Medications quelled the mood swings, a symptom of his post-traumatic stress disorder.

But Wilburn's salvation - the one thing that he says kept thoughts of suicide at bay - was the Bear River House in Logan, a clubhouse for people with mental illnesses.

"The camaraderie there saved my life," Wilburn said. "I was a suicide waiting to happen."

Authorities at Bear River Mental Health abandoned the clubhouse last year against the protests of Wilburn and other patients. The decision came in tandem with other reforms aimed at improving patient care, clinicians say.

But it alienated patients, some of whom will meet informally this morning to brainstorm strategies for reviving the clubhouse. Meanwhile, state mental health officials are investigating to see whether Bear River's alternative - patient support groups - are up to standard.

Under Utah law, public mental health clinics must offer psychosocial therapy; clubhouses are the prevailing model nationally.

"If they can prove to us they can do a good psychosocial program outside of the clubhouse, great. But if they can't, we'll intervene," said Ron Stromberg, deputy state mental health director.

Clubhouses debuted in 1948 with creation of the Fountain House in New York City, according to the International Center for Clubhouse Development. Since then, the model of peers helping peers reconnect with their communities and regain independence has blossomed.

Utah's seven accredited clubhouses help members find jobs and learn life skills. Many serve lunch daily, prepared and purchased by members.

Wilburn wonders why the state's review is taking so long.

The Bear River House closed in November, 2006, following months of "scare tactics" employed to undermine patient support, said Wilburn, 56, who served as president at the time.

"They told us the services could not be billed to Medicaid, that we would get in trouble and could lose millions in funding over it," said Wilburn. "Let's face it, the people down there have mental illnesses. They're not stupid, but they are easily intimidated."

Delia Loosle, a former Bear River employee, said supervisors "strong armed" her into turning over $11,000 in private donations that clubhouse members raised through the nonprofit, New Discoveries. The money was used to organize social events and send members to national conventions.

Bear River also convinced a woman with advanced dementia, who was listed as an officer of New Discovery, to sign over title of two of the nonprofit's vans, Loosle said. Loosle said her own refusal to do this contributed to her being fired last June.

"I'd just like some justice for the clients. They had their dignity and self-esteem taken from them along with their money and their vehicles," Loosle said.

Bear River director Reed Ernstrom would not comment on Loosle's firing. The clubhouse was closed under his predecessor Mick Pattinson, but Ernstrom said he supports the decision.

Ernstrom said the New Discovery money was transferred after the nonprofit's business license lapsed.

Tim Frost, Bear River's clinical director, said changes in practice were made "with the client's best interests in our hearts and minds."

Bear River was moving to a more holistic model of delivering therapy in people's homes and at the clubhouse, which, they discovered violated clubhouse standards making it no longer eligible for accreditation, said Frost.

So, Bear River began offering its own support groups and job training.

"The clubhouse tends to turn into its own little island. We wanted treatment provided by our best trained clinicians in whatever setting our patients are in," Frost said. "Therapy in an office can be artificial."

But many Bear River clients feel burned and are even less inclined to keep up with their counseling.

"They used to have 30 to 40 people there a day. Now they're lucky to have 13," said Lynn Julson, a patient. "No one wants to sit there and go through groups. It's better for me if I just stay away."

Wilburn used to help run the clubhouse, spending most of his days there. Now he goes once a week for "team meetings," which he must attend to keep his Medicaid.

"All those years it was a clubhouse," he said. "Now it's just a flophouse."

kstewart@sltrib.com