I left the hostel after living there for just over two years. The first year was all right, I was recuperating from my inner turmoil, and in a secluded room in the main unit. I did not form any close friendships, just bided my time waiting for something that never happened - a return to the good old days. I would have my moments - listening to an album, reading a good book, going down the pub etc. but nothing really took off. It was a mellow time. Looking back on it I was quite happy, but nothing seemed to happen, time just passed. My second year was not so pleasant, I suffered from serious side effects which required a quartering of my depixol dose and then problems with my neighbours including a love triangle which made me decide to leave. Also I was fed up with the place after two years, fed up with live-in staff, the tiny rooms and feeling institutionalised. The hostel itself looks like an institution. Not exactly homely, it had plywood doors and narrow corridors similar to a hall of residence at a University. The staff are rota'd on and maintain professional boundaries, which in what should be your home is rather odd. At one point I found myself aware of what felt like a glass wall between me and the staff (metaphorically) and though they were there for support if you were in trouble they were perhaps understandably there in a professional role. The agency workers tended to be more friendly, perhaps paradoxically because they knew they would only be there for a while, perhaps because they had less paperwork, or perhaps because they were not completely one of 'them' as opposed to 'us'. It was this division between 'staff' and 'residents' which made it an institution more than anything. Residents were expected to follow a programme - a weekly schedule of daily activities including cooking, cleaning and going to day centres, and I felt this was a bit limited scope of activities for rehabilitation - a bit idealistic in it's approach to rebuilding someone's life and something which more than once made me feel like a helpless child in the arms of this professional, caring but ultimately soul-less social services. But of course there were always people within the system who you could relate to. Some of the residents had 'support workers' who took them out doing things they actually wanted to do and I thought this was much more in they way of what would help you get your life started again. There was a worker there who was keen to get the residents involved in things and she wasn't taken up on contract because she had the 'flu twice! (If you're reading this Rebecca then I hope you are doing ok). I feel the hostel was a good place to stay for a year or even eighteen months but ultimately not ideal and a bit institutionalising. One thing that was noticed by the residents is that it was very difficult to get moved on, but I think this may have been a temporary problem with the housing department.

So goodbye hostel and may my next group home accommodation be more of a home.