G. starts to feel significantly depressed a few months after moving to San Francisco. She finds herself unable to continue school, work, or do any other activities. She loses a lot of weight. She looks for help under the pressures of maintaining her immigration status, continuing school, and keeping her affidavit of a large sum of money for her university job and major financial hardship. She finds Westside Community Services Mental Health Crisis Clinic, a voluntary drop-in service for any adult needing emergency psychiatric care, regardless of having had health insurance or a legal immigration status.
For over three years regularly and, as needed for two after that, Westside Community Services has helped a doctor see G. for prescriptions and receive therapy, during which she lost her immigration status.
G. visited Westside once a month. At each visit, she joined the line in the morning and waited for her name to be called in the waiting room.
It wasn't the first time she had been in a mental health clinic. G.'s mom was a psychiatric nurse. She went to her mom's workplace at the Veterans Hospital every day after school. She remembers stories of a boy asking nurses for empty cups of Turkish coffee to read and another believing he wasn't alive. As a child, she found it a fun, lighthearted, and compassionate environment.
This time, it was different. She felt ashamed, confused, anxious, and frozen. Her mind took her to a summer evening at home when she had similar sensations. She could hear her father eating watermelon, the music on TV, and her mom cooking while she lay on the couch. Nothing was unusual, but she felt frozen on that couch as if she had been watching it all, including herself, from outside.
Gozde's heart and mind went to different places as she sat there, like a day when her mom told her she would kill her, where she felt like it would happen, and the many nights of hiding in the bathroom to hear and understand what were all of the fights about, feeling like it was a moment's notice that her mom and dad would harm each other.
At the same time, she started to see more of the waiting room. She came to recognize the regulars, hear laughter and sobbing, the sounds of the door, the coffee machine, the vacuum cleaner, the sound of the water dripping from the refrigerator, 'payout time' announcements, hi's and byes, friendly smiles, and more.
In particular, two regulars, Steve and Charles, made Gözde feel like this place was a living room rather than a waiting room with their unique characteristics, friendly nature, the way they greeted everyone, and their repeated walk-ins.
She also vividly remembers a day when she and Charles cried their hearts out on opposite sides of the waiting room.
Why was it so difficult to deal with this? Why was she so vulnerable? Why couldn't she function without worrying? Why did she feel on edge almost all the time? Where did all of these come from?
She only began to find answers to her questions after experiencing the opposite of her sensations of unsafety. She only understood how unsafe she was once she was safe.
After some time, when she walked into the waiting room, she felt like she was entering another world where nothing on the outside mattered. With one step in, she felt warm, protected, and welcomed over and over and over again. Over the years, it was a routine: the line in the morning, the doors opening, going through the security, coffee brewing after a while, the mailman coming in, regulars' unique hi's and byes, laughter, sometimes the noises from the TV in the community room, thanksgiving, and Christmas celebrations.
Ten years after the first time she reached out, she went in to speak about her idea of making a documentary. The clinical director asked her, 'Would making this documentary keep you from coming here if you need us in the future?'
No, she said, and I'm making a film precisely about that.