For those living with serious and persistent mental illness, interpersonal relationships can be fragile at best. The reoccurrence of symptoms can undermine if not destroy what is already precarious. Occupation, relationships, healthy activities and even housing can be disrupted. The energy expended in rebuilding the basic elements of existence leaves little in the way of motivation or resources to devote to self-directed social inclusion and patients can become dependent on formal interventions and services which can highlight and perpetuate powerlessness and the perception of such. 

Feelings of worthlessness and exclusion are in a way simply a mirror of how society inadvertently and outwardly segregates mental illness and addictions. Having more than one alternative available for social inclusion becomes difficult when finances and housing are barriers themselves. Safe and affordable housing is one key to ensure that individuals with mental health difficulties are able to invest in communities outside of the ‘psychiatric community’. New hospitals are designed to be healthy and beautiful spaces but community housing here in Canada often falls far short. If community planners could incorporate housing that is integrated, affordable, safe and healthy, patients would have more opportunities to develop relationships within social mainstream and the effects of stigma and stigma itself would be lessened. Supportive housing can become or simply is ‘stigmatized housing’.

Mental health patients form relationships among themselves because of common experiences but economic similarities are also predominant in determining social mobility. This can be an effect of stigma but it also perpetuates stigma as individuals with serious and persistent mental health difficulties are inadvertently quarantined from spaces and situations where the general population could witness their humanity and gifts. 

Economic factors often impede recovery, social inclusion and the formation of a positive identity. The financial limitations that a disability income imposes leaves fewer options and opportunities for experimenting with interests or forming friendships outside of the ‘psychiatric community’. Individuals are often relegated to housing and facilities in areas which are substandard and exacerbate mental health difficulties. Individuals are at times forced to navigate neighbourhoods where addiction, crime and violence are more prevalent. Gentrification often disposes and quarantines this vulnerable segment of the population. 

A disability income can become a barrier. It can be a safety net when illness is predominant but in times of equilibrium and remission it can undermine self-determination and it accentuates weaknesses. A disability income tethers a persons identity to that disability. In a culture where identity is synonymous with what employs a person, to answer with ‘I have a disability’ is a mantra of defect, defeat and disgrace. In social situations where a person might find connection, having no social capital or economic power relegates valuable and dynamic individuals to situations and communities where this is not a concern or it is accepted if not expected. Economics can be exclusionary and gaining independence is complicated by being a dependent.

Workplace exclusion is basically societal exclusion. Without gainful employment the ability to contribute financially to self-care and opportunities of community, social inclusion or interpersonal relationships is undermined. This form of societal exclusion also undermines an individuals ability to contribute financially to society and fractures a sense of belonging or contributing. Financial restrictions lead to a dependence on traditional healthcare services and furthers a dependence on these social supports and the community offered there. Limited employment opportunities and or dependence on social services limits an individuals exposure to healthcare workers outside of psychiatry; for example a massage therapist or a yoga teacher. Being able to contribute financially enhances self-efficacy, self-esteem, self-determination and social status which in turn enhance wellbeing and leads to the confidence required for social activity.

Disability support can become a ‘sentence’ as much as a service. Opportunities for self-improvement, social integration, social mobility and even relationship status become limited and can lead to a further withdrawal from activities and excursions into mainstream culture. ‘Money can’t buy happiness’ but by confining individuals with mental health difficulties and or addictions to the poverty line; self-determination, social status, self-efficacy and self-esteem stagnate. The seriousness of these factors is that they perpetuate and exacerbate underlying difficulties which is costly socially and economically for all citizens.

When I first became involved in the Ontario Provincial Police Mental Health Strategy I was a well written mascot for individuals who come into contact with the criminal justice system as a result of mental health difficulties. After pouring my heart and story into a gathering of Ontario Provincial Police (O.P.P.) officers, service providers and community stakeholders I was invited to lunch by one of the O.P.P. “brass.”

We ate at Boston Pizza so funds could stay within the “ranks.” I asked this individual why don’t the O.P.P. have specialized officers like they have officers who are trained in S.W.A.T.? “It would de-escalate the situation if an officer entered the situation with “N.U.R.S.E.” written on their bulletproof vest, I said. No, we want healthcare agencies and community stakeholders to step up he retorted. They are better equipped and we are a police agency, healthcare is not our mandate. This all made “cents” and my only other question was if there was a statute of limitations on perjury. He seemed to prickle at the question. Possibly he thought I was asking for myself but answered, No, but it’s not something we normally pursue.

I made the 8 hour round trip to O.P.P. Headquarters in Orilla a few times so people being paid could bounce acronyms off my brain and to be traumatized by uniforms, locked doors and training scenarios where I could imagine myself and people I have met over the years shot to death. The main take away for me was to make sure I keep at least a distance of 21 feet from armed officers as anything less becomes licence to kill.

About a year later I had a couple meetings at the London O.P.P. Detachment and the plan was for me to travel across the province except for Thunder Bay to different detachments to help promote the Ontario Provincial Police Mental Health Strategy. I was starting to go “off script” and received one last phone call.

I was told how the O.P.P. was now visiting mental health consumers in the community and escorting them to doctor appointments and such to instil in these individuals a sense that two uniformed officers at your front door is a good thing. I asked, “what is the salary of a police officer?” “I’m not sure” was the reply. “Well, I’ll tell you, it’s around $60,000 out of the gate.” “Two mental health workers (without uniforms, guns and specially painted cruisers) is about half that.” “Why not have twice as many mental health workers do the same thing?”

For those who are unfamiliar with the difference between mental health workers and police, only one imagines themselves as such which makes all the difference. 

If the O.P.P. and other police forces in Canada do in fact want better mental health outcomes for citizens either specialize or stand down. Until then, like the individual mentioned after buying me lunch with his constabulary credit card: “We’ll let the Queen pay.”

I don’t usually talk about suicide. Some people believe if we talk about it we may trigger someone who is vulnerable. I committed suicide once and have made a couple of attempts. Thoughts of suicide have consumed enough of my days to compile into years. It comes in waves and can last for months.

I was counselled to commit suicide twice by my x-wife. Once all my medications were handed to me in a grocery bag. I returned home having not carried out her instructions as it was only months since I had died in the back of an ambulance. I told her “I will not abandon my children.” My medications were then presented to me in a cereal bowl as I was having a cigarette in my garage. I was told it would “be easier this way.” It certainly would have!

By refusing these requests I found myself in over a decade of suffering and segregation, it continues today. I lost my children, my freedom, my home, my possessions, my clothes, my eyeglasses and most of my sanity. My x-wife did not want anything near an equitable divorce and so decided on a divorce by cops. Her lies and those of others culminated in her being the irrevocable beneficiary of my life insurance policy. This was a blessing at times as I clung to this world only to prevent her from further wealth.

My plan for a time was to canoe out a mile or two into Lake Huron and capsize my canoe after wrapping clothesline attached to cement blocks around my body. It was my belief that my x-wife would have to wait several years for me not to be considered a missing person. I also thought this would save my family a degree of grief.

The reason I don’t speak about suicide is that I am susceptible to confinement when I am honest about it. In places I have resided and offices I visit, to feel, think or express that depth of hopelessness is a “clause” to losing your clothes. It would probably be helpful to share my suicidal ideation with therapists but to be a danger to self in a building I have no key for is to risk my freedom and self determination. To be suicidal in an institution for me just means in the moments I am not, I am infantilized if not humiliated.

Sometimes I don’t want to surrender my thoughts of suicide. They are somewhat of a companion and a form of escape. When I am suicidal, I can dream that my anguish will cease. Those moments are horrendous in and of themselves but the surrender portion takes less energy. Sometimes these thoughts come from depression, sometimes they tear at me through psychosis and sometimes they would be your thoughts in the same situation.

I sometimes speak to God in these moments. Recently I begged Him to just take me. I was in bed and weeping. “I can’t take any more” I don’t want to see any more” “There is nothing more I want to do” “Please just take me.” Tears were tracing my temples as I begged to be released from my suffering.  

Maybe God doesn’t show His face because He wants us to see others. Maybe He wants us to serve instead of seek. Maybe He wants us to find our humanity and the humanity of others before we transpire and transpose into something else.

I’m not sure what draws me back from the edge of suicide. I wonder if it is a power outside of myself or some small flicker in myself that I ultimately wish not to extinguish. When the thoughts are milder, I find strength in some part of a song or a faint memory of goodness.  When I need mercy and I’m beyond all I can take, beyond surrender and even beyond defeat, I defer death until morning. Its a bad habit, but it makes breathing easier.

When I surface, I sometimes see my worth. Sometimes I see that I have a purpose. Sometimes I see that it is my brokenness and suffering that are my gift. Sometimes I don’t want people to have to travel for my funeral and leave with nothing but questions. “Why did he give up now?” “Why didn’t I see, say or do?” Sometimes I don’t want to pass my pain onto others. Sometimes I don’t want to leave a mess or be found with shit in my pants. Sometimes I see that to throw away a second chance would probably give some doctor the opportunity to give me a third which would be harder to swallow.

Sometimes I can trace my suicidal thoughts to specific losses or pain. Sometimes I can’t escape the loops of traumatic experiences. Sometimes it is anger or even rage. Sometimes it is shame. Sometimes I simply think too much and feel too much. 

We sometimes judge those who have made attempts or been successful. It is not for us to shame an individual who is incapacitated to the extent of not noticing what is worthwhile or for an inability to find what we might see on the surface.

Usually when I’m suicidal, all I see is the worst in my circumstances, people and the world. It’s like wearing an old raincoat that doesn’t breathe. My perceptions repel that which makes most things thrive and I am drenched by my own manoeuvrings. My efforts and small solutions are basically more discomfort and I am soaked in sorrow.

My wife pisses me off by showing me that unconditional love crap. She cooks and keeps a schedule which makes it hard for me to get worse. In my flight from life I do dumb shit all the time. I use humour, answer requests to speak, grow plants, talk to my dog and therapists with less hair and recently I applied for a distance education course. I won’t hear back for a few more weeks, so bridges will just be bridges until the end of August.

If you can’t be well, be here.