Source : the age
Every day I buy myself a coffee. It reminds me I am an adult, despite all the things convincing me, and perhaps society, otherwise.
I work hard to remind myself I’m actually OK. The world is not falling apart because of my existence and there are no monsters under my bed.
Then out of nowhere, I get another reminder: I am bad.
As I’m waiting for my coffee, I glance down at the newspaper stand and there in big, bold shouty letters is my health condition linked to a shockingly violent crime. Instead of leaving the cafe sipping my freshly brewed coffee, I become a walking headline.
I was diagnosed with schizophrenia at 23. My version was schizoaffective, which usually involves hallucinations or delusions and mood changes. (There are at least seven subtypes).
When I was young, I was bullied by classmates and teachers alike and the fictional world of Narnia became my happy place. As I got older, magical friends were displaced by people more interested in how I’d believe anything I was told. My skills living in other worlds became a form of survival.
While I was still a teenager, the streets became a familiar place and that’s where I was later scraped up and put into a public psych ward full of human suffering. The diagnosis I got for the rest of my life was based on a set of questions asked by a male psychiatrist I’d only just met (in a suit and bow tie no less).
Did I hear voices? Did I see things nobody else did? Did I want to die?
I answered yes to everything – I wanted to tell him my “voices” were jazz singers, opera sopranos and orchestras, but lacked the ability to respond beyond yes or no. There were no long conversations about the difficult times, places and people I’d already lived through. Twenty minutes later, I became Schizophrenia. No longer Heidi Everett – artist, wannabe park ranger and Michael J. Fox’s wife. Just Schizophrenia.
One of the hallmarks of my condition is psychosis. Its Greek and Latin etymology means “abnormal condition of the soul”. But these days, anything with “psych” in the title equates to “mind” alone. And just like my doctor’s report, that label is all over the headlines again.
I categorically condemn the actions of all people who hurt other people. Sadly, when psychosis is a factor in someone doing something inconceivably awful, it’s me and my friends with schizophrenia who are implicated. Our diagnosis is the explainer. My schizy community is enduring another round of shame because the latest research indicates we are to blame. So we decide it’s better to not play tennis today, meet for coffee or go for that job interview.
Reading these headlines I can see why people might be fearful of psychosis. Mental health is complex, yet a whole community of disabled people bear the shame. The stigma does the driving, but we pay the toll.
In the 20th century, the medical model sought to cure, treat or prevent health conditions. But in the early 2000s, the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities said, “You know what, let’s try improving the environments we all share to reduce the disabling element of health conditions.” I learnt Auslan as part of the move towards a more inclusive society, and we’re all pretty good with guide dogs and ramps now. But this social model doesn’t seem to extend to accommodating people with psychosocial conditions such as schizophrenia.
The mental health system, led by psychiatry, still reigns supreme and psychosis is the problem; not social attitudes, practices or infrastructure that cause or enhance it.
The social model of disability has moved on from deficit language and attitudes. So, I refer to my disability as “complex mental health” rather than using my clinical diagnosis. For me, a flare-up happens when the stresses of life become too much. These can be both mundane – starting a job, too much admin, lack of accessible public transport – and extraordinary things like homelessness or grief. Psychosis can happen when both categories get lots of ticks.
I have a posse of familiar people I trust and I talk to them regularly. But I don’t have any faith left in our mental health system. It has surpassed its capacity for stress management and is now in its own state of psychosis.
The biggest barrier to people asking for help is the fact there’s no one around to ask. I’d love it if Australia had a Triple Zero option for mental health emergencies, staffed by crisis teams, carers, First Nations and lived expertise peers. It’d be far more practical to have someone rock up in sneakers (perhaps with a Labrador and a tennis ball) than police with Tasers and handcuffs.
People with conditions such as schizophrenia aren’t only mentally ill – we are creative geniuses who have developed some remarkable coping mechanisms to survive brutal social abuses.
Headlines don’t fill the void in public understanding or reduce violence. The UN states that framing mental health conditions as a social burden undermines equal rights, inclusion and access to care. It’s our right to go through the day not feeling ashamed, frightened or stigmatised by a health condition. We need to start having dignified dialogue with people with lived experience of complex mental health, and systems to make sure we have a society built on conversations, not left reeling from a headline.
If you or anyone you know needs support, contact Kids Helpline on 1800 551 800, Lifeline on 131 114 or Beyond Blue on 1300 224 636.
Heidi Everett is an artist, writer and mental health advocate.
The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here.
