The First Hotel

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 clinic downtown

closed up due to budget cuts. Now the only clinics to go to were on opposite sides of the city, practically on the outskirts. I took the bus to one for nearly eight years.

I passed the Christmas holiday at the hotel. A psychiatrist came to a party there. Most people knew him. He had his own “clinic,” where he saw just about anyone. Years later, I was to meet him again, and he became my doctor.

I had one last trip to the hospital where finally the doctor prescribed lithium. It is a salt prescribed for mood swings. While on it, I gained thirty pounds.

I loved the hotel; a real family and mental health community resided there. Unfortunately, it went bankrupt!

Again, I had to seek new lodgings.