‘You don’t have to be alone’
Those in need find support at PEER. Many journey with mental illness, addiction, trauma.
With a blue ink pen and a few sheets of copy paper, Tamiko Foster eases his mind. He likes to sit among friends as he draws. And here on a gray December day at the PEER Center, smiling faces abound.
“I can drink coffee, play cards and stuff, too,” said Foster, 42. “You don’t have to be alone in this world, you know?”
Like Foster, everyone who works or hangs out at the support center is somewhere on a journey through mental illness, addiction or trauma. They also know the painful side effects: social isolation and money issues, alienated family and problems getting treatment.
Holidays have a way of underscoring the points.
“It’s tough this time of year,” said Juliet C. Dorris-Williams, executive director of the PEER Center. “The happy-happy, joyjoy, and you’re not feeling any of that.”
And yet the mood at PEER — for Peers Enriching Each other’s Recovery — is upbeat.
“Here, we can just be who we are and enjoy each other,” Dorris-Williams said. “Anybody who walks in our door is welcome. They matter.”
Friendly banter, card games and chess matches are standard. Some 100 associates, as center visitors are called, stop by every day for support, to relax and to use computers, get links to assistance resources and talk one-onone with a peer who understands.
All services are free, and calendars for the two centers (PEER has locations on the East and West sides) list about 50 support groups, from bipolar disorder to employment help to relapse prevention and wellness walks.
Even people fresh off the streets cozy up to the knitting group.
Facilities manager Deshawn Davis smiles as he inspects a row of hot-pink knots put together by a man who has been trying for weeks to get the yarn to cooperate. He’s getting close.
“It’s coping skills,” Davis said. “Keeping your hands busy.”
As the group knits, or tries to, conversation and wisecracks fly. “It’s always a nice vibe in here,” said Davis, who learned to knit watching YouTube videos. “I call it one big sober party.”
There is much debate about the best pizza in the city, along with efforts to recall the shop with a box so big “you could possibly use it for a coffee table.”
Duane Richardson is cranking out a string of “finger knots” when he launches into a cautionary tale about name tattoos.
The 53-year-old says he went the do-it-yourself route and was aiming to impress a girlfriend.
Theodore Wright, 55, leans in to read the crooked letters. “You’d better stay away from Becky,” he deadpans.
As the room erupts in laughter, Gabe Howard beams. Howard, PEER’s development and marketing director, wants more than anything for the center to be a place where hope edges out despair.
Howard is a mental-illness speaker, writer and activist. He was diagnosed with bipolar and anxiety disorders in 2003 and wears a T-shirt with punctuation marks that — depending on how you look at it, of course — make both a happy and a sad face.
“The media does a great job of showing crisis,” Howard said, but often gives short shrift to successes. At PEER, “We recover together and we celebrate. Referrals are not needed. You just have to walk through the door and follow the rules.”
The centers are open 365 days a year. They need to be, Howard and Dorris-Williams say, because no one should have to make an appointment for support.
The waits to see a mental-health professional are hardship enough.
Offering free coffee is another sacred gesture at PEER. Last year, staff members calculated, they served up more than 75,000 cups.