Content warning: Mentions of suicide
On Friday, September 27, news broke that another student had died by suicide in the Bahen Centre for Information Technology. It was the third death in Bahen in less than two years. Immediately, calls from students, faculty, and the UofT community at large for administration to do something—anything—circulated throughout campus.
The administration has, thus far, not implemented any substantial changes. Besides installing safety measures at Bahen—a reactive move that happened after the fact—UofT’s administrative bodies have not committed to changing any of their policies, most notably the problematic mandated leave of absence policy.
But where admin is not acting, students are. Just hours after reports confirming the death in Bahen, students organized emergency meetings to discuss strategy and to support one another. Grassroots student-fronted mental health advocacy groups such as How Many Lives?, which has been active since last year, sprung up again to spread awareness and advocate for action. Multiple protests, such as the rally outside of Simcoe Hall on October 7, have made the discussion surrounding mental health action unavoidable for administrators and the Governing Council.
Below, members of The Strand’s masthead discuss mental health and their experiences with UofT’s mental health infrastructure.
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There’s a nebulous boundary between what is “acceptable” mental-health talk versus “that shit’s too deep”. Often, “mental health” is used as a buzzword—an enviable luxury associated with face masks and hot tea. In reality, mental health is a heavy topic, and, when discussed candidly, can bring up feelings of discomfort.
Mental health is complex and, much of the time, frightening. In my own struggles with mental health, I became unable to trust my own brain. My “true self” was a soft echo of a voice that had become dominated by a constant blare of self-reproach, a voice that was both unfamiliar and yet unmistakably mine.
It can feel impossible to combat this deafening narrative which insists “you’re just weak—you don’t need help”. Mental illness feeds upon feelings of worthlessness, thereby extinguishing self-affirming actions like calling a hotline or booking an appointment with a therapist. If these self-initiated resources are our primary defense against the mental health crisis, how can we even begin to solve the problem? This issue is not an equation which can be solved by more hotlines and more therapists. These resources could certainly help, but they’re only one part of the solution.
For me, the most potent affirmations of worth came not from a clinician in a sterile office building, but from the people in my life who gave me a feeling that I was accepted, supported, and valued in the world. While my personal experience does not make me qualified to draw conclusions on the issue, and everyone’s path is different, I can say that it never hurts to lend an ear or provide a supportive space for the people in your life. We must work towards creating a culture which is inclusive, affirming, and accepting—and we must demand that the University does the same.
-Faith Wershba, Editorial Assistant
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I couldn’t get accessibility accommodations in my first year. I felt overwhelmed by the lengthy process and the documentation required. I had just moved to Ontario and barely knew how to find a doctor. The doctor I did find told me that if I had gotten into UofT, I must be smart enough not to have a mental illness. When I brought the forms to the accessibility office, I was told I had filled them out wrong and today was the deadline, so I’d have to wait until next year to receive any accommodations. I wrote my exams in the big room with everyone else, barely able to focus on the task at hand. I left feeling defeated. The message I got was that if I wanted to succeed in post-secondary, I had to be able to do things the way everyone else did and I shouldn’t bother asking for special treatment.
The year after, I finally registered with accessibility services, but that didn’t stop me from feeling isolated. I’ve had countless professors refuse my accommodations because it didn’t fit into their schedules or teaching methods, or that it wasn’t fair to the other students in the class. I’ve had profs constantly berate technology use only to off-handedly mention that this doesn’t apply if you have “special permission”. I understand where they’re coming from, sure, but when comments like this are made, it becomes obvious to everyone else in the room who is receiving this “special treatment”.
Thankfully, I am in a place now where I understand that the people who treat us this way are wrong, and that we should not feel isolated. But not everyone is as privileged. Sometimes, I wonder if the institution knows how much shame is involved in living life as a mentally ill person, and how they’re contributing to it. Shame is such an unbearable emotion. –
-Ellen Grace, Associate Stranded Editor
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At each of the five schools I have attended, I have witnessed and faced isolation through various microaggressions. UofT’s inequities have a lot to do with its prominent mental health crisis. Its neoliberalism not only creates divides between students, but places blame on individuals for not succeeding academically and socially at school, disproportionately targeting poor and marginalized students the most.
Much of the language around solving the mental health crisis promotes fostering human connection by forming groups, asking about people’s majors, and other forms of small talk. However, there is an even deeper challenge and risk around breaking neoliberal constructs for marginalized students. “Small talk” is often not welcomed, or made difficult by language, culture, and other barriers. These barriers signify an elitist social capital that perpetuates a racial hierarchy with white people capitalizing on “insider” knowledge and an abundance of networks. Meanwhile, anti-Black racism and Islamophobia remain concerns for UofT and other universities. To address mental health and racism as siloed issues is to erase a population whose mental wellness is deeply affected by this violence. Students of colour are less likely to receive mental health help than white students. We need support from counsellors and faculty members who understand racial nuances.
I study sociology, and I’ve read legitimately zero content by theorists of colour. I have only had the pleasure of having one professor of colour (hers were the only office hours I visited). Frankly, the whiteness of UofT is isolating. That’s why it’s necessary to stick close to my community of POC. It gives me a sense that I am not alone, and that I don’t have to try to inject myself in places where I might not feel welcomed or safe just for the sake of gaining access to the capital that an oppressive institution says I should possess.
-Hadiyyah Kuma, Features Editor
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This year I decided that I wanted to talk to a doctor about possibly taking medication for my anxiety and depression, which I have struggled with for many years. Being an international student on UHIP, I had no choice but to go through Health and Wellness. After contacting the office and waiting a solid 20 minutes to talk to someone, I was asked if I had a family doctor, which, being an international student, I did not. “Luckily” for me, I had seen an on-campus counsellor in the past, so they scheduled me an appointment with them for the following week. This meeting was what they considered an intake assessment to provide me a referral to a family doctor and to “speed up” the process.
After completing the assessment, I waited another week to hear from Health and Wellness about seeing a family doctor. Upon talking with them, it was revealed that the family doctors I needed referral to were none other than the same doctors you can see for a walk-in or appointment for a physical health issue at the Health and Wellness office! Then, they informed me that the next available appointment was three and a half weeks away for a mental health meeting. However, if you have a physical illness, you can get an appointment within a week max, or you can drop in. They claim the difference is that they schedule you a half hour for a mental health appointment as compared to the 15 minutes they schedule for a physical health one. I asked if they could refer me off-campus. They provided me a generic website for finding doctors, and I decided to accept this distant appointment instead.
I first contacted Health and Wellness on September 12 to ask for help, my appointment is on October 15. That is too long for someone in need.
-Eric McGarry, Web Editor
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