Living in a Crisis Residential Center
By Anonymous // art by Thuy Ngo

I arrived at Literal House around lunchtime. I remember that because they had just had lunch, and I ended up having someone's saved plate. Literal house is a crisis residential meant for those who had just come out of a crisis situation or the mental ward. This is reserved for patients who are in their twenties or higher. I had turned twenty thisyear so, I could not be sent home to my parents after the visit to the ward. I was just glad to be out of the ward and see streets and people again. People would stay there until they were ready to leave and cope with daily life. The doctor would adjust our medications and we were sent to out homes or a board and care facility. I had just come from the hospital, aka mental ward, and it was a huge morning for me with transitioning from being in the hospital where I had made friends and had adapted. I'll miss them and the times we shared.

I have a mental illness and had been diagnosed with schizophrenia since high school.   Being schizophrenic means I have auditory and/or visual hallucinations, meaning I hear or see things sometimes. At times I thought I was haunted. I was in denial for years saying to myself that I don't have a problem and that the problems were with everyone else, but eventually I grew to accept it. It's not that uncommon I guess. Even Joan of Arc heard voices.

A typical day there consisted of chores and a walk in the morning after meds, and the rest of the day was full of group meetings, meals and gaps for television and free time. The meetings would consist of sit-downs with the doctor, group discussions, and workshops on how to manage and become educated about how to deal with daily life, like stuff on communication, dual diaganos, and crisis control. My favorite was communication. It gave us a chance to talk about how we talk and how we could be better listeners. My daily chore at the house was the women's bathroom. It wasn't as bad as it sounds. It was one of the smaller chores of the house so I was thankful for it, but dreaded cleaning out the tub because I have bad knees.

I stayed there for a period of three months and then was sent home to my mom. I made friends with the residents at the house. Everyone was a character of his or her own story with problems and anguish to resolve. There were two residents who were deeply Christian and tried to hold bible studies for the whole group. I went to two but then one of the guys got kicked out for drinking. I had several roommates during my stay. We got along pretty well. One even gave me a make over. I came to realize that despite the despondency that we all felt and the lazy long afternoons on the front porch, our sense of community really brought us together. Although it was a difficult situation we were in, it at least we had a place to eat and a roof over our heads.

Literal house gave me a sense of community and hope that I could aspire for the future. I'd look around and realize that here are are folks with serious problems and it's not to be something to be ashamed of to be one of them. I learned that there's a heart in everyone and while you're a live, it beats for a reason.