Hello Friends
The message of hope has allways been my main focus here in my forums. Without hope one doesn't find much incentive to find new ways of dealing with the struggles of daily life. ASome of the things that result from this lack of hope are feelings of emptiness, sadness, isolation from friends and loved ones and all of these thigs combined tend to lead one into even darker periods that often end up requiring a more intense form of recovery than might have othwerwise been nessessary. I have quite a lot of person experience with the drop in centers such as discussed in the followingarticle. If you have feelings of sadness and isolation or just feel like you might need someone to talk to, I would highly recommend that you try to find a drop in center. I love my time spent at them.
enlarge ANNETTE LEIN staff photographerLisa Dallas is among the Self-Help Drop-in Center's volunteers who dine with staff before the center opens.
Day in Photos
Audio clips
The following audio clips are from people who either work, volunteer at or visit the Mental Health Association’s Self-help Drop-in Center at 539 South Ave., Rochester.
Drop-in support
Self-Help Drop-In Center, a free program of the Mental Health Association, 539 South Ave. at Hamilton Street (a stop on the No. 5 RTS bus line), is open 6 to 9:30 p.m. daily. Help is also available by phone (585) 454-3530.
The Living Room peer counseling, a free program of Spiritus Christi Mental Health Center, 121 N. Fitzhugh St. (near multiple bus lines), began March 1. Open 1:30 to 6 p.m. Tuesdays and 1 to 6 p.m. Wednesdays, (585) 325-1180, ext. 114.
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By the numbers
Nationally: One in four Americans met the criteria for having a mental illness, according to the largest and most detailed survey of the nation's mental health, published in June. The government-sponsored study interviewed more than 9,000 Americans face to face. Of those with mental illness, one-quarter had a disorder that significantly disrupted their ability to function day to day.
Locally: Nobody measures the incidence of mental illness in Monroe County, but officials do track how many people get publicly funded mental health care: 34,195 individuals in 2004, according to Coordinated Care Services Inc. That's 5 percent of the county's 735,177 residents, but doesn't include people who don't seek care or those who seek privately funded care.
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Center replaces stigma with hope
Chris Swingle
Staff writer
(December 29, 2005) — Bill Austin led a normal life until he reached his mid-30s, when he settled into a funk that wouldn't quit. He felt like he was having a bad day — every day. He lost interest in joining friends for dinner or a movie.
"Eventually, I stopped picking up the phone," says Austin, who at the time attributed his feelings to getting older. When friends and relatives questioned his behavior, he was insulted. He lost friends. He lost his job. He became estranged from his family for three long, dark years.
"It got so bad I went into an emergency room," Austin says. "I didn't know which way was up." A diagnosis of depression in 1998 launched his journey back to better mental health.
Austin is on a team of people who have each struggled to achieve mental wellness and are now the staff and volunteers at an unusual program for mentally ill people.
The Mental Health Association's Self-Help Drop-In Center, a South Avenue storefront in Rochester, offers free assistance in sorting through problems — typically emotional distress or a problem in a relationship.
Open every night
What's unique is that it's open every night, a troubling time when people's depression, psychosis or other mental struggles tend to worsen and when most places to go for help are closed. Anyone is welcome, since the center isn't affiliated with any health system and doesn't require referrals. "They accept you at face value," says Jill Robinson, 37, of Rochester, who has bipolar disorder. She sought help at the center in 1997, was trained as a volunteer a year later and currently helps out about three nights a week. There, she says, "A person feels wanted, respected, dignified and cared for."
Folks who drop in — called guests — can settle into comfortable chairs or at tables in the open room and talk, play cards or just relax with other people who aren't thrown off by mental health struggles. They also can ask to meet with two trained volunteers in one of the private rooms for confidential counseling.
Robinson sought that assistance in 2002 after the death of her father led to her psychiatric hospitalization. Volunteers helped her to come up with a plan to turn to friends and professionals when she was struggling. She hasn't been hospitalized for mental health issues since and considers the center her rudder, keeping her on a calm course.
That's the center's goal: avoiding higher-than-necessary levels of mental health care such as emergency room visits, says Tom Christensen, director of the drop-in center. Monroe County funds the center ($213,000 this year), using state Office of Mental Health money, in the hope that it prevents costlier care.
The center also fits in with a trend to focus on the patient, not just the illness, says Kathleen Plum, director of the county's Office of Mental Health. The efforts address getting well and achieving practical goals — such as getting a driver's license or finding a safer place to live.
A place for connection
The center is not like a hospital or a doctor's office. Mostly it looks and sounds like average folks hanging out and enjoying each other's company. One evening earlier this year, soft pop music laced with static played on a stereo as about 15 people, including a half-dozen staffers and volunteers, mingled in the living room-like main room and adjacent kitchen. Some read and discussed the newspaper. Some talked sports.
In the hour before the center opens each night, the staff and volunteers gather for dinner. A supervisor leads a mood check-in, where each person says how he or she is doing so they can support each other and be ready to help the guests.
On this night, volunteer Graham Lynch tells the group he's been looking into local programs to help him quit smoking. Five months later, he can happily report he's off cigarettes and weaned from nicotine replacement products.
He says he tries to keep setbacks in perspective. Lynch had felt that he had failed by ending up in the hospital. A doctor countered that it's OK to need professional help at times: "You drive, don't you? Does your driver's license equip you to fix your car?"
Lynch, 40, says his schizoaffective disorder — a mood and thought disorder — began in 1989, about the time he graduated magna cum laude from the State University College at Brockport with a double major in math and English. Now, despite his memory problems, he recently received a bachelor's degree in computer science.
The center tries to meet people at the stage they're at in trying to improve their lives. Longtime drop-in guest Cassandra Torres of Rochester has paranoid schizophrenia and depression, and has struggled with alcohol, imprisonment, housing problems, relationship problems and more. The 44-year-old also has made progress. She told volunteers she walked out of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in which one man threatened to hurt another, saying she doesn't want to be around violence.
Austin, who first visited the center as an intern, then became a volunteer before being hired as a staffer, says the challenge of helping people with mood or thought disorders is to see beyond their symptoms. Mental illness tends to be a chronic condition, like diabetes. "It's not like a broken leg that you can put a cast on it and fix it," he says. "It's an ongoing thing, but we're in it together."
Services, challenges
The center opened about 10 years ago, born out of focus groups with consumers at the Mental Health Association. A year ago, the center expanded from four to seven nights a week and added a "warm line" that people can call for support, so named because it's a step down from a 24-hour crisis hotline such as Life Line. The warm line, (585) 454-3530, is open the same hours as the drop-in center, from 6 to 9:30 p.m. daily.
Dr. Lisa Slimmer, a psychiatrist at Unity Health System who has recommended the center to some patients, says it offers a needed service. "The time they're open sounds perfect."
The center charges no fees, but does request some information — basics like name, address, phone number, medical conditions and medications — that is kept in confidential files. First-time guests also are asked to meet with a pair of volunteers to identify their main challenge and to come up with an action plan. Progress is monitored on follow-up visits. Anyone who comes to the center is allowed in, but if they're intoxicated they are encouraged to return when sober.
The documentation, required so the center gets funded, indicates that 263 people had contact with the center 4,225 times in 2004, including phone calls, drop-in visits and staff advocacy on their behalf.
In the first 10 months of this year — the first year the center has been open every night — the center has had 5,844 contacts with 320 clients.
Christensen, the center's director, says what's challenging about the work isn't the clients but rather shortcomings of the treatment system, such as when a person needs drug treatment but no openings exist at community programs.
The center relies on volunteers. People who progress from guest to volunteer have achieved a level of stability in life and can offer hope to others. "It's an opportunity to take something that's viewed as a negative and turn it into something positive," says Austin.
"This was the first place I could talk openly about my mental illness," says Austin, now 40 and working on a human service degree at Monroe Community College. "You know everybody here is a peer."
Likewise, Marta Scorcia's positive response to challenges — having HIV and depression, being an addict in recovery and having served time in prison — and her ability to speak Spanish were seen as pluses when she was hired to supervise center volunteers. Being Puerto Rican, she also can counter cultural taboos against mental illness and treatment. "We have a hard time going to a therapist," she says of Latinos.
The other supervisor is hearing-impaired and knows American Sign Language, making the center more accessible.
Navigating hills and valleys
Shortly after 6 p.m., guests walk in to the smell of popcorn. Sometimes there's the homey scent of brownies baking in the oven. Any dinner leftovers are offered to people who are hungry.
Many people at the center recognize each other because they're regulars or they cross paths at other mental health programs, including social clubs such as Operation Friendship and New Directions and treatment programs.
Some guests live in the neighborhood. Others may accept free bus tokens to get home safely.
A shield against loneliness
One reason people drop in is to not be alone.
Sam Ferguson, 60, of Rochester says mental illness, including the schizoaffective bipolar disorder that has sent him to hospital psychiatric units multiple times, is "the loneliest illness in the world."
He equates his challenge to the Greek myth of Sisyphus, who was condemned to ceaselessly roll a rock to the top of a mountain, only to have it roll back down.
Likewise, says Ferguson, he goes to mental health treatment programs, tries to do well, "and then the stone rolls down again."
He likes that the center allows him to just be, not requiring him to do activities such as swimming or art.
Snippets of conversation in the center reveal some of the other struggles in people's lives.
Volunteer Gary DeBruyn of Greece greets a visitor who tells him, "I don't have any friends."
"You'll have lots of friends if you come here," says DeBruyn.
Later, DeBruyn approaches Christine Baker of Webster, asking, "How's life?"
"Medium rare," says Baker, who's 49.
She briefly explains that the 23-year-old son of someone she knows drowned while white-water rafting.
"That's bad," says DeBruyn.
Baker had previously discussed the sad news with others at the center.
"I was really upset and needed to talk to someone, so I came here," she says. "I found out my feelings were pretty normal."
Sometimes, she says, it gets hard to tell whether you're just having normal feelings or whether they're skewed by mental illness. Sometimes, she feels suicidal. A poem, written when she was depressed, says, "Life is full of hills and valleys. When you climb a hill, there's another valley behind it."
She says this is both a challenge and a hopeful sign.
"A normal person would have hills and valleys, too. Our valleys might fall deeper than theirs. But there's another hill to climb up."
CSWINGLE@DemocratandChronicle.com
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