Around 2000-2001, I was working full time as a research assitant at sick kids hospital, a great place, in toronto. My boss was a great woman called Wendy Unger.

At this job, I quit my risperdal I had been taking for a few years already. I dont know what you call what followed, but it was certainly not psychosis.

I continued working there untilI dont know when. For a few months anyway. On lunch break, I would go buy falafel to a beggar fucked up to the max across the street. One day I had no money so I begged for him. Twice.

This led me t becoe very curious about the homeless life. When I finally was allowed to quit Unger's research so cool on asthmatic kids, I became totally free to do whatever I wanted all day and night. I usually slept at night. But one day, I decided, feeling like I should make it as honest as I could, tat i shoudl pretend to be homeless to see what its like. One dude right away tok me to a restaurant an dpaid me a 30$ meal, brought me to a chinese store to supply me with bags and equipment for the street, and left me after a few hours to conitnue my path. I beeged money form him, which he wasnot that cool with, but gave me about 1$.

After all that! I went home, I was living in a cool boarding house with international students owned by a sri lankan lady and her trinidadian white older husband.

Wha followed was the deepest depression I ever ever had: I cried day and night, for no reason in particular. Hubby whom I had separated from a year earlier, heard of it and called my parents: they sweetly came all the way to toronto to bring me back home. This was 2001.