Today’s post is a few hours behind the regularly scheduled writing time, with good reason, and because of good developments in the insane roommate epic that has been the last 7 days of my life. I’ll link a post that should catch you up.
I’m happy to report that I’m now typing this in the living room of my supportive housing apartment, which is no longer covered in trash, dirt and rotting food, thanks to Servpro (the disaster cleanup company) coming to deep clean all of the common areas of my shared apartment. To give you an idea of how bad it was in here, it took a company known for crime scene and natural disaster cleanup six hours to make the space hospitable enough to eat and write blog posts in.
The cleaners came and started their job, but I knew the root of the problem was my schizo-effective hoarding roommate Robin, and I also knew that it would be back to being like a landfill within a day. I was sick of waking up to make my coffee and seeing new piles of discarded food waste all over the place, in the exactly one week I have been living here I had been pushed to my limit by this fellow and his behavior. Yesterday I filed a report of neglect with NYC Adult Protective Services about him living in squalor and not getting his care needs met (by a fucking long shot), unfortunately it takes 72 business hours for a worker to take that referral and visit the apartment, which was unacceptably long for me. I decided to take the nuclear option this morning, and it worked out (for now).
I called 911 this morning and reported Robin’s erratic and unpredictable behavior, I didn’t lie and say he was threatening me or that he was threatening to harm himself because I didn’t need to, the truth is severe enough. Pig farms make his room look clean, not to mention the writing on the walls and the fact that he walks around covered in paint and glitter muttering to himself in The NYPD quickly arrived, and knocked on the door to his room, he answered the door scantily clad, and covered in his signature painted face with glitter all over him. As I expected, he was unable to put up any kind of facade that he was at all managing his mental illness, just jumping from subject to subject. Without divulging who requested this wellness check, they took him downstairs and outside to where the EMT’s would make a choice about whether or not he was safe to be outside of the hospital. That was at around 9 AM, it’s now 2 PM and I haven't seen Robin since, my assumption is that he’s been hospitalized, and rightly fucking so.
I believe that I did the right thing this morning, for myself and for him. it had been a week of getting very little reassurance from my supportive housing agency, and at a certain point one has to take matters into their own hands. Given my past with mentally ill roommates attempting to murder me, and how little support I got from the agency I had at the time, I don’t think I had any choice but to do what I did. When the people from the agency called me to ask what had happened, I told them very calmly that if no one else is going to look after my best interests, then it behooves me to look after my own. This is my life, my outcomes are mine alone to deal with and I refuse to end up some of the horrible places that I’ve been. I didn’t apologize for ringing any bells because I don’t owe anyone anything resembling an apology. I also wasn’t rude, and didn’t give them the fuck you that they honestly deserve for thrusting me into such a situation without any warning or consideration for my mental well-being.
After all of this, I needed to take a long nap, which I did. I slept like a baby. I woke up to make my black French pressed nap recovery coffee in my clean kitchen, and here I am now.
What does this mean for the future? I really have no clue, but I hope it indicates to anyone and everyone at my housing agency that I’m not some easily brushed off and incapable idiot, that can be fucked over without a whole lot of trouble, despite my mental health diagnosis. The next time I have to stand up for my rights as a tenant in supportive housing, I intend to…and the time after that and so on. I’ve learned too much. I imagine they have a great deal more paperwork to do on good Friday, with a client being hospitalized and a state agency about to scrutinize their operation for signs of criminal neglect of the mentally ill. I’m glad, they can thank me for all of it, because fuck em’, that’s why.
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