THE POOR WILL DIE FROM THIS

The average minimum wage in America is $7.25 per hour. Average monthly salary is $5,783. Average monthly rent is $1,300, assuming that you’re single. Average cost of food per month for a single person is $343.11.

Bear with me. There’s a point. 

Average cost of therapy ranges between $100 - $200 per session. You’ll probably need 4 of those for the month. One each week. So that’ll be around $400 - $800. To fill a prescription for Adderall or Concerta for ADHD treatment per month is roughly $185. If we’re talking about intense antipsychotics for Schizophrenia, for example Clozapine, we’re looking at $105 per prescription. Oh wait. Health insurance. Insert face palm emoji here.

I mean, how many health insurances offer full coverage for mental health related illnesses ranging from “mild” to severe cases? I’m yet to find conclusive results in my research that supports my optimism that it does offer full coverage, especially for those people working minimum wage jobs.

My point to all this? Treating mental illnesses seems like a luxury expense only the privileged can afford. This reality is not just only from my experiences in America, but also my country of birth, Jamaica. If people struggle to afford basic necessities, how can they even afford to treat illnesses society has already attached a stigma to and trivialize anyway? Said illnesses in these cases are often induced by stressful conditions of just surviving. What about the homeless with mental illnesses?

Back when I was living in Phoenix, Arizona a couple years ago, it became financially draining to keep up with seeing these doctors, therapists and specialists. I was trying to take the homeopathic route, given that I had a bad experience with intense antipsychotics. 

To say that this was expensive is an understatement. I had no health insurance at the time (not that it would have made much of a difference) and needed to check myself into a hospital one night from insomnia. My doctor had advised me that if another 24 hrs had passed and I didn’t get sleep, I should go to the hospital immediately. I was going into my 4th day without sleep.

I asked her for hospital recommendations conducive to my finances, as I’ve heard horror stories about hospital bills in America. She recommended this “free” treatment facility for mental illness and substance abuse problems and reassured me it’d be my best bet. Insert face palm emoji again. Anyway, I went. Checked myself in, got my lil’ blue gown, and socks with the tire mark looking lines on them and was escorted to my ward where I’d await examination by a doctor, while I tried to ignore my rising PTSD from the green blue walls and being back in a place like this.

Immediately the scent of barf hit me, and I knew there was no medication strong enough to make me fall asleep in this place. My bed was between a relapse alcoholic drunk felon who violated his probation by gettin sauced while he stayed in a halfway house, and a meth couple whose beds were right next to each other as they held hands and barfed in their buckets by the beds. 

Yes, we all had buckets by our beds regardless of why we were in there and let’s just say, I could still smell and see what the previous patient had for dinner who was on my bed before me. Ew. While I waited for the doctor to see me my stress level mounted significantly as I requested to have my bucket removed and get a blanket.

Bucket stayed, but got a blanket an hour later. I decided to lay on my side facing the felon away from my bucket and the detox couple. The nurse offered me a sandwich from the sandwich tray and I was about to take it to be polite, but sir felon gave me the eye to say no. He then whispered to me “don’t eat nuffin in ere, queen! You don’t wanna do that.” Very cool gentleman, just needed some help and took some wrong turns in his life.

Anyway, looks like I won’t be staying in here, I just want to see the doctor, get something prescribed and get the fuck up outta dodge. Finally the doctor came after 2.5 hours. Did the prelims, asked me the basic stuff, am I stressed, any hallucinations, do I wanna kill myself, how long have I been diagnosed with Bipolar 2, am I on any medication, when was the last time I slept, etc.

Told me she’s going to get me something to help me sleep and keep me for a night for observation, and that the nurse will be giving me the medication at a certain time.

I went back to the barf stench room and awaited the drugs. Man, things escalated quickly. It’s now a shift change and the new staff seemed like prison guards. More people started checking themselves in; mostly homeless people and drug addicts who needed a meal and a bed to sleep in. It was intense. There was now yelling, screaming, shoving and lots of crying. These people were treated so poorly by the hospital staff and everyone was painted with the same brush. Nobodies. 

I reminded the nurse that I was supposed to get medication, she gave me a random pill in my hand, told me the drug my doctor prescribed wasn’t there, and wouldn’t tell me what this pill I’m holding was. Then was told dissmisevely to remove myself from her desk and “Go the fuck back to bed.” Funny enough, she was a Jamaican nurse.

That was it for me. I knew my rights. I knew I didn’t have to take it and I can get the fuck up outta there since I checked myself in on my own. I calmly asked for my stuff and told another nurse (because ain’t no way I was talking to that demon again) that I’d like to check myself out.

It was met with a bit of expected protest but I stood my ground, signed the papers, got my shit and was outta there. Whole ride home I’m thinking, “How did I end up way more stressed than before trying to get help? How could I possibly sleep after this? How can I get that smell and those images out of my head? What the hell happens to poor people who are mentally ill?” 

What the hell happens to poor and homeless people who are mentally ill? 

This is a question that collectively as a society we should ask ourselves. Ask our government. Ask our leaders. 

How many have died from untreated mental illnesses because they simply couldn’t afford treatment and how can we fix this?