Category: Mental Health & Stigma

Testimony in support of LD 364

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

A copy of the testimony I presented to the Maine Legislature’s Joint Standing Committee on Insurance and Financial Services on March 2, 2011

Re: LD 364, Resolve, Directing Updated Review and Evaluation of Maine’s Mental Health Parity Law

 Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the committee. Thank you for the opportunity to speak to you today about the importance and my support of LD 364.

My name is Randy Seaver, and I am here.

Ladies and Gentlemen, if that statement seems vague, please allow me to explain. From my perspective, it is nothing short of a miracle that I am able to stand before you today and testify about the critical importance of maintaining Maine’s mental health parity legislation.

What do you see when you look at me? Perhaps you see a father, a husband or a communications consultant? Maybe you know me from some of the other state policy work I have been involved with over the last several years. Perhaps you know me as a veteran; or as a former journalist and newspaper editor.

In fact, I am all of those things. But what you may not know is that I am also someone with a mental illness who requires daily medication and ongoing treatment. I am not unique. I am not an anomaly. In fact, I am just like the thousands of other Maine people who suffer from some sort of mental illness.

If you think my numbers are high, please consider that the Centers for Disease Control estimates that 1 of every five Americans suffers from some form of mental illness. Based on the latest Census figures regarding Maine’s population, the math will tell you that there are more than 200,000 people just like me in Maine.

We are your neighbors, your friends, your co-workers and colleagues.

Mental illness is no different in its implications than any other form of disease, such as Diabetes or epilepsy. Would you think of me any differently if I stood before you to talk about insurance coverage for diabetics?

My illness, as long as it is treated properly, is virtually impossible to detect. When addressed through medication and regular clinician visits, my illness does not prevent me from doing things that so many us take for granted: holding a job, maintaining a marriage, volunteering in the community and yes, even paying taxes that support our communities.

But there is another side of that coin because I know all too well the costs associated without access to treatment and medications. Between 1982 and 1998, I was in and out of various hospital settings and unable to hold a job or maintain a relationship.

In fact, if you were to eat just one whoopee pie for every time I was hospitalized during that 16-year time frame, you would die of hypoglycaemic shock before you were halfway there.

When Jared Loughner committed his horrific acts of violence in Tucson, I knew that I had a responsibility to speak up publicly about both the stigma associated with mental illness and the need to ensure that people have fair access to treatments and medications.

You see, Jared Loughner and I are not that much different. The only real difference is that I was able to receive treatment and medication, and that I take responsibility for managing my illness.

Those two things are important, and they are the only reasons why I am here today, and not in prison, a hospital ward or a morgue.

But without access to treatment, how am I able to take responsibility for managing my illness? If I pay the same insurance premium as my neighbor, why should an insurance company view my illness any differently?

Access to medication and ongoing treatment allows me to be a productive member of my community. Without that access, it is likely that I will end up in a hospital. If I’m not working, I’m unable to support myself. I am not paying income taxes or contributing to the economy as a consumer of goods and services. Wouldn’t you agree that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?

Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Randy Seaver, and I am here!

I am here to plead with you to maintain and support Maine’s mental health parity law.

Tucson shootings and the costs of stigma

~ Randy Seaver ~ 2 Comments

(originally published in the January 11, 2011 Portland Press Herald)

The horrific event that transpired in Tucson on Saturday has inspired more than ample discussion regarding the tone and spirit of our nation’s political discourse.

Despite all the fervent commentary, there is one piece of this puzzle that remains largely glossed over, however.

And this is where it gets a bit personal.

When I was 22, I was living in Tucson and attending college part-time. Just like Jared Loughner, I was removed from school for many of the same reasons.

But I got lucky. I ended up at the Southern Arizona Mental Health Center (SAMHC) and spent the next several weeks there as an inpatient client.

I did not have insurance. I did not have any assets or even a job. My family was in Maine, thousands of miles away. So, my ability to receive life-saving treatment and long-term support services was funded primarily on the backs of Arizona taxpayers.

Nearly a quarter century later, I like to think that investment has, so far, paid significant dividends. But I can assure you, it was a long-term and risky investment.

Make no mistake. Mr. Loughner committed horrific, criminal acts that warrant the full weight of justice. But if society expects and demands justice, we must also recognize that there is a very deep and painful cost associated with scaling down or the elimination of community-based mental health services and treatment options.

According to its web site, SAMHC was officially established in 1962 as a state-owned and operated outpatient mental health facility under the aegis of the Arizona State Hospital.  The campus-style facility, then located at the intersection of Campbell Avenue and 6th Street, was purchased through legislative appropriation.

Nearly 50 years after its founding, SAMHC continues to provide crisis behavioral health services to the entire community, regardless of ability to pay, insurance status or age.

As of this writing, it is unclear whether Loughner attempted to access those services or if he or members of his family made any attempt to deal with his now-obvious illness.

What is clearly known, however, is the commentary our society freely tosses around when describing mental illness.

Unfortunately, the terms “sicko” “whack-job” and “nut case” are apparently acceptable on social media outlets, reader comment pages and even in the so-called mainstream media.

Yet, we wonder with righteous indignation why those affected by mental illness are reluctant to seek services or get help before their illness manifests itself into a deadly outcome.

If I were dealing with testicular cancer, I could expect to be described as a “hero” or as a “survivor.”  I am praised for my courage to acknowledge my illness and for my willingness to fight it tooth and nail with all available resources.

Heck, you might even put a bumper sticker on your car, wear a pink bracelet or post something supportive on your Facebook page.

But what if I tell you I have a diagnosed mental illness; an illness that affects me every day; an insidious, almost-invisible illness for which there is no cure?

I get some nervous head nods or even some encouragement in the form of: “pull yourself up by your bootstraps, try positive thinking, you should appreciate things more.”

Well-intentioned, perhaps, but the stigma and its costs are clear.

Though we have made much progress, I can assure you that we have a long, long way to go.

Only because I was able to access services and am willing to deal every day with my disease am I able to do things now that I once thought impossible: hold a job, enjoy a wonderful marriage, own a home and even hold a driver’s license.

So, some may choose to focus on the debate regarding our nation’s political rhetoric.

But whether we’re talking about John Hinckley, Mark Chapman or the more recent example of Jared Loughner, one thing we should all be able to recognize is that mental illness can be a fatal illness – and if left untreated, its costs are overwhelming.

According to the Centers for Disease Control, one of every five Americans suffers from some form of mental illness.

I hope you agree with me that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Uncle Bert

~ Randy Seaver ~ Leave a comment

Originally posted on Dec. 22, 2005 on All Along The Watchtower.

Last week, I thought today would be little more than a day of drinking and celebrating with my co-workers and those I developed relationships with during the last seven years as the Courier’s editor.

But God had different plans.

So, instead I will be going to a funeral.

Uncle Bert is an “in-law” relative. And since Laura and I have been together just a little more than four years, it’s not like I can say we were particularly close. And even Laura, I think, is grieving the uncle she knew from her childhood more than the Uncle Bert who decided to end his sorrow and grief a bit sooner than the rest of us expected.

But his suicide, like all suicides, has left me troubled.

Roughly a year ago today, Uncle Bert smoked a cigarette with me outside my new home. He was always very nice to me. Sure, all of Laura’s relatives were nice to me (some more than others), but Uncle Bert seemed comfortable talking with me; and he wasn’t what you would call a big talker.

He had a thick Downeast accent, gray hair, a wiry frame and a warm smile. We talked about my driveway, which really needs to be repaved. He spent several years as the owner of a paving company, and told me that my driveway was actually in pretty decent shape.

“You have a nice home, Randy,” he told me. “You’re doing a good job with those boys.”

There’s no way to explain how much that comment meant to me. He reminded me of my own late Uncle Leonard, a man who raised me during my teenage years when my mother was overwhelmed and my father was focused on indulging his every biological whim.

I always felt for Uncle Bert; he struck me as lonely, and there was no denying the fact that he never quite accepted the loss of his wife, the woman Laura knew as Aunt Cathy.

Laura and I were both raised as Catholics. And yesterday (or maybe the day before), she asked me if I thought Uncle Bert would go to heaven.

Yes, I told my wife as she brushed away a tear. “The God I believe in would not turn Uncle Bert away. Uncle Bert was a kind, decent and honest man. If he doesn’t go to heaven, then it’s no place I want to be.”

The Church tenets were designed to keep people alive. Although its doctrines are fear-based, the intent, I think, was more practical and based in necessity.

God, I believe, is sad that Uncle Bert is no longer with us. But I believe in a loving and forgiving God, a God who understands and accepts our human follies. Would you turn away your child if he or she made a mistake?

Laura and her cousins have much closer realtionships than I ever had with any of my cousins. They get together frequently every year. So I know Peggy and Liz (two of Bert’s four children) as well as any of my in-laws.

Peggy and Liz are amazing women with families of their own. Their father’s better traits are certainly apparent in the way they raise their own children.

I just hope Uncle Bert knows what a special gift he gave me by openly expressing a vote of confidence in my struggles to be a stepfather.

As someone who spent the better part of a decade struggling with severe depression and at least two serious suicide attempts, I was shaken to learn that Uncle Bert went through with his shuffling of life’s mortal coil.

I just hope God knows what He is doing, and I hope we all learn from the lessons that are so readily available in every day living.

Uncle Bert is gone and will not be here for this Christmas or any other, but I choose to remember that sly grin and gentle demeanor. And I know that all the streets in heaven will be well-paved, at least in the smoking section.