My Story Shared Care Team...Breakthrough Spring 2005

Breakthrough

Shared Care team helps client get back on his feet after more than two years living on the streets of Toronto

By Samuel Awe

This story begins twelve years ago. My wife and I were an ordinary young couple in Toronto. We lived in a condo with our dog Buster, had good jobs, two cars and volunteered on weekends. One day my wife told me the marriage was not working. I was surprised but not shocked. I had been distancing myself from her. I simply wanted to be by myself. We separated, I moved to the Annex and quit my job at the bank. I spent most of 1993 searching for my authentic self, a search that completely absorbed me in an inner world. In January 1994 I was found in my bedroom lying down with no movement. I had been like that for days. An ambulance was called and I was rushed to the hospital. I had developed catatonic schizophrenia.

After being in the hospital for eleven months, I returned to Africa to be with my family. I was glad to be around loved ones but became ill again and spent more time in the hospital. Healthy and well again I returned to Canada, and got a job at the bank. I was happy and excited. Everything was going well. I got a promotion, my health was good and I felt I didn't have to take medication. Then I developed a fever and my doctor told me to rest for a couple of days. I never returned to work as I had another catatonic episode, a brief hospitalization and I returned to Africa to be with my loving family. By staying longer than expected I lost my job. Upon returning to Canada I was overwhelmed with the challenge of starting over. I found an apartment and reconnected with my treatment team. I was apprehensive about living alone but my worker reassured me that she would make regular checks if any complications developed in my health. I began to have lapses in my memory and mental health; if not for my worker's constant visits it would have developed into catatonia. The only people I talked with was my social worker and doctor. Mostly I talked to myself and wandered around or laid on my bed for days without eating.

Then it happened. I left my place. I wanted to be by myself, alone and free. I walked out of my apartment into the street. My first night on the street was uneventful. I slept on the ground next to a park bench. By the end of the first week I had developed a routine. I love buildings where there are lots of people during the day such as malls, office buildings or university campuses. I appear normal when I walk through these buildings. I survived by panhandling downtown. I spent my first winter hanging around Ryerson University, where I could blend in as a student during the day and find a classroom to lie down in at night. With no place to live, no doctor, no medication, no one to talk with, my mental health deteriorated. I developed full-blown schizophrenia. I kept to myself thinking that the world was out to get me. I continued to live outside, days turning into weeks and weeks into years. I didn't know where to turn to change my circumstances. I was comfortable being alone and this complicated things. How can you seek help when you choose to be alone? How can help come when you close all avenues to intimacy? I thought I could survive.

One night I was sleeping in a hallway at the University of Toronto. A security guard approached me and asked if I needed a place to spend the night. I willfully accepted and was taken to the Salvation Army Hope shelter. Although I had been there once before, I knew nothing about services available to the homeless. I wasn't even aware that they served breakfast.

But things changed. I was shocked to learn I could stay every night and eat regularly at the shelter. I became comfortable with the routine but remained in my own world, seldom speaking with others. I was surprised one day when a gentleman introduced himself. He was an outreach worker for the Shared Care Team, a psychiatric outreach team from CAMH. I was shy and distrustful and simply wanted to be left alone. I didn't think I needed help. I had been on the street for over two years and no one had ever approached saying they wanted to help. The outreach worker kept on persisting, which I didn't like at first. Week after week he would come over and talk. Although I was tempted to leave the shelter before he came, I didn't. Eventually he convinced me to see the team doctor and I began taking medication again but I didn't look forward to seeing the team every week. I wished they would go away but the combined effect of medication and human contact slowly changed my thinking.

A lot has happened in the two and a half years since then. Presently I live in a residence where I can enjoy the privacy of my own room and still have the support of the household community. Having people around all the time has allowed me to manage my illness better. I still have my moments of depression and schizophrenia. There are times when I stare into blank space for hours. At these moments I feel disconnected from myself and the environment around me. Sometimes people will be talking to me and I will be oblivious to their sounds. Watching TV can be tricky as the images and sounds can send me into far-flung mental spaces which are often not pleasant. But now I'm more mindful about these things and I keep a daily journal. Most importantly, I'm engaged in a number of activities that keep me connected with the real world.

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