Peter's Story

Hello, my name is Peter Lye and I am a survivor. I have been trying to discard, or at least understand, my fatal burdens, and replace them with progress. For the first time in my life I feel I have a life ahead of me. Here is a snapshot of my recent situation, from a few years ago 'til now, and how I'm handling it. A few years ago, around the time the Dream Team was formed, my grim existence was interrupted by two disasters. A house fire placed me homeless on the street, and an arrest put me in jail. I faced years in detention, and the judge was asked to refuse me bail.

I had been living in substandard accommodation throughout the nineties. First, five years in an un-monitored, shabby boarding house - a real flophouse where I actually caught seventy mice in a room not much larger than a double bed. Next in a crack house which became a hang-out. I was almost glad when that burned down. Then I was on the street. At night I sometimes stayed in an unheated shed with no water, or in commercial space. I ended up in hostels.

At one time I had been a professional musician, and had won a graduate fellowship for my M.A. work. But here I was, supporting my habit through petty dealing, bottle deposits, busking and day labour. I worked to keep away from medical care, welfare, and other signs of authority. I had no teeth, had to hold my lenses to see, and had nowhere to prepare more than sandwiches and cereal. I dropped to my high-school weight and was addicted to daily hard and soft drugs. That was then.

By 2001 I got to appear for the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health as part of a panel at a convention on Treatment Courts and restorative justice. Around this time, a facilitator, arranged for me by Centre staff, helped me with researching, writing, and publishing my work. I've been free of illegal drugs for four years, and continue my therapies. I get the most I can from “bottom rung” supportive housing, and enjoy recreation with a support agency. I've worked with others by founding or joining several groups, committees and boards dealing with housing, recovery, and community mental health, and became a fresh voice in the corridors of power. I'm finally playing music again, and my weight is up.

I was able to do all this by grabbing a precarious lifeline. My mother bailed me out and located a referral agency which sent me to the first of many medical and counseling appointments. From this independent charitable clinic I moved on to a downtown addiction clinic, which I still attend. The hardest thing was the key to my recovery. I had to cut off a lifetime's friends, colleagues and even therapists. Finally I got into the Treatment Court at City Hall. It's a unique blend of the judicial and the therapeutic, with a dash of counseling. They were just learning to handle dual diagnosis cases. I had to go for a thorough psychiatric assessment by a very professional diagnostic team. A lot of things began to fall into place and my parents lived to see my turnaround.

They would be happy to know that I was able to move from the Salvation Army Hostel to a monitored boarding house. Now I'm working on the problems that sent me to drugs and homelessness. I need much more self-work and counseling, and to become comfortable with a re-acquired spirituality. Coming as it did when I lost my parents, supportive housing was an even more crucial godsend. My seemingly impossible case — dooming me to insanity and death — is now full of life, hope and promise.