Phoenix Rising - Psychiatric Survivor Archives of Toronto

Anonymous
My first experience with dehospitalization home placement
was a disaster, as was my second (and last), after
which I was considered incorrigible, and they were
unwilling to recommend me to any other placement.
The first boarding house was owned and managed by
an elderly couple who were trying to supplement their
retirement income by accepting referrals from the hospital.
There were two of us: myself and another man.
Our shared accommodation was in the basement.
Money for room and board was provided by a social
service agency, along with a small allowance given to us
for personal expenses. Meals consisted of cold, lumpy
porridge with powdered milk for breakfast, Kraft Dinner
and Koolaid for lunch, and boiled white rice with
the occasional hot dog for supper. On Sundays (the
owners') extra meat or leftovers would be served.
The washroom was in the main part of the house,
which was upstairs, and when the owners were out or
the house was locked, it was unavailable. Bathing was
restricted, and the rest of the house was off-limits. Since
the monthly personal allowance was about 30 dollars,
most outside activities, including transportation and
movies, were out of the question.
When there was an argument between my roommate
and the owners, he would be locked out of the house
and would spend time wandering the neighborhood,
missing his meals until the owners returned or decided
to let him in. I remained for three weeks before complaining
to the social worker. A city inspector was sent
to investigate and found the basement of the house
unsuitable for human occupation, and we were relocated.
I was sent to a group home and was warned that
this was to be my last chance.
The group home housed 25 to 30 ex-psychiatric inmates,
with four to eight in a room. There was a teno'clock
curfew. Any meals missed were forfeited, and
my schedule had to conform to the routine of the house.
I was not interested in upsetting the regimen of the
house and was willing to miss an occasional meal for my
personal freedom; if I was away and couldn't or didn't
want to return by five for supper, then I was willing to
go hungry. They didn't see it that way.
I had trouble accepting that a grown man should be in
by ten O-clock. I missed the curfew every night I was
there. And they seemed suspicious when I didn't have
any medication to declare. (The medication was kept in
a locked cupboard and dispensed to the people in the
house.) After the third night they complained about me
to the hospital and I was out. According to them, the
system was infallible, and I just didn't fit. In the three
days I was there, I witnessed fights between other members
of the house as well as swapping and dealing in
street and prescription drugs.
Both of these houses were sponsored and used by
government social services agencies. Both were, in my
opinion, inadequate and unsuited for the services they
were intended to provide.
(Vol. 3 No.2: "Boarding Houses Are Not the Answer"
by Robbyn Grant)
Nira Fleischmann
July 17: The nightmare-reality. Simple. No puzzle
after all. Because nothing ever fits. Just billions of
pieces of different colours and contours, and in the end,
just different landscapes of disintegration.
There's really nothing to hold on to. All the reaching
upward has been a mockery. And it's malicious laughter
after all is said and done.
I pass Suzanne's room as guards, nurses and doctors
are forcing a tube down her throat, deeper and deeper,
until it reaches her stomach and they feed her-for her
own good. Salvation in a plastic bag, a tube, a hideous
turquoise solution. She doesn't utter a sound. And a
certain grace surrounds her there, on that bed where
they've caught her, captive of leather belts and tangled
bedsheets. She doesn't scream. She doesn't try to fight
them. There is no fear, and I walk away strengthened.
Ankles and arms pinned down, she's stripped their
almighty power with a defiant peace. And eyes that see
beyond the hellish geography of these rooms and walls.
(Vol. 5 No.4)
Nira, who edited the issue in which this excerpt appeared,
died of respiratory collapse on January J, J985.
She is sadly missed.
23 / Phoenix Rising