Why EVERY Aussie needs to cash in their Mental Health Plan

By Samuel Leighton-Dore

Sometimes I’m sure that everyone I know has a mental illness.

I mean, I certainly do. OH MAN, do I ever.

Ranging from mild anxiety to crippling panic attacks and long bouts of blow-out depression, my clothing is all-but covered in thick clumps of fur from that damn black dog. Though, most people wouldn’t guess it. Just like most wouldn’t assume my father, walking suit-and-tie to work, struggles with depression. Or my sister, giggly and sweet-as-sugar, suffers through a daily existential crisis. Or my boyfriend, strong-faced and handsome, gets ferocious knots in the back of his neck with worry.

I could go on, but trust me: almost everyone I know is fucking riddled with mental illness.

Obviously this isn’t a problem faced only by members of the LGBTQI+ community, but it’s certainly worth noting that lesbian, gay and bisexual Australians are twice as likely to have a high/very high level of psychological distress as their heterosexual peers (18.2% v. 9.2%), which makes us particularly vulnerable to mental health problems.

Unfortunately there continues to be some really weird voodoo stigma around seeing a psychologist. I only know this because I pretty much tell everyone I know (whether they’re a close friend or a random lady crying on the train) that they should probably be seeing one, and am usually met with an uncomfortable chorus of “Oh no, I’ll be fine”s and “That won’t help”s and “I can’t afford it”s.

To which I normally respond…

The reality is that getting therapy receives a pretty bad wrap. It connotes failure, weakness, lack of control, and a general air of not having your shit together. Now, I’ve been seeing psychologists on and off since I was six-years-old and first had a brick thrown at me for my wispy long hair and slight lisp. My childhood should be (and possibly was) recorded as a case study on the effects of anti-depressants on kids under 10. Back then, I resisted professional guidance with the stubbornness of a young fella who simply refused to believe Mary Poppins and Maria from The Sound of Music were the same person.

I’m proud to report that (in many ways) I’ve since seen the light. My Amazon book collection might still resemble a 56-year-old divorcee’s, but I’ve come to be overwhelmingly grateful for the help of those pesky brain doctors.

Furthermore, we are incredibly fucking lucky in Australia to have the Better Access Initiative, which was drafted in 2012 and drastically improves our access to Psychiatrists, Psychologists and General Practitioners through the Medicare Benefits Schedule. So you should do it. ASAP. And here’s how:

STEP 1: Visit your GP.

The first step is to visit your local bulk-billing General Practitioner (it might be good to book a double-appointment, important shit like this shouldn’t be rushed) and tell him/her that you need to see a counselor. Depending on your doctor, you’ll probably be asked a few questions about how you’re feeling and whether or not you have a history with mental health problems. This counts as an assessment, and it makes you eligible for the good shit (therapy).

There’s a good chance your doctor will also try to prescribe you some mild medication, which, depending on the level of your anxiety/depression, may or may not be a good idea. Medication works super well for me, but it can occasionally cause bloating and lethargy and quite simply isn’t for everyone.

STEP 2: Get yo Mental Health Plan.

Any competent doctor should’ve by now suggested that you get a Mental Health Plan, but in case they haven’t – open your mouth and say the words, “I want to get in on my Mental Health Plan”. It’s at the clinical discretion of your referring Doctor as to the number of allied mental health services you will be referred for.

Basically, you’re entitled to 6 heavily subsidised appointments per referral, with more available upon reassessment (a maximum of 10 per year). If you’re financially unable to pay the excess for these appointments, many psychologists will see you for free (mine did). This is a pretty big deal, especially considering the state of crisis so many mental healthcare systems around the world are in, where those struggling are often unable to afford the help they need.

Again, we are lucky.

STEP 3: THERAPY YOURSELF SOMETHING FIERCE!

Therapy is both amazing and important; it’s one hour per week/fortnight dedicated only to you and the daunting task of unraveling your many tangled thoughts and feelings. Of course, there are good therapists and less-good therapists, but it’s always worth finding one who you click with.

Don’t let one bad experience put you off. 

At risk of opening the TMI file, here’s something I wrote while crying, snotty-faced and drunk after my first therapy session last year:

There’s a man looking at me. He’s waiting for me to speak. His face is long and narrow and boasts one of those noses you might expect to find on a successful French actor. His lean physique reminds me of my favourite documentarian, Louis Theroux, but I know his name is actually Marco – thanks to the clinic receptionist. Oh, and he’s a psychologist – which is handy because I’m having a nervous breakdown. There’s a digital clock propped-up on his desk, counting down the valuable minutes of our hour-long session (57:20). My stomach aches (partly due to the fact I haven’t eaten solids in three days) and my heart is racing as though a knife were being held against my throat.

I continued to see Marco until very recently, when, out of nowhere, I suddenly felt better equipped to navigate the rampant feelings and anxieties that occasionally drive me into the ground. He helped. Therapy helped. However, just like a socially anxious, self-loathing Arnold Schwarzenegger, I’ll be back.

Here’s the deal. You don’t need to have a serious psychological condition to take advantage of the Mental Health Plan. You don’t need to be lying on the tiles of your bathroom or stepping onto a stool, rope in hand. You can get help BEFORE you NEED it. You can get help right NOW. Because, really, I’m yet to meet someone who doesn’t need a little help. And it’s there for the taking.

It doesn’t mean you’re weak or losing a grip on reality. It doesn’t make you a let-down or a disappointment. It doesn’t make you less attractive.

To be honest, it just means you’re running a tight-as-fuck ship and know when the captain needs a little help at the wheel.