Picture this: you’re submerged underwater, looking up at the sunlight shimmering through the surface. You fight to reach it with everything you have, lungs burning, eyes dimming, yet the weight pulls you down. No one’s there to help. No one cares. You have nothing. This is how countless patients feel in our broken mental health system. They’re drowning in such a deep despair, with no one coming to save them. And why is that?
It’s simple, funding is slashed, resources are small, and workers are left scrambling to do the impossible. Our institutions are a mess, held together by duct tape and prayers. Those left running them know how to navigate the chaos, but that doesn’t mean they should have to. This isn’t just about improving facilities; it’s about confronting the ugly truth that we’ve abandoned some of the most vulnerable people in our society.
If you think this is just an American problem, think again. This has become a global embarrassment. Overseas, things are just as bad, if not worse. In Bradford, Yorkshire, the United Kingdom reopened Lynfield Mount Hospital, a facility where sewage floods the floors. Yes, sewage. The government knew the conditions were horrendous, and yet they reopened it anyway. Why? Because they wouldn’t need to cough up the funding to fix it. They would rather their people cough up disease and sickness first.
It’s infuriating that citizens had to rally and scream for action, begging their government to do what it should have done from the start and eventually satisfied with scraps from the dinner table of the government. Compassion shouldn’t have to be demanded like a handout, yet here we are.
And let’s not kid ourselves. The United States isn’t any better. Our institutions are equally underfunded, and our politicians are equally indifferent and inefficient. How much louder do we need to yell before they listen? How much do we have to scream in agony before our screams and pleas are heard?
The failures of this system aren’t just numbers on a spreadsheet; they’re real stories that gut you, tearing out your heart, tugging at your soul strings. Lisa Norris had to make a horrifying decision no parent should ever have to face. When her insurance refused to cover her child’s life-saving treatment, she was forced to give up custody to the state so that the government could step in and provide the care her child so desperately needed.
Read that again. A mother had to surrender her rights to her own child, her own daughter because the system left her with no other choice. Really let that sink in. Lisa isn’t some exception to the rule, she’s the living proof of how brutal and unforgiving this system is. She is a real person, suffering, and yet she’s treated like a number, some statistic for the government to say, “We’ll do better next time. We promise!” And what’s the worst part? This could happen to anyone. This could be you, this could be me.
If families are being crushed, are individuals any better off? Not even close. In 2020, over 53 million U.S. adults experienced mental illness (Cohen, 2022). Of those, 14 million suffered from serious conditions requiring immediate intervention. But those are just the reported cases. How many more are out there suffering in silence, convinced no one cares? Evident by the system that tries to bring them down.
The system’s message is clear: You’re on your own. People stop seeking help not just because they don’t need it, but because they’ve learned the hard way that help isn’t coming. This isn’t just heartbreaking, it’s a clear injustice.
Enough Excuses. “So, the government doesn’t care? What else is new?” It’s the kind of cynicism we hear on a daily. But that excuse doesn’t fly anymore. This problem isn’t some far-off issue that doesn’t touch our lives. It’s here, it’s happening all around us, but the blinders are on. This is an imminent threat, and it’s killing people.
We can’t keep shrugging this off, pretending it’s someone else’s problem. We have a system that forces parents to give up their kids, leaves patients drowning in their own despair, and drives workers to the breaking point. How much worse does it need to get before we say, “Enough is enough”? So, is there something that can be done?
If you’re angry, I say good, you should be. But don’t just sit there. Do something about it. Vote, not just in the flashy presidential elections but in the local and state elections where funding decisions are actually made. Elect people who prioritize fixing this mess instead of lining their pockets. Elect those who inspire change, not just speak about it. The Federal and State hold power over funding, remind them we are the only reason for that power.
Get involved in your community. Support advocacy groups, partner with social workers, and join the fight for better policies. Social workers are already out there, fighting that good fight, battling every day to make some real changes. They can’t do it alone and neither will you.
This is about more than just broken buildings and underfunded clinics. It’s about human lives—about the mothers like Lisa who are forced to make unimaginable sacrifices, the workers trying to do the impossible, and the millions of patients who’ve been left behind both literally, and metaphorically.
We have a choice: we can keep ignoring this crisis until it’s too late, or we can stand up and demand better. The question isn’t whether we can make a difference; the question is whether we care enough to fight for it now before it’s too late.
Comments
Post a Comment