It was late at night and I should have been asleep — but instead I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Every second of the ticking clock seemed like an eternity. I was shaking and sweating, alternating between colds and hot flashes. The bright lights of a normal June night in Toronto blazed outside my window, oblivious to my suffering. I got out of bed to throw up hoping it would make me feel better. I thought I was dying. But I actually had a panic attack. It could have been any of a number of things that threw me off: the economy, my bank balance, the news of a family member’s recent misdiagnosis. I’ve dealt with mental illness since I was a kid, and somehow what was scary as a kid is scary as an adult. As a child, anxiety and depression seemed to interrupt my life, but as an adult they threaten to destroy it. Adam Dykaar on a ski trip as a child. He was diagnosed with depression when he was 13. (Submitted by Adam Dykaar) This time, I felt like my life was out of control, even though I had only had these panic attack symptoms for 6 hours. I considered going to the hospital that night, but reminded myself that I had dealt with these attacks before. It’s not real, I’m not going to die. Still, I knew I needed help, so I decided to face it and make an appointment with a doctor in the morning. I’ve been down this road before, so I know how it goes. The elation of finally “doing something” about the problem. The crushing defeat when your prescribed medication doesn’t work or has debilitating side effects. I was hoping this time would be different, but the reality is that our health care system is broken, and navigating this broken health care system can sometimes feel insurmountable. As the sun rose, I called my agent to cancel my gig that day, knowing I probably wouldn’t get another job from this agency. They don’t tend to get back in touch if you screw up in a meeting, no matter how valid the reason. But I didn’t know what else to do. I made an appointment with my family doctor that week and got a referral to get on the waiting list repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation — a new type of treatment to help the depression I’ve had since I was a child. But I was told there would be long waiting times, so my doctor also recommended a new drug. It wasn’t a good solution, but I felt the medicine would help me until I could get the treatment I wanted. And I figured if my anxiety or depression got too bad, I could always go to the emergency room as a last resort. Four days later, I found myself standing right there in the emergency room at the Center for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto in a line of people waiting to see me. Another waiting list, but at least this time I could see and count how many people were ahead of me. I used to have waves of panic attacks for days – longer periods of time than ever before – and the medicine didn’t help. When I finally got to the front of the line, the psychiatrist diagnosed my symptoms as a side effect of the medication that should have helped me. They told me I could stop taking the medicine. The same psychiatrist also referred me to another service — a treatment specializing in panic disorders which meant, you guessed it, yet another waiting list. At this point, I had been to a family doctor, to the ER, and had been put on two waiting lists, and I was feeling worse than when I started. Adam Dykaar’s medication to treat his depression. (Adam Dykaar) I was left feeling extremely depressed, worried that I would never feel even close to “normal” again. I was on the waiting lists, but the wait times were many months. treatments, like drugs, were not guaranteed success. I felt lost. A week later, I moved back with my parents to also be closer to my family doctor in my hometown of Waterloo, Ont. I started another medication and today I continue to deal with the side effects of it while waiting my turn with our overburdened mental health infrastructure. I’ve had panic attacks for a week straight as my brain tries to smooth out the effects of the new drug, with all the basic symptoms: sweats, racing heart, feeling like I’m going to die. All the doctors and health professionals I have dealt with during this time have been incredibly supportive and kind, but there are a lot of people suffering like me and there just aren’t enough points to go around. My doctor told me I might want to see a psychiatrist, but a referral to a psychiatrist meant another waiting list — this time for two to three years, which didn’t make me feel any better. So, I declined that offer. Luckily, I have friends and family who have checked in on me. I never feared the stigma of mental illness as much as the mental illness itself. It really made me feel better to see people sending me their best wishes, even if it didn’t make the waiting lists shorter or the medicine more effective. I felt less alone and depressed knowing that people were keeping me in their thoughts and prayers. They give me the strength to not give up — whether for the system that is trying in its beleaguered way to help me or for myself. But when you’re dealing with emotions that eat away at you, every external difficulty feels like a mountain. That’s how it was for me: waiting lists are heartbreaking, but they’re mountains to overcome. I don’t really have a choice in the matter and my life won’t start over until I do. I’ll never make anything of myself, whether it’s finding a career, building and maintaining solid relationships, or achieving any level of ordinary happiness, if I don’t proactively try to help myself, and I should. I can’t give up. I must have hope, because without it I would have nothing. If you or someone you know is struggling, here’s where you can get help: Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Here is more information on how to submit to us.
