Thursday 16 June 2016

Seeing Red.

This post is not going to be bursting with joy. Normally I love the colour red. Normally red signifies happiness, laughter, excitement and positivity to me. Normally red lifts me up. My favourite phrase would have to be "red goes faster".

But not today. I am absolutely consumed with the bitterness of rage. I am actually seeing red. And the last time I saw red was when I swore at a nasty, arrogant, dangerous specialist who tried to kill Michael back in 2014. Well, the world has turned red again for me.

And all because of a death. A death that was terrible, hopeless, preventable. The aftermath of this death will cause ongoing and profound trauma to those left behind. Another suicide that should not have happened.

My friend Ruth has had a tough life. Mother to a daughter named Meg, whose smile could light up the universe. A quirky, magical young woman who died as the end result of her disabilities. Then Ruth's faithful little dog died of old age. Bereavement on top of bereavement.

I woke up this morning feeling really out of sorts. Waiting for the Bank to get back to us about our loan. Having seen our pensions come in and out of our accounts in twelve hours. An aching lower back. My get up and go seemed to have got up and left.

Then I opened Facebook. A post from Ruth. She and her mother had found her brother dead in his house. He was forty-nine and had been grappling with his depressive demons. And they had overwhelmed him.

Ruth commented on the kindness of the police and coroner in attendance. They have to wait for the autopsy, but they already know the result. Ruth's brother had committed suicide. Topped himself. Ended his life. Killed himself. And why?

We are all aware of the answer. The mental health services, like disability and aged care, are in chaos. Successive governments have savaged these services to the point of extinction. Staff have been cut, programmes have disappeared or been severely reduced, and overstuffed policy means that the people who are supposed to be helped aren't being helped.

The messages to Ruth on Facebook have extended sadness, disbelief and sympathy to her and her family. "So sorry for your loss". And time will move forward and people will forget or at least park this distress in a compartment away from their hearts. Not because of lack of compassion. We are all relieved that suicide didn't target us.

Instead, we should all be angry, disgusted, appalled with white hot fury. When are the vulnerable going to be valued enough to care for them? The elderly, the disabled, the chronically unwell, the mentally ill and the disadvantaged are treated with utter contempt. As long as these dreaded circumstances don't affect us, we can be sad, we can be sorry and we can thank God it isn't us.

But it is us. People's lives can change in a blink of an eye. Michael had an income of $80 000 when he worked in the mining industry. When his health broke down, there was no redundancy for him. His income just stopped.

Another friend, Linda, developed psychotic depression and was admitted to the psychiatric unit at Royal Perth Hospital. I visited her there. She was off her face with drugs and the place was a dungeon.

I published a piece the other day by a Sydney doctor, Arthur Chesterfield-Evans. He was describing the confusion, complications and insanity of dealing with Centrelink, on-line, over the phone, and in person on behalf of one of his patients. He was pointed in his thankfulness at his ability to leave the Centrelink office. Unlike so many of us.

Back in March, we won an eight-month battle with Centrelink to keep Vanessa's Disability Support Pension intact. How did we achieve this unlikely victory? Because Vanessa had a complete emotional collapse in her - private- psychiatrist's office. And because he wasn't trying to juggle multiple mental health patients all at once, he had the time to phone the Centrelink psychologist who had made the appalling judgement about Vanessa and give her a very direct serve. And because of her private health insurance, she was admitted into Perth Clinic for ten days, rather than a public unit.

Back to the haves and the have-nots. We are creating two tiers of Australians. Ruth's brother died because he had no hope. He could see no other way out. How dare we let that happen to him, to Ruth, to their family?

Ladies and gentlemen, there is a federal election in two weeks. We can make a difference to people like Ruth's brother. Please think about your vote.

Surely every life is precious. Surely we should be championing everybody's right to a decent life. Rather than a lonely death.



Michael's expression of his own anxiety -

"The Black Dog is Back"







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