When I was a homeless, sometimes life felt like a high-stakes game. You accidently walk somewhere where you have always been welcome. But now you’re homeless, and the homeless are not welcome there. It’s hard to accept that you’re homeless, and you feel like less than a “normal” person. You want to be treated with dignity, even if others seem to think you don’t deserve it.

In 2003, I became mentally ill, which prevented me from studying or working the easiest job. I refused to speak with my parents, though they did everything in their power to contact me and help. Though I never used drugs or alcohol, after three years, I began to hear voices in my mind. I saw hallucinations of people who actually did not exist waving at me and trying to get my attention. A churchyard where many homeless people slept became “home” to me for more than a year.

During my year living in the churchyard, I was jailed twice for homeless behavior, once for three days, and again for five. The first time, I was caught trespassing on the campus of a university where I had once been an honors student, from 1999-2002. I didn’t know that, though my body was the same, my mind had changed. In my insanity, I had become a different individual, who was not welcome at the university.

The second time I was arrested and jailed was because officers saw me sleeping in a churchyard in the middle of the day. To this day, I do not know why they arrested me. Homeless people at the church were usually ignored.

Fortunately, when I was arrested for the third time, police took me to a psychiatric facility instead of to jail. In March 2007, under the care of a physician, I began my long road to recovery.

First, it was finding a medication that worked. Being part of an outpatient facility, and treated with dignity, made it easier to comply with taking medication. My parents did everything in their power to help make my recovery happen (this included a decision that they would challenge me in court if I returned to the streets, providing evidence that I was mentally ill and needed treatment). My mom found an excellent doctor, and he took special care in finding a medication that was right for me, with my unique symptoms. It took a year. But finally, after several other medications did not stop my auditory hallucinations, we tried a drug of last resort called Clozaril. Clozaril requires weekly blood draws to check for any decline in white blood cells, which could be life-threatening. Because Clozaril needs close monitoring, it is almost never used in American jails. But on Clozaril, I recovered.

It is much more difficult for mentally ill individuals to get the unique help they need while in jail. Incarcerating the mentally ill is also extremely expensive. A single day in a Cincinnati jail costs about $60 – $80 (a month, about $1800 – $2400) to say nothing of court costs, the cost of paying police and mountains of paperwork. One California report says jail in Los Angeles costs them $25-55,000 per person, per year, and a bed for an acutely mentally ill person in their jail costs $1350 per person for a single day.  (It’s Madness, the Incarceration of Disabled Homeless People in Los Angeles and the U.S., Citywatch, September 13, 2011).

After I became a patient at a psychiatric facility, I was required to file for Social Security Disability Income. I began receiving about $720 every month. Getting the assistance I needed for my illness was not only more humane, but it was significantly cheaper than incarcerating me again would have been. Social Security Disability Income cannot be given to someone just because he or she is homeless: the person must be deemed disabled by a serious mental or physical condition by a physician. Not all homeless persons are disabled, but a substantial proportion of them are.

Being taken care of by my community, and in my community, also felt more just. I was locked up for following voices that raged in my mind, and when I remember my illness, I feel that the punishment (incarceration) did not fit the crime (being in a state of insanity).

I only wish I had been required to apply for Social Security Disability Income before I was ever incarcerated. Had I been forced to undergo an evaluation by a physician (I would never have agreed to it on my own) I would have easily qualified for Social Security Disability Income.

Getting Social Security Disability Income was not an ending point for me, but a new beginning, and with a new challenge: to eventually become self-supporting. I used my Social Security Disability Income to live in an apartment near the university that I transferred to. I saved every penny of my extra money to pay for books and part of my tuition. After two years, I graduated with my molecular biology bachelor’s degree, and began writing and speaking about schizophrenia. Today, I am working with the Bureau of Vocational Rehabilitation and Ohio’s Small Business Development Center to develop my career and to get off of Social Security Disability Income completely.

Now, I am normal in every way. I live autonomously, have many friends, am active in my church, and read widely. I want to educate others about mental illness by propagating my published book, and by pursuing a career as a motivational speaker.

I wonder, what if every mentally ill homeless person were evaluated like I was, given medication like I was, and monitored. What if all of them like me who truly cannot work because of mental illness where mandated to file for the Social Security Disability Income they need and deserve, and required to have someone watching over them, such as a legal guardian. (My parents made sure I did not go back to living on the streets, and were willing to use legal means if necessary). Wouldn’t much of America’s homeless crisis be solved? What if these people were challenged, like I was, to use the money to finish their educations and rebuild their lives?

Mentally ill homeless patients fall through the cracks of the justice system. Many of them need a legal guardian. Perhaps if it had not been for my parents’ commitment to my recovery, I would still be another statistic, rotting away in jail. But now I am well, and not costing my city the huge amount of money they spend to lock up patients who were incarcerated because of behavior problems that stem from untreated mental illness.

As a child, I loved music and was dedicated to playing the violin. Every time I play and perform, I feel grateful to have my life back, and to be well.

Today, I want the homeless and mentally ill to not be jailed, but to be embraced by the mental health system as I was. In 2006, I believe I was wrongfully incarcerated. But I know the American system can work, because it worked for me.