by Lou Ross-Johns

I have always lived in a separate room. I look in the window and the rest of the world is in some strange and mysterious party which I cannot understand or participate in, only watch through the window. This has always been with me and will ever be.

I was a child who stayed on the edges of the playground, and who sat silently in her mind in the schoolroom. My experience with the health care system would have been similar to any child's. Trips to the dentist, the physician, oblivious to the problem of being separate from the world, while looking at a body I do not own.

The ones who saw my early illness were the teachers. They spoke to me in worried tones about how I always faced the ground. I don't believe there was any treatment at the time for children who were ill, or wounded. My family were beautiful people, my siblings and parents loving and creative and fun. They did not notice that I was a ghost, as I traveled all over the world with them as an adolescent. I loved them, but was not part of them. When I was living in London, as I remember it, my emotions simply disappeared. I became numb and had no feelings. I managed to make a couple of friends in High School, who remember me talking about how I was three people. Gypsy, Logic, and Ghost. By the time I was eighteen there were a couple of things in my life that may have saved me, but again it was not the health care system. It was my undying love for animals, and for singing. I created something in my life which would always be successful, which would always be on the side of the angels.

When I went to college, I did not have a single friend. I started to take chances on my life, which meant very little to me by then. I walked across a train trestle, taking a chance on whether the train would come; and I walked across thin ice on the river, hearing it crack beneath me, feeling it shift, not caring if I plunged through to the icy waters. It was not God's intent for me to die, and something always happened to stop my chances from stealing me from family and friends.

That became the role of the health care system after this, saving me from myself again and again. The people who saved me again and again were varied, but I consider them all part of the health care system. My minister, art therapist's, my voice teacher, the police who stopped my suicide attempts, my psychiatrist, psychologist, counselor, physician, and psychiatric nurses. They all eventually contributed to my wellness. There are always negatives. Mental Illness is so misunderstood, I don't pretend to understand it myself. It is a dragon that has stayed with me since childhood. Sometimes it is a friend because the voices are my only friends so often. I don't really want to be normal but I want to function.

Today I still live on the edges. I live alone on an acreage but have a host of animals I love with all my heart. If someone was to take them away I don't think I could sustain being well. I put on frequent concerts this year called the Diva and the Dog concerts for animal rescue groups. I sing and play the piano and receive incredible love and encouragement from my audiences.
They are in some ways, like my animals part of the health care system.

The positive aspects of our health care system from my perspective are these. In Canada, no matter how ill you are, once this is recognized the psychiatric treatment is free, and there are always caring people such as my physician and support group who are also free. We are not at the mercy of insurance companies who I believe would become an obstacle. Our hospitals and clinics are clean and my experience was one of caring concern from the hospitals, most of the time.

There are issues of money though. I have lost two teeth this year. They have rotted and fallen out and there is no possibility of affording a dentist. I have difficulty affording my medications. They are expensive and sometimes I have to choose if it is the heart meds this month or the stomach meds. I believe this should change. Medications are too expensive and so are dentists. Counselors and psychologists are expensive. Social workers are free but can be burned out and emotionally abusive. However, I don't want to be negative. I have been treated very kindly as a whole in our health care system and I think it's a good one.

I have reached a peace I think with my illness. If I have personalities I welcome them; if voices, they are better than silence. I still live apart from the world but I balance it with extensive work with people with special needs. People with special needs always seem to see you as worthy and want you to be with them. They don't ever see you as broken.

In Canada, it is a health care system where you are treated with dignity and wisdom, if you reach out for it. If you sit outside the banquet hall and cannot break through to the crowds inside, well, that's alright too.

Lou Ross-Johns is the author of Recovery from Dissociative Identity Disorder.