The Homeless: The Mentally Ill

Years ago, the Quebec government cut funding on some of the wards that housed the mentally ill. This sent many onto the street. This, for me, is one of the saddest things I saw living at the OBM.

There was one young guy, maybe mid-20’s. Extremely good-looking with a a mop of curly brown hair. He would constantly have animated conversations with his invisible friends. Which often included giving them a friendly punch on their shoulder.

Then there was one older man who I had talked to before. He came in and sat down in front of me. He talked about seeing his girlfriend and how much fun it was. Then he asked if I wanted to meet her. I said tomorrow, why not? No, no, now. This had me confused because the OBM has no women bunking there. So I thought she was outside. And said so. No, no, she is right here. Standing beside me. And then he asked me if I wanted to fuck her?

One guy had various symbols, including an inverted swastika on his clothes and on his arms. He warned me to watch out because they are watching and listening. You need to be protected otherwise they will know what you are thinking. And even though he was protected, they were trying to still get to him.

Another young guy, again in his 20’s spent all the time just sitting about smiling, somewhat oblivious of the world around him. One time he was sitting stark naked in a garbage can, near the showers masturbating. The last I saw of him he was being arrested by some police and had the same blank smile.

The scariest was a thin, gaunt man with salt and pepper hair and appropriate scraggly beard. He walked about with a constant, almost violent tick. He would grimace in pain as his neck tensed showing the sinews and veins.

The night in the dorms would be the worst. He would start to spit onto the wall. Then he would get up and start rambling in French about homosexuals, the Pope and tons of other things. What had me scared was the anger in his voice, especially when he suggested all homosexuals should be put to death.

These are but a small sample of the mentally ill people that lived at the OBM when I was there. The tragedy was that they were there in the first place. Many of them had meds but there was no one to give them the right amount or the right pills.

Some of my friends will suggest that with my own nervous breakdown was what precipitated my living on the street puts me in the same boat as the others I briefly described. But that is not the same.

Yes meds and therapy would have helped me and possibly prevented what had happened. But I also put myself into this situation. I could have gotten help but I didn’t. The only blame for my problems is directed to myself.

Yet those I saw at the OBM did not have a chance. They did not have tools or the meds to help them. They were forgotten by the system and left to fend for themselves.

For me, the OBM was a wake-up call. I had enough wits about me to try to get out of the situation. These guys have nothing. I had some friends that supported me as best as they could. These guys didn’t.

Most of the people I met at the OBM got there because of problems in their lives, be it addiction, financial difficulties or bad choices. Yet many did not see being at the OBM as a sign that something needs to be done. You made some bad choices but you can try again.

Agreed the system is against them but they could try. The mentally ill at the OBM and the other shelters have no choices. That is the biggest tragedy I saw when I was there. The abandonment of people who really need help but do not know how to get it. Or have it offered.