wolves and lambs, mostly lambs
it's shameful, wrong and sad, but mostly shameful that so many of the homeless are mentally ill. This week brought it home.
We close at 2:00. By 3:00 we are often still open, cleaning, talking, wrapping things up. On Wed. at 3:00 I was trying to figure out what to do about C. and G.
C, 21, is a brilliant pianiist. I know because she plays at the center a lot. She doesn't know how she knows how to play. She just plays. She doesn't know where her family is or their names. On some days she isn't sure of her own name. I'm not a clinician, not skilled in psychology, but if I had to guess I would guess schizophrenia. She is tiny, carries her stuff, bags and bags of stuff around downtown Austin.
G is convinced that if he blinks his eyes the world will end, unless he wills it not to end. He remains still because if he moves, the movements he makes today could kill someone tomorrow. He seems nice enough, but he might be dangerous, to himself, to others.
My hands are tied. The police can do nothing for these two, and others who struggle with similar issues, unless they hurt somenone. Mental health facilities are full and you can check yourself out and have no money for meds and be lost once again in the dark space of your own mind. It takes a year to get to the top of the SSI list and receive Soc. Sec.
I sent them both off with peanuts, applesauce, crackers, wishing I had instead a few psychologists and a room in a beautiful park-like sanctuary for them.
I don't believe we can save the homeless. I don't know if the Universe, God or the Saints are looking out for C and G (and many like them). I know the poor will always be with us.
The question is how do we fill the gaps so the mentally ill get the care they need? Can we call our society compasionate, or even civil, while this continues?
We close at 2:00. By 3:00 we are often still open, cleaning, talking, wrapping things up. On Wed. at 3:00 I was trying to figure out what to do about C. and G.
C, 21, is a brilliant pianiist. I know because she plays at the center a lot. She doesn't know how she knows how to play. She just plays. She doesn't know where her family is or their names. On some days she isn't sure of her own name. I'm not a clinician, not skilled in psychology, but if I had to guess I would guess schizophrenia. She is tiny, carries her stuff, bags and bags of stuff around downtown Austin.
G is convinced that if he blinks his eyes the world will end, unless he wills it not to end. He remains still because if he moves, the movements he makes today could kill someone tomorrow. He seems nice enough, but he might be dangerous, to himself, to others.
My hands are tied. The police can do nothing for these two, and others who struggle with similar issues, unless they hurt somenone. Mental health facilities are full and you can check yourself out and have no money for meds and be lost once again in the dark space of your own mind. It takes a year to get to the top of the SSI list and receive Soc. Sec.
I sent them both off with peanuts, applesauce, crackers, wishing I had instead a few psychologists and a room in a beautiful park-like sanctuary for them.
I don't believe we can save the homeless. I don't know if the Universe, God or the Saints are looking out for C and G (and many like them). I know the poor will always be with us.
The question is how do we fill the gaps so the mentally ill get the care they need? Can we call our society compasionate, or even civil, while this continues?
Labels: homeless
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