How the UK's NHS Saved This American's Life

I was a good American in 1999. I had two college degrees and a full time job with medical benefits. However, these medical benefits only covered emergency services and a couple of visits to a general practitioner. In 1999, my job earned me a whopping $11,000 per year before taxes and the medical benefits ate up over $4,000. In 2000, I would be forced to drop the medical benefits because I could not afford them.

Besides, even the benefits I had did not include psychiatric help. Unfortunately, that was what I needed the most but was denied it because of the astronomical cost of visiting a therapist.

What Depression Does To You

Even as a child, I was diagnosed with depression. But as a child in the 1970s, taking tricyclic antidepressants were not an option. I saw what they did to the adult members of my family and became terrified of them, even when better antidepressants hit the market when I became an adult. I became convinced that taking any medication for depression was somehow a sign of weakness or that I would become a drug addict.

These are common fears of a person with major depression, also known as unipolar or clinical depression. They are convinced that no medication or therapy will be able to help them because they are beyond help. Major depression also leads to insomnia and chronic pains, which makes making even the smallest decision incredibly difficult.

The Inevitable Breakdown

In May of 1999, I finally had a breakdown in my living room while watching the post parade of the Kentucky Derby. I thought I was having a heart attack and would soon die. Years later, I discovered that my "heart attack" was a spasm of the esophogus due to indigestion. But at the time I was convinced I was going to die.

I wanted to visit England before I died. I had vacationed there in 1996 and it was just about the best week of my life because I had met singer-songwriter and humanitarian Peter Gabriel. I heard a voice tell me to go to England on the last week of July of that year. I was absolutely convinced that this was because I was to meet Peter Gabriel yet again, only this time he'd ask me back to his place.

This is how bad my mental illness was. There was no logic to these assumptions that I had. I never even thought of getting checked for a heart attack because that would eat into my England trip for that July, which was only about two and a half months away. I just knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my life would change for the better in England on the last week of July, 1999.

It Didn't

Peter Gabriel did not pay the slightest bit of attention to me. Logically, why should he? I was just some nut sitting under a tree across the street from his studio. I never approached him and he never approached me. This could be because he was in a steady relationship with the woman he would marry in 2002 and have two children with, Meabh Flynn.

When you have a mental illness, the slightest things can set you off. The man I loved ignored me and I took it personally. But in my condition, if it rained that day I would have taken it personally. Anything could have set me off, and poor Peter got the blame. Fortunately, I had the mental control to not follow him and not send him bags full of love letters.

In this condition, I met a homeless alcoholic that looked like Peter and could play music by ear. He was also slightly younger than Peter. We fell into bed that night and suddenly I was convinced I'd found my soulmate. Why, this was the whole reason I'd become a Peter Gabriel fan, just so I'd meet my soulmate. It all made sense! My "soulmate" asked me to run away with him.

And I did.

Rock Bottom

I'll spare you the details of what it was like to become suddenly homeless with a man who turned out to be a monster. I lost count of the number of times he tried to kill me. I was forbidden to see Peter Gabriel, even though his studio was less than five miles away. My "soulmate" threatened to take a felling axe to Peter if I so much as smiled in his direction. And I lived with it. I thought I had to. That's what you did when in love, right? And eventually you live happily ever after.

I'd given up everything for him, even Peter Gabriel, so what choice did I have but to try and win my abuser's love?

Actually, I did have a choice, but I was convinced I didn't. And that's the point of depression. With access to affordable mental health care, I did not have to wind up homeless, penniless and brutalized.

Finally, in April of 2003, I'd hit rock bottom. I'd tried to commit suicide and failed. My "soulmate" watched and laughed and drank.

The next day I staggered the three mile round trip into Julian House, the homeless center in Bath. Within an hour, I had access to a doctor, mental health care nurse and a prescription for Prozac through the funding of the UK's National Health System (or NHS.) The NHS even paid for an emergency trip to the hospital when I was discovered by another homeless person with severe head injuries - a present from my "soulmate."

Recovery

In December of 2004, I finally realized my "soulmate" was a monster and left him. Eventually, my Mom allowed me to live with her in Philadelphia. She even allowed me to bring my dog all the way from Bath. I am now the sole proprietor of my own freelance writing business and have been able to travel to meet Peter Gabriel again in New York City's Radio City Music Hall before a concert. This time he graciously gave me an autograph and a brief chat.

But I hope no other American has to go through what I did in order to get help. As an American citizen, why did it take for me to become homeless and humiliated in a foreign country to get the aid I that I needed?

The NHS saved my life on more than one occasion. I'll never forget that. How many more lives would a similar system save if we had it in America? Or is my life and the lives of people like me worth so little in the eyes of America?