July 3 - July 9, 1996 / Volume V, No. 27

As soon as she walked up the stairs, I knew something wasn't right. This came as a real surprise to me, because she had come on the referral of a trusted friend.

"I ran into this cool hippie chick," he said on the phone at 2 a.m. She needed a place to stay for the night. She'd just gotten off the airplane, and tomorrow had a place reserved at a local hostel. I cast my reservations aside on the strength of his recommendation, and because helping people is high on my list of priorities.

But I guess I wasn't prepared for what I encountered. She was afflicted with outbursts ranging from physical twitching to strange noises to repeated bad words. Often she would attempt to disguise the nature of these outbursts by explaining them as coughs. But I knew - this was not the behavior of someone with a cough.

She seemed like a nice person, not a danger to herself or others, though maybe a risk to property - and probably unstable enough to be unpredictable. I was tripping out on her behavior, and it made her uncomfortable. The 'getting to know you' phase of our brief acquaintance got really bad when she had a particularly rough episode, and I couldn't help staring, wondering. She cast a withering glance in my direction, and I knew the time for me to speak up had arrived.

"Would you mind disclosing the nature of your disorder?" I asked, knowing blunt, unreserved honesty to be the best policy. Her episode worsened as she struggled with the question.

"I'm just really tired and I've got this cough," she said. But I knew she wasn't coughing and said so.

"You should really consider getting evaluated," I said, and asked if she had ever received a diagnosis. I added she might be more comfortable with medication.

She had, she hadn't; it was this, it was that. Whatever. My friend had brought a homeless woman with a pronounced psychological disorder to spend the night at my house, and I wasn't well-equipped to deal with it.

We traded requests not to pilfer each others' stuff. We traded stories about our lives. She said she came to Alaska to work as a stripper. "So now that I've got this disorder, you probably don't want me to stay," she said.

Well, she'd kind-of called it, but she was already in my living room. It was 3 a.m. and, feeling she was pretty safe, I replied, "We don't discriminate on the basis of mental illness or the quality of one's personality here." I meant it - the quality of one's character goes beyond some textbook description of abnormal psych; and close friends of mine have been diagnosed with Tourette's, schizophrenia, manic depression, multiple personalities, you name it. But still, I knew that inconvenience would mount with a guest who obviously required more care and a longer-term housing arrangement than I could provide.

She explained how human noises made her nauseous, how the sound of my friend talking made her incredibly anxious, how she didn't take buses anywhere, how she'd been drifting, dancing, for years. It always seemed to end up the same, with a move, maybe hooking up with a guy; presumably trading love for transportation and housing.

The next morning, the hostel wouldn't accept her despite an advance reservation. One of the employees remembered her from a previous visit and felt that her behavior didn't fit in with what the hostel needed. I accused them of discrimination. Besides, he continued, they had a 1 a.m. curfew and she didn't finish work until after 4 a.m.

Clearly, she wanted more time at my place, but we just couldn't house her for another day. I was beside myself, and didn't know what to do. I wanted to get on with my life and my busy schedule, but I wanted to do the right thing - find her a safe place. With help from a hostel employee, I made a few phone calls, but didn't have much luck finding guidance.

We found somewhere to store her stuff temporarily. I dropped her and her bike box at a local bike shop, and wished her luck.

When I got home, after taking the opportunity to think (and bitch at my friend), I called the AWAIC crisis line. Too little too late. I'd been caught up in the throes of crisis, hampered by her denial of her condition, thinking the hostel would take her. I hadn't thought of this before and I hit myself, especially as the counselor on the other end of the phone presented me with options that would have really helped her out.

Too often, when we're caught in a crisis, our thinking can become clouded. Certainly, just as had happened with my friend the night before, my judgment today had vanished among the demands of a busy schedule. And I beat myself up for just dumping her on the street - at the mercy of the kindness of strangers, which can all-too-rarely be counted on.

AWAIC changed my mind. They mentioned a place called Respite, which would provide her with a quiet environment for up to 30 days, arrange a free psychiatric evaluation, help her get on her feet. The counselor mentioned some other places which didn't seem so well suited to her, since my guest found noise and human stimulation very stressful, and worked late. I wished I could have dropped her off at Respite, even given her the phone number.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, please take the time to refer your guest to an appropriate facility. Free housing and a variety of medical/psychological services are available if you know where to look. Try the AWAIC hotline first - they're open 24 hours, very supportive, and sensitive to the needs of people with mental health issues. If necessary, they can find you a place that won't be judgmental about your work schedule or personal habits.

Here are a few resources to start you off:
AWAIC: 272-0100
Respite: 563-5006
Claire House: 563-4545
Brother Francis Shelter: 277-1731
Beans Cafe: 276-9302