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People who have been diagnosed with a mental illness open up to you when they discover you have one too, especially schizophrenia. They want to share their experiences with you. Last Christmas my father's old friend, Billy came to visit, and while the three of us were alone he told us his story. Many years ago, he had been through the mental health system.

Around 1957 Billy's life began to fall apart. His father was an alcoholic, a quiet drunk who was only a "shadow" in his life. Young Billy was often sent to fetch his father from the bar because his mother knew that her husband sometimes hurt himself in his stupor by breaking a bone or damaging his back. If anything happened, Billy would have to take his father to the hospital, sometimes in an ambulance.

At eighteen Billy fell in love for the first time, but she was Jewish and he was Catholic. The girl's parents were against her relationship with Billy. They visited his house to express their strong feelings to Billy's parents, but his father was not concerned with Billy's life and his mother saw nothing wrong with the relationship as long as "she was good enough for him and he for her," and she slammed the door on their faces. Billy saw his girlfriend secretly so her parents would not find out and for a while she was the best thing in his life. But her parents became suspicious and they tried to keep her locked away in their house. When she could free herself from her parents to spend some moments with Billy, she expressed her desire to run away with him and leave everyone behind. "I couldn't do it," Billy said to me and their relationship ended soon afterward. "I'm not sure I'm ever over her... it's like first love." He said he ended the relationship because, "I didn't want to turn out like my father, drinking and a bum, making kids."

Billy soon quit his job, his school and wound up spending most of his time at home in isolation. Occasionally he went outside to be with my father, his close friend. They found their special bench, sat around and talked about the future, but Billy saw a grim future as he started to sink into a depression. "I hurt too much to live." Billy decided to get help. He saw a professional who gave him a sealed envelope, telling him to bring it to Jacoby Hospital if he ever felt suicidal. A few weeks later, he brought it to Jacoby where a cop escorted him in a "patty wagon" to Bellevue, "the slum of psychiatric units." For what were the worst weeks of his young life, Billy was admitted to Bellevue for observation.

Inpatients surrounded him, some in straight jackets, some having animated conversations with themselves, listening to voices Billy could not hear. Forced to wear a hospital gown for the first time, Billy did not know what to do with himself. Sleeping was almost impossible on one of the hallway mattresses with the constant noise at all hours. "It's like a jail. They just make sure no one hurts themselves or others. It was so depressing and so scary that if you were on the edge it would drive you over the edge. Did you ever see a movie called, 'The Snake Pit?' It reminded me of Bellevue, I swear to God." Billy was unable to sign himself out. Even his parents could not sign him out, but somehow his sister rescued him. After two or three weeks she arrived with a letter signed by a psychiatrist from Hillside Hospital stating that Billy was scheduled for an interview. "Each time I see her I thank her."

She drove her brother to Hillside where he was asked if he wanted admission into their facility. Though Hillside had the appearance of a much more comfortable place, Billy was leery of all hospitals after his Bellevue experience. But he knew he needed help so he asked for time to think about it. When his depression recurred, Billy returned to Hillside to become a patient.

There were no hospital gowns or straight jackets at Hillside where patients wore their own clothes and had private rooms in their assigned cottages. Patients were free to choose from many available activities to put on their daily schedules, but they had to clean their rooms daily. "Tennis courts. Nice track. Swimming pools. Big cottages. We walked across the green for breakfast in the main building. I was at a country club. I had a good time after a while -- just the environment; very uplifting. I had one of the best years of my life in there." Billy earned his high school diploma within the safety of Hillside, often studying in their private library. Occasionally the girls from the neighboring cottage got together with the boys for dances, but relationships were frowned upon. One night every month, concerned persons from the Jewish Federation of Philanthropists, the organization which funded Hillside, visited and always brought "special treats" with them. "Religious prejudice helped me crack up and Jewish Philanthropists helped pull me back together."

Ten months passed at Hillside and Billy stood before the Board who told him he was fit and ready to go, but he disagreed. Another two months passed and he felt able to leave. "It's like coming out of your skin." They arranged for his outpatient care and though they strongly disagreed with it, Billy returned to his parents. His father was still a drunk while his mother cried a lot, helping Billy slide back into his depression. After two or three months, he left his parents to find an apartment with my father, his new roommate.

"It was a little embarrassing. When you get out you don't just tell people where you were. You don't tell them at a job interview. You don't tell them when you're getting a driver's license. They make it a point that no government agency will know that you were ever there unless you authorize it." Billy was drafted during the Vietnam War even though he told them he had been hospitalized. When they failed to verify his hospitalization, they asked him to authorize the release of his hospital records. And that is how Billy avoided the draft. Forty years later, he owns his own landscaping company in the San Francisco Bay area, has three "big" daughters and two granddaughters.