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| So, how's your mental health lately... |
Louis Shalako
When
every report on homelessness and poverty mentions mental health and addictions,
one wonders how it is even possible that at least some of these people can’t
qualify for federal or provincial disability benefits.
They
all qualified for the most minimal welfare, didn’t they. In which case, they
must have some rights. They must exist,
if we can put it that way.
If
nothing else, they are documented
citizens.
It’s
not like every asshole in town doesn’t somehow know that to be true—
Surely
there must be some evidence for all of that, evidence other than the fact that
they are homeless, for this is the old
‘coincidence-chasing-the-tail-of-causality’ ploy in all of its logical and
rhetorical ugliness.
First,
there is the stigma, a stigma that the exact same Canadian journalists are
careful to remind us of, with depressing regularity, which as we all know
equates with a good poop…it’s pro forma.
They can’t help themselves. They must do it. If they were caught in a bear
trap, they would gnaw their arm off, in order to continue to slather on the
stigma, ladies and gentlemen.
Second,
it is an invisible disability.
It’s
terribly hard to prove something that is invisible, and yet the Chief of Police
is quoted as saying that 88 % of the folks forced to live down at Rainbow Park
suffer from a combination of these issues, thereby stigmatizing them and the other
twelve percent…that’s because we cannot tell with a quick glance, who is who,
and who is what, ladies and
gentlemen.
Words
have great power. They also have meaning,
sometimes very deep meaning which goes beyond that which is in the dictionary.
Words
can be used to obscure, as well as to illuminate.
And
guilt is one of your weapons.
***
What’s
kind of interesting is the sheer number of invisible disabilities. My mother suffers
from vertigo. Shirley and Ron were driving the big rig, a brand-new tractor
they’d financed themselves. It was a dream for Ron and Shirley was nothing if
not game for adventure. She fell getting out of the truck. Hit her head, began
experiencing symptoms. Diagnosed by her doctor, and now confirmed by thirty
years of experience…the insurance company wouldn’t pay off. It was impossible
to prove, and despite her own doctor’s signature, their own doctors were there
to dispute it. The government is no better and perhaps no worse than the
insurance company.
Ron
and Shirley quickly went bankrupt, the costs of trucking being what they
are—two drivers can keep that vehicle on the road twice as many hours per day
as one single driver.
They
did try to get another driver to help Ron, but when diesel went from thirty
cents to fifty cents a litre it was time to admit defeat and hang it up.
The
financial penalties were tough in such a situation. Bankruptcy is not fun,
ladies and gentlemen, and it takes years, many years, to recover from such an
event. My mother suffers vertigo to this day.
No
one would ever say that my mother was disabled, (Shirley would never say such a
thing), and yet, there are people who have been bedridden for years by vertigo.
The sheer nausea caused by vertigo, the spinning head, and the loss of balance
is purely subjective, in the sense that it cannot be measured by a blood test,
an X-ray, or by a urine sample.
No
one is going to take your word for it, not when there’s money involved. In that
sense, the government and the insurance company are a lot alike…
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| This one will do. |
If
you’ve ever been right on the verge of going to sleep, and had that sudden
falling sensation, that is very much what vertigo feels like. I’ve suffered
from anxiety attacks, way back in the early 2000s. It is different but similar:
a kind of rushing feeling, a feeling that the walls are squeezing in, and it
is, in fact terrifying. I guess that’s why they politely call it ‘anxiety’.
What
it is, is sheer, unremitting terror—all for no apparent reason, it’s all in
your head. You’re sitting in a chair, in a room, watching television, and
you’re absolutely scared shitless for no reason. By definition, a ‘mental
illness’. And thank fucking Darwin that’s over and done with, those particular circumstances,
the stress has been gone for a long time now, and I will probably never suffer
from that again.
I
was afraid to even leave the house for about nine months, funny thing was, I
always felt better when I managed to do so.
It
was the fear of fear itself, or so I guess.
***
When
I was twenty or so, going to Lambton College, I worked part time at the old
Woolco Auto Centre, doing oil changes, the old lube, oil and filter Saturday
specials, and tires and the like. We had a mechanic. Rolly had to take the three-beer
lunch, every single day. His toolbox was a rusted, pathetic wreck. Rolly had
the Class A License, the boss hung it up on the wall or we would have hardly
been able to stay in business.
Andy
was a journeyman mechanic, not Class A, and his toolbox was very professional.
I was just young and enthusiastic, in some sense. But poor old Rolly never
should have been allowed to repair automobiles after a certain stage of
alcoholism. The problem with alcoholism, of course, is that it is
self-inflicted. It’s like shooting yourself in the foot—you might get out of
work, or even out of a war, but no one is going to give you all that much
sympathy. I guess that’s why we call it stigma…Rolly’s hands shook even on a
good day, and it was Rolly who stood there and watched as I pulled off brake
drums, brake calipers, the rotors, replaced bearings, and put new shoes and
pads on the customer vehicle. His hands shook. Was that the booze, or was that Parkinson’s? I suppose I will never
know.
Someone
had to sign off on that repair…and it better not be an inexperienced twenty
year-old kid, or the Ministry of Transportation would have every right to ask a
few pointed questions.
And
we have absolutely no idea of why any fairly rational person would do that to
themselves.
We
also have no idea of what the trauma in that man’s life might have been.
Alcohol
is pretty insidious, and it takes quite a few people down.
They
can still walk, they can still talk, theoretically, they should be able to look
after themselves.
It’s
a disease.
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| We're all getting older. |
***
After
thirty years on disability, (ODSP), I retire at age 65. This results in a substantial
raise of three or four hundred dollars a month. Which tells us just how much
the government values the disabled. There are seniors on similar benefits, one
story on the CBC tells of a woman paying 100 % of her income in rent. What
might be the only thing that saves me,
is thirteen years in a rent controlled building.
In a
recent story, also on CBC, they state that if you have been in a
rent-controlled unit for five years, ‘you have a target on your back’.
It’s
not a very nice feeling. They’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know.
So
what happened, is that I fell from a scaffolding when a plank broke. That was
May 4, 1989. I broke my back in three places, so there were compression
fractures at T-6, L-3 and L-4. There was also a hell of a lot of pain, and a
lot of depression to go along with that, and yet, I can walk. I can talk, I can
look after myself pretty well, once I sort of adapted to the realities. Nowadays,
I simply don’t work more than three or four hours a day, in winter, when sales
are slow, that’s like maybe 12-15 hours a week, in summer, more like 24-26
hours a week. Oddly enough, the job is fairly physical. I just can’t do it
full-time, and probably couldn’t live on that income alone…
That
almost doubles the base ODSP benefits, and the fact that the government finally
raised allowable earnings from $200.00 per month up to $1,000.00 was a big help
and a big forward step—dare I call it a
victory, for the disabled no matter how we choose to classify them.
Some
people fought long and hard for that change, as well as regular raises from the Conservative provincial government, and in
fact I was one of them…trust me, they know my name over there.
This
is how I know that victory is bittersweet. I mean, we really shouldn’t have to
fight that hard, just to get a little justice around here.
I do
not know if I get a full payment for August. I do know that the OAS (Old Age
Security), presumably CPP and GIS as
well, first payments will be September 30.
Only
an idiot wouldn’t take steps to prepare for certain eventualities. You might be
surprised that I have been saving money, (rather than spending it all on
cocaine, heroin, methamphetamines…etc. – ed).
(What
I am saying, – ed., is that I will cover the Sept. 1 rent.)
I
haven’t even bothered to call the social workers, neither did I appeal a
whopping $4,000.00 in so-called overpayments. It took them five years, partly
due to COVID-19, (they also tore down their own building), to rule on income
dating back to 2019. Some things in life just aren’t fair, what in the hell are
you going to do about it. Truth is, I should have fought them, even if I lost—I
do reserve the right to tell them exactly what I think of them, although it
might be pointless.
It
can also wait.
I
also know that a lot of folks simply can’t fight for themselves, and maybe I
was cast in a somewhat more heroic mold…I am not without my own vanity. You can
always fight for someone else, right.
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| All that juicy stigma. |
You
might even win a round once in a blue moon, and I have to admit, it feels like
a kind of power, which is exactly what the disabled, visible or otherwise,
lack.
***
That’s
right, ladies and gentlemen. The price
of my freedom, is four grand.
They
will cheerfully claw that back one way or another, with little regard to the
impact on a senior citizen’s situation, which may be precarious for any number
of reasons. What if I can’t work, what if the job goes away, what if I muff the
income tax return and don’t get all the proper benefits?
My
vehicle is paid off, and yet it is also 14 years old with 308,000 k on the
clock. My job depends on a vehicle and having a place to live.
I
haven’t had a winter coat in eight or nine years, basically I just dress in
layers…and layers and layers.
I’ve
cut my own hair for thirty years. I have used dish soap for shampoo, and
brushed my teeth with baking soda.
One
way or another, I will survive—
Assuming
the landlord doesn’t get some kind of a brainstorm.
MillDon Enterprises has a thousand
units across southwestern Ontario, and one wonders just how many relatives they
have, in order to produce the N-12 eviction form, and to claim that they need
the unit for a family member. The problem there, is that there is no follow-up,
no verification, and no enforcement, and the onus is on the client to do all of
that investigative work. Then take it back to the tribunal, hopefully with
competent legal representation. Very few people get back into their old unit,
and certainly not in any sort of time-frame.
I
live in a three-floor walk-up in the central city. It’s probably the best unit
in the building, top floor, (even the Mayor doesn’t have that), on the end away
from the driveway, and facing the south so we at least get a bit of sunshine in
winter…if you moved into an exact same unit, you will be paying at least double
what I am paying. If this seems unfair to the landlord, or the other tenants,
well, that’s too bad. I have some rights too, and perhaps the foresight simply
to hang onto the place, even when there was a horrible noise problem, one that
was never solved until three or four problem children simply moved on, as they
almost inevitably will. The rest of us suffered
through it, and that’s really all we can say about that.
Here’s
the other thing: the company has been systematically renovating units, and
raising the rents, as people ended their occupancy and moved out. You could
call it a kind of natural attrition, and at this point in time, there are only six
or seven units that have been occupied for ten years or longer. Some of us are
getting older (we’re all getting older), and all the landlord has to do is to
be patient. It’s not hard to estimate the income from this building, which has
gone from about $28,000.00 per month to well over $40,000.00 gross income.
(That’s
a half a million a year almost, from one fairly small building.)
It
would be extremely unlikely that the company would evict the entire building (the
N-13 ‘renoviction’), in order to renovate, although that is exactly the case in
the building across the street. That building has been vacant since roughly
June 1 of 2023, and there is virtually no activity on the part of contractors,
although the grass is cut regularly.
The
biggest issue with housing right now, even here in Sarnia, is that there is
simply no place to go—
No
place to go.
In
which case, the only thing to do is to stand up and fight.
END
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| Landlord has brainstorm... |
Woman Pays 100 % of Income in Rent. (CBC)
Apartment Tenants Renovicted. (Sarnia Journal)
Why do we Have to Prove Our Disability Constantly? (The Walrus)
The Invisible Disability. (Wiki)
Louis
has books and stories available from Amazon.
See
his works on ArtPal.
Thank
you for reading.
