immediately, the neighbors got up a petition to close her down. Sarah gave up the houses she had for 35 years. One morning, I came home to find the condos in an uproar. People were running around saying Sarah was shutting down all of the houses for good. A mass in her intestine had to be operated on.

Where to now?