**This post contains discussion of suicide and seeking mental health treatment for suicidal ideation. 

Some background: before Boris died by suicide, he was hospitalized three different times. Two times in the same hospital. He also did a partial hospitalization program at the same place and some evening groups. 

If you live in the U.S., especially if you are not very wealthy and/or you are uninsured, you know that accessing mental health care is challenging and frustrating. You also know that there are not a lot of options, especially when you are in a crisis. It is a stigmatizing, traumatic, and frustrating process. 

The psychiatric hospital he stayed in was recommended by Boris’s therapists and others we trusted. It is literally one of the only options in our area. One of the reasons why it was our only option was because it offers financial assistance if you have no insurance, which is something the other residential mental health facility we contacted did not offer.

All of this to say, our experience with the place we ultimately chose and the place he received treatment was not stellar. The psychiatrist spent 3 minutes with him maybe once or twice during his stay and seemed unkind. The administrative staff was a nightmare to deal with–I remember being so frustrated with almost every interaction. When it came to the financial assistance paperwork, there were so many layers and complicated hoops to jump through–which I assume is intentional so that you will give up and just pay the money. 

After Boris died, this place continued to be incredibly frustrating. I informed them of Boris’s death, yet they kept sending mail and calling his phone and mine. They were trying to collect payment for his last stay because the financial assistance paperwork was still in process. A lot of this is foggy in my memory now, but I know I had to go in person and deliver a death certificate to them to stop the calls and letters. It was re-traumatizing and incredibly frustrating.

I had all of this anger toward them, and I still do. Anger toward the company/organization and anger at the entire system. Anger toward all of it. But, I didn’t let that anger out like I thought I would. In the days following his death, I imagined myself doing something “big” to fight back at this system. But then, I didn’t. 

Now, I feel like I didn’t do enough to fight back. I feel like when Boris was alive, I could have found a different option for him, or I could have been more demanding in his care. And after he died, I should have written them a letter detailing how they should do better. I should have called their CEO and yelled at him. I should have written local newspapers and called them out. I should have called my legislators. I should have advocated and spoken up. I still think about how it isn’t too late to do it. But I feel this guilt for not doing it yet. 

My rational brain tells me–Victoria, you did advocate for him! You were there. You called. You pushed back. I mean, I remember after one of his stays, Boris told me that his case manager said, “your girlfriend is feisty, isn’t she?” after a phone call I had with them. They weren’t wrong. I know I did what I could. Didn’t I? 

I still wish I’d done more. And, maybe it isn’t too late. I just feel like I could have fought harder for him. I could have created something really significant out of it–I could have made a change. I had this image of what I would do and then somehow I just never did it. I seemingly just let it go. 

And I wonder why didn’t I? Why haven’t I? There are probably so many answers to that question. But, I think the simple answer is: I am tired. I am so, so tired. Still. After 4 years. I am so tired. The thought of arguing with this place feels so exhausting. Like I gave every ounce of my energy to them already. And I have nothing left. They were right, I am feisty. But now I am tired. And maybe I just need rest from fighting