My father’s illness had been a constant throughout my life, but denial is a powerful thing. He was an English and art teacher, social and charismatic when I was young. He was a talented artist and musician, and generous with a great sense of humour.

But his eccentricities were more apparent by the time I was in high school — and to be honest, his unpredictability a source of anxiety and embarrassment.

Later, as he grew more and more isolated, more paranoid, my responsibility to him as a daughter, and my connection to the man he had been before, became a heavy weight to carry.

I knew what was happening to him was more than a changing character — it was an illness that was getting progressively worse. I sought out other family who had known him for decades, but their response at the time was that he was just a little down. That it was temporary. That he’d get through it.

Since our family’s experience, the public conversation around mental health awareness and support has significantly reduced the stigma faced by sufferers and their families. But crucial services and the processes in our system for helping people in crisis have not kept up.

It’s been almost three years since I lost my father, and we faced countless barriers in the system along that journey. In light of Mental Health week, it’s time to share my family’s story.

The last time I saw my dad, I asked him to dance with me at my wedding. We never spoke again after that.

When I called, he didn’t answer. His invitation was sent, and there was no response. I called again, repeatedly. I went to his condo, but he didn’t answer the door.

He never made it to my wedding.

Nearly three years later, the police contacted me with the news. The few answers that came in the days, weeks and months that followed did little to staunch my guilt and grief.

I had looked everywhere over the years for support to help get him better. I sought out my own therapy to work through the effects of my father on my health — trying to support him while trying to set boundaries, as so many family members in these situations must, in hopes his illness wouldn’t swallow me whole with him.

By the time my dad was found, the coroner wasn’t able to determine exactly when or how he had died.  But in his belongings, there were signs of a man failed by the same system that I had struggled to navigate for him.

It was clear in the drawings he left behind and by the more than one hundred notebooks in his apartment, filled with meticulously handwritten delusions about our family history.

In the stacks of papers, there were also documents from his benefits provider.

My dad had been involuntarily admitted for psychiatric care in the previous year and was held for 12 days in hospital.

He was discharged with a prescription for Risperdal — a drug commonly used to treat patients with schizophrenia — and sent on his way, apparently with no plan for outpatient care or follow up.

He never filled out the prescription. Not one person in our family had been contacted about his hospitalization.

I carry my dad with me in everything I do. I keep his memory alive with my children, who never got to meet him. Mental illness often affects generations, and I do worry my father’s illness, and even my own resulting mental health issues, may one day rear its head in my kids. I want to be better for them than he was able to be for me, and I want their support system to be better than what he received.

My grief, not just in losing my father but in not being able to help him for so long, motivates me in my work with Addictions and Mental Health Ontario. I work for improvements for people like him — and for people, like me, who care for people like him.

One in five Canadians will experience a mental health crisis in their lifetime. My family is one family, and our story is one story, but there are thousands of families out there who need the kind of care and access to support that mine didn’t get. It’s crucial there be a continued commitment to building a system that, while improving, still has wide gaps in care.

The conversation is changing, but our system and the services it provides must catch up.

People’s lives are on the line, and they matter — especially to those who love them.

With the help of DMHS and other supports, Will has been actively pursuing wellness and recovery, getting involved in peer support work and using his music as a tool to help others, here is his story:
 
Growing up was rough. My adoptive parents were physically and emotionally abusive, so I carried the burden of dealing with that abuse into adulthood. As an unwanted child I had issues with self-esteem. I found it difficult to maintain healthy relationships, and I had a real problem with authority. I ran with a rough crowd. The only reason I didn’t end up in jail was because I found a passion for music, which gave me something to focus on, something to be proud of, and something to do – within a year, I was in my first band. 
 
My problems continued despite my success as a musician. When my marriage fell apart in 2013, I realized that my problems were bigger than me, and that I couldn’t continue to deal with my issues on my own. I reached out at that time to many social services, eventually finding the great people at DMHS. 
 
I’ve found that DMHS staff go above and beyond in ensuring the health and wellness of their clients. They take a really personal, hands-on approach and show an honest interest in every person they serve. Through my association with DMHS, I experienced a powerful sense of belonging and a genuine acceptance. In addition to getting support from Crisis Services, which was a great help, I am now participating in the WRAP (Wellness Recovery Action Plan) Program and am also very active in the weekly Wellness/Music Group. It’s meant everything to me to know I have so many good people solidly in my corner. 
 
Looking forward, I want to give back what I’ve received by becoming a professional Peer Support Specialist. I want to support people the way DMHS has supported me. I will maintain my own health and wellness with the support of the services and programs that are offered at DMHS. For anybody that’s heard about DMHS but is unsure about reaching out, I would strongly urge that they get in contact with a Crisis Worker and avail themselves of the many excellent services that they provide. 
 
Wishing great health and wellness – mental, physical, emotional – to all! 

According to Donna, it has been difficult to live in a “negative” environment with bad influence of people, resulting in a habit of drinking 7 days a week that made her get very sick. The painful past of losing connection with family especially her daughter (who has no contact with her for a long time) and the physical and emotional abuse from significant males in the past led to her low self-esteem.

Yet, things started to change since Donna first accessed the Community Paramedic-Led Clinic (CPLC) run by paramedics from Toronto Paramedic Services, Hong Fook’s Mental Health and Addiction Outreach Worker and COTA’s Geriatric Case Manager in her building in late 2017. With the wraparound support by the inter-professional team, she started to have a true feeling of “life” instead of just “existence”.

Donna began to look after her health by taking blood pressure and blood sugar screening at CPLC. For the past month, Donna drank only 3 beers per day. She also cut down from 2-2.5 pack to 10-15 cigarettes daily. Her mood becomes much better through the ongoing counselling. Not only that, she’s also been actively accessing various community programs based on referrals and secured a community fund to replace the battery of her scooter so that she can access medical appointments, food bank and nearby places.

Today, Donna has started to receive Case Management service from COTA. She continues working hard on reducing her beer and cigarette consumption as she no longer feels like relying on them. She is getting new hobbies of writing and making pottery. She is planning to pay off all her debts by next month. Donna said all the support around her has motivated her to move on.