Finding a New Path: A Mission of Mental Health for the Homeless

Darla loved her adopted city, it breathed a life of its own...and a stench, she realized as she stepped over another body on her way to the corner market. 

She had lived in LA for over a decade, recently settling in a cute house in Los Feliz that she loved. It was close to a corner market and work; she could walk to both but it was often poxed with obstacles.

“Hey! Get outta my house!” the body yelled.

When was someone going to do something about the homeless population in this city?

So she usually drove to work and only walked to the market when she urgently needed something she knew they had. 

The tents in the alley beside the market were always spilling onto the sidewalk and she usually had to divert through the cars parked on the street to get there, or cross the street and then back again, which was a bigger hassle.

Darla didn’t give it another thought until she was visiting with her best friend in a coffee shop later that day.

“You know, I love this city,” Darla told Candy as she blew on her hot tea.

“I know. Me, too. It’s really grown on me...except the smell.”

Darla curled her nose, not at the smell of the tea, but at the thought of this morning's walk to the market. “Yeah, it’s getting worse. I was yelled at for walking to the market this morning and told to get out. I mean, how am I supposed to get to the market?”

“I read a study that said almost half, like forty-five percent, of homeless people suffer from some form of mental illness.” Candy stared into her tea, lost in thought.

Darla knew about Candy’s brother and why Candy read articles on mental illness.

“It’s sad that we can’t address mental health issues in this country. It would help reduce the homeless population.” Candy gestured out the window at the two men standing outside leaning over shopping carts full of their junk.

They finished their tea and headed their separate ways. Candy crossing the street; going out of her way to avoid the two homeless men.

Darla watched, not worried for Candy’s safety - the homeless were generally harmless - but wondering about the two men, one of them mumbling to himself.

The conversation with Candy popped into her head a few times while she readied for work that evening. Darla loved her job in hospital administration, but being new at it meant she got shit hours. She was currently on the midnight to ten a.m. shift. An administrator always had to be there to make sure patients were processed correctly. And the late shift was a bear when you had a lot of paperwork to get done.

She walked up to the mumbling homeless guy outside of the coffee shop, handing him a bag. “Make sure you take the tablets once a day, George. Here’s one to take today.” Darla handed him the pill that would help calm the demons in his head. She recognized the drug as she looked at it in her hand. Then she began to wonder why she was standing there.

“Hey! Hey!” the voice was getting clearer.

“What?” Darla jumped up, the top page of the report sticking to her face. 

“Oh, damn. I fell asleep.” She should have gotten more sleep today instead of going for tea with Candy.

“Yeah, it’s tough getting used to the graveyard shift. You’ve only been at it for a few months, give it a few more.” James had been on nights a few years.

“Well, you better get some coffee or something. It’s already eight and it looks like you still have a big stack to get through,” He pointed at the reports in front of her.

“Yeah, I need to get busy. Thanks, James. I’m glad you came to check on me.” Darla scowled down at the papers. Maybe she didn’t love her job as much as she thought.

James closed the door as he walked out.

Darla flopped back in her chair and thought of the dream. Why was she dreaming about homeless people?

The weekend finally came. This is where Darla got in trouble. The days would get away from her and her sleep schedule would get off. She loved doing outdoor sports and working in her garden; things people did during the day, not sleep, which is what she should be doing.

As she pulled weeds she thought about the dream. Why would she dream about handing the homeless guy a bag of stuff? And the tablets. Why was she giving him medicine for schizophrenia? It felt like it was important, but she couldn’t figure out why. And who was George?

It didn’t go away. The nagging feeling that the dream meant something stuck with her until Darla found herself spending less time on hiking trails and her garden and more time on a business plan.

Darla had always felt she had a calling, something she was meant to do, she’d just never figured out what it was - until now.

“Hey, stranger.” Candy pulled out the chair across from her. They were at their favorite coffee shop, though they hadn’t been there in months.

“Hey, you.” Darla smiled brilliantly.

“You look great! Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“I know, right? I quit my job today.”

“You what?” Candy gasped in shock and plopped into the chair she had been about to gracefully sit on. “How come? Did you get a new one?”

“Pretty much. I’m building a non-profit.”

“Wait. Come again.” This didn’t sound at all like the old friend Candy knew from college; the shy timid girl who wanted to work in healthcare so she could help people. 

She lounged back in her chair and sipped her tea. “I’ve found my calling, Candy, and it’s helped me find myself. You’re looking at a new and improved Darla.”

Candy examined her friend with a quizzical eye. She saw a difference now. It was almost six months since she had last sat in this same spot with the old Darla. This was definitely a newer model.

“What has gotten into you?”

Darla told her. She told her about the fateful day when they last met for tea. She told her about the dream and how she couldn’t get it out of her head. Then she told her about the network of resources she had built with her business plan for the non-profit and how she ate nothing but ramen and canned veggies for months, saving so she could quit her job today.

“Wow! You’re really serious. What is the business exactly?”

Darla gave her the thirty-second elevator story. “...and once we’ve had them diagnosed by the mobile med unit we deliver their meds and some basic toiletries to them every week. Using mostly volunteers, of course.”

Candy, who was in city administration, could see the value in it. She saw the numbers and knew LA had one of the highest homeless populations. Her own brother was likely out there - he had run away at 17 after having a mental breakdown and a fight with their parents who were trying to get him to go see a psychiatrist. She knew firsthand how ugly the demons could get.

Candy smiled at her best friend. It was a small dent in a big problem, but somebody had to do it. She just never thought it would be Darla.

“What…” Candy wasn’t sure she was ready to say it, but she said it anyway, “what can I do to help?”

“Oh, Candy!” Darla jumped up and wrapped her arms around her friend's neck. She knew Candy was brilliant with numbers and she sure could use help in that area.

“Did you get that deal you were looking for on the anti-psychotics we’re running low on?” James asked as Darla walked in the front door of the small three-room office.

“Yes. They arrive Tuesday,” Darla stopped before entering her office. “Thanks again for all you’re doing, James. I needed a registered pharmacist and there you were, asking to help out. Like when I needed a bookkeeper and Candy jumped in. You, and all the volunteers, are helping to make this happen and I can’t ever thank you enough.”

“Shit, Darla. This is your vision. You have such a passion for it we couldn’t help but jump on board and help out. It’s contagious; this ‘positive outlook Darla’ you’ve become since I first met you at the hospital. I’m really glad you quit your job there.”

“Me too. I had to do this. It was...it was like a calling.” She headed to her desk.

Looking back over the past year Darla shook her head in amazement. She now ran a non-profit providing mental health care to the homeless, was happier than she’d ever been, and was finally tackling the book she’d always dreamt of writing. She’d turned her life around because of one dream. It had opened her eyes to her future and how she could really help people.

She sat down at her computer and booted up her email. She perked up when she saw her inbox. Another wayward rescue was back with family and doing well. 

One of her more brilliant ideas in her business plan was to include an information card in every single toiletry bag that was given out with medication. The card provided a 24-hour free mental health hotline number, a number for shelter assistance, locations and times for hot meals, and her office number if they wanted additional help getting work or finding family. 

She read the email, a tear threatened in her eye as she read Gina’s note. The young girl was bi-polar. Darla had found her on the streets with a small baby in her arms; apparently, she’d given birth in a tent. She had the girl and baby checked out at the local clinic, then worked with Gina to get her properly diagnosed and taking the right meds.

“Baby James and I are doing well at my parent’s house.” Gina had taken a liking to one of Darla’s first volunteers, and former co-worker, and named her baby after him. “They really do love him. I don’t know how I could have doubted that they would. I just want to stay on my meds and provide a good home for him. I’m going back to school in the fall. Thank you, so much for all you did for me, Darla. I owe you my life. So does my baby.”

She was making a difference and helping people while making an impact on the homeless situation in her city. The tear fell. 

Gina’s made the twenty-eighth email she’d received from a client she had helped out. There might be more who are better off due to her efforts, but those were the ones she had heard from. More work to do, but it was progress.