I was homeless in Santa Fe, New Mexico, my mental illness having made it so I couldn't work and ran out of money. No one knew where I was or what was happening to me. One day I was on the bus, screaming at a passenger, when the cops came to see what was up. The cop took one look at me and asked me, "Are you hearing voices?" I told him yes. He told me the name of an outpatient mental health facility a few miles away. I went there and spoke to the psychiatrist, and he figured out I was schizoaffective and prescribed Haldol. I was on it for months while living in a concrete drain under a bridge, and it didn't help a bit. So he switched me to Abilify, which for a time did wonders. I have, over the years, found that most meds are like this: they help for a year, or two years, and then they stop working, or the side effects become so bad that the psychiatrist has to switch to something else. Meds are a mixed blessing at best.