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For Those Who Have Died In the Last Year The Queen Street Patients Council was founded in 1992. Its board
and staff have always been people who’ve experienced the
psychiatric system-- consumers, survivors, patients and ex-patients.
On October 31, 2001, the Queen Street Patients Council will lose
its funding from the Centre for Addictions and Mental Health. A new client council will replace the Queen Street Patients Council
so we will have to look for new ways of working with Queen Street
clients in the community. We’ll be talking about how to do
this at a special general members meeting on Saturday, April 28,
2001, from 1 - 4 pm, in the cafeteria at the Queen Street site.
If you would like more information, call us at 416 535 8501, ext.
2018. Sincerely The following are narratives, illustrations and writings by Queen
Street consumer survivors, and other consumer survivors all the
way to the USA. These stories were compiled by Emily Fox as part
of “Auntie Em’s Evidence”. D.: A.: A.: D.:
L. A.: This organization is supposed to be one big problem solver on many issues. The problem is there is a place called Queen Street. Heaven knows how many people never get out of here in the last
two years because they have a problem with drugs and alcohol. Remember
that, on paper, four sites can merge, but these are the items of
the day that disturb me the most. T’s Story I am the youngest of five children and am discouraged by the way
I was "treated" in the mental health system. I was brought
up on an Indian Reserve in Southern Ontario and had a very close
connection with my community. I identified more with the women of
my clan and spent considerable time helping my mother and grandmother
to run the household. The idea of gender identity was the farthest thing from my mind
when I eventually headed for the city to find work. Although I had
been educated in residential school, my roots and my culture were
most important for me. Along the way to becoming an adult I found
many of my questions unanswered by my peers and co-workers, and
sought professional help. I received far more help than I sought! I was diagnosed, given
medication for an illness, and was signed up to learn more about
my confused sexuality. The system provided many answers and copious
amounts of information on what I could do to cope with my new life
(and illness). The problem for me was that I much preferred my old
life. After many mistakes and a minor brush with the law, news of my
condition spread to the reserve. People have known me there since
the moment I was born. Someone was sent by one of the elders to
find me and to ask me if I wanted to come home and sort out this
matter. I agreed and admitted that the only reason I hadn't asked
for the elders’ help was because of a deep shame in being ‘flawed’
so badly. I did not want to bring disgrace to my community. The elders first reduced my medication until the physical side
effects became tolerable. They felt that the neuroleptics were clouding
the issues that I needed to look at. Once I felt better physically,
I was able to rejoin my community, and to give and receive the energy
of the clan. Over a period of time, I stopped the medication, and
I looked at the reasons behind my emotional pain. The elders encouraged me to take part in the supports of the clan.
One of the mainstays of our community is the nurturing of adolescent
boys through mentoring and physical activity. Young men who have
recently come through the process are required to give leadership
to the boys entering puberty. I was surprised how much satisfaction
I derived from passing on my truths to the boys a little younger
than me. My stories opened the door for other boys who had questioned
their sexuality and sexual preference. My culture does not believe in rejecting someone for their weaknesses; rather, it strives to assist the individual in strengthening the places he is weak. My journey ends on a happy note. My mother and grandmother had
no judgement toward me. Nor did the elders pass judgement on my
unique views and expressions. Once again, I left for the city to
find work. Now I’m armed with answers, more practical solutions
to problems. I know I am not damaged, or ill, or even confused.
I’m just Tom. C.: I came here in 1993, in the summertime. I didn't like it here because the patients were harassing me. They were swearing at me, punching me. Then I got used to it. I don't like the way it is here because of the patients. I would
like more activities, more hours and to have money. We can't take
out as much money as we want; they only let us take out a certain
amount. The patients steal my underwear and my clothes. They still swear
at me and punch me. The nurses don't do anything - sometimes they
put them in seclusion. The security guards don't listen to me. They
ignore me. No one seems to listen.
Leo Anter: The walls between the staff and the clients continue. It is a big
problem. This latest between H. and M. is nothing new. Most of the
problems are caused by people getting hurt. Such talk, like people
missing things where they used to live; and he did steal before.
It didn’t help. M. wonders why and so he came to me. Walls must come down and soon.
Otherwise it will go on forever. It isn't to say that they aren't
doing their job. But trust is the biggest thing. It does not help
to have people on two sides. It is anything but a healthy situation. Stigma at Queen Street The moment you enter Queen Street you receive a label ranging from
schizophrenic to what ever. You lose your real name in here. Also
when you are on the ward you get a lot of names including troublemaker
to whatever - everything but your real name. You are told things. It you don't socialize you could be called
anti social even though you could have all kinds of friends on the
outside. If you are here a very long time and act a certain way
you are told you may never leave here. If you don't want to participate
in the programs of the hospital you are told you will never leave
here. If you do leave here, a lot of social workers will tell you
to lie and do whatever to get a job, or “Don't tell people
that you have been in this place or they will treat you different”.
It all goes back to the labels of so many things. Anonymous: If I had one wish I would wish that Queen Street could be destroyed. If it were destroyed we could forget about what happened here. After a while, we could destroy the memory of our days here. It would be easier to get rid of our memories if we got rid of the building, too.
“Envision” I was born in uninhibited innocence,
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