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Recently I read the article "For Mentally Ill, Death and Misery," in the New York Times, April 28, 2002, about the mentally ill in adult homes and their deplorable maintenance. I read about Michael Bonner, who was a resident at a home for adults in Queens. Already knowing what the outcome of his story would be I forced myself to read on about the horror, squalor and inhuman neglect that the patients were subjected to; and the surmountable deaths occurring in these dank dungeons. These so-called homes, meant to help the residents live a life with at least enough sense of dignity to let them know they mattered, all seemed to have the same stories and endings: disability or death.

The story of Michael Bonner caused emotions to sweep over me: emotions of anger and a deep agonizing pain of helplessness. Tears formed in my eyes as my voice, mangled and knotted by words I longed to express, to let fly as stealthily and sharp as an arrow let loose from it's bow, became trapped in my throat. My heart soon followed in the agonizing vice that tightened relentlessly when I read about his life triumphs over the illness, holding a job and how he visited his uncle yelling "surprise." My only thought at that precise moment was: "Why, why didn't he just move closer to his uncle? Why is it that no one thought of the support a loved one can give-emotionally-to someone with a mental illness. The positive effects it can have on the patient to know there's someone nearby to go to, to talk to?" It was then I felt ashamed for having just such supports in my life, that with all honesty, I wouldn't be able to live without.

After eight months, when I moved in with my mother, she and I noticed a difference not only in my mental health but in my children's as well. We were happier, more prone to go out for walks or to the park. The fact that my mom is there for me as well as my sister who lives nearby and has helped to talk me out of many anxiety and panic attacks. My brother stops by frequently to check on my mom and me, to drop off movies he's rented for me to see, to discipline my children, sending them to do chores and making sure their basic needs are met and that nothing is lacking. Even the support of our family dog, who gets me going in the morning and helps to maintain a routine, is testament to me and should be for all, that the road to recovery and to living isn't just through medication but through a network of love. My heart splits when I think, "Why? Why couldn't someone somewhere help Michael Bonner to live?" It was evident by the article that he had a loving and supportive relative, that all the patients the article mentioned had at least one supportive and loving relative.

As time goes on and I continue in treatment, more and more I begin to believe that patients should be placed in a familiar, supportive and loving environment. That is a salutary part in the treatment process. Education and information about mental illness and the various patients it affects needs to be made readily available to communities, their neighborhood organizations and resource centers, as well as the people in their neighborhoods, so that patients and their families can have a better support system where they live. While it's still true that mental illness is a stigma that must be eliminated, it is our duty as fellow human beings to chip away that stigma one person at a time. With the events that have happened in the past year, and more people being affected by post-traumatic-stress and anxiety, it is the best time to help people understand what mental illness is, what it isn't, and how we all can help one another in the healing process.