Mental health system failure led to slaying

Addictions treatment falls far short, says Natalie Noble.

On Oct. 11, Tyler Lindsay was sentenced to eight years in prison for the September 2018 fatal attack on Vinh Chung at the Calgary Drop-in Centre. A psychiatric assessment determined that Lindsay was in a drug-induced psychosis at the time of the attack.

I wince when I hear the phrase “drug-induced psychosis” because I know what that really means. It is a label that creates artificial barriers to critical health services. It is an excuse to not serve people. In our current healthcare system, it appears that many people are denied critical health services because of their substance use. Their psychosis is somehow different. They are left untreated, on the streets, in shelters and in active psychosis without housing or mental health supports.

I am in no way excusing the actions of Tyler Lindsay, who pleaded guilty to manslaughter in June. He took a life and there is no sentencing that will bring Chung back to his family and my heart breaks for them. The rippling impact of these circumstances is complex and deep. The lives of the DI staff who were the first responders on the scene are also forever affected, as are their friends and families who support them. Furthermore, Lindsay will never escape the reality of his crime. The tragedy of this circumstance is that it was preventable and a direct result of our system failures.

Lindsay was deemed to be in a “drug-induced psychosis.” Now which came first, the substance use or mental health? Here is the conundrum: psychosis is a severe mental disorder in which a person’s thoughts and emotions are so impaired a person loses contact with reality. This is where the semantics dance begins, and the classic chicken-and-egg scenario plays out. Do people self-medicate with substances because of their mental health or is the psychosis a result of substance use?

As a person who interacts with severely mentally ill and addicted people every day, I know psychosis is psychosis. The staff at the DI don’t

Accessing mental health supports in Alberta is extremely difficult to navigate.

have the luxury of pondering the root causes of a person’s psychosis. All we see are real people who aren’t well, who hear voices, who hallucinate. We know them by their names, not their diagnosis. We know their survival needs cannot be compartmentalized and the solution to their sickness is holistic.

The structural discrimination and stigma of people living with complex mental health and addictions issues are particularly frustrating. We cannot separate mental health from addiction.

The DI provides emergency shelter for approximately 750 people per day. Every client at the DI requires some sort of health support. Approximately 22 per cent of the people we serve have severely complex issues due to physical health, mental health and addictions. Many of these people are so sick we deem them “non-verbal” because they cannot complete a basic questionnaire. The DI is the biggest mental health and addiction institution in the city, without designated funding to employ any psychiatric or mental health workers.

Our only option at the DI is to try to refer our clients to existing programs and services in our health-care system. Accessing mental health supports in Alberta is extremely difficult to navigate and wait times are excruciating. For someone with no fixed address, no phone number, no social support, who is suffering from acute mental health and addictions, this system is nearly impossible to navigate. These clients end up in emergency rooms or acute care beds where they might receive a diagnosis but are quickly discharged back into homelessness, unmedicated and unsupported. This is exactly what happened to Lindsay. The result of this system failure is, quite literally, fatal.

Although people enter the system broken, we cannot continue to pull them apart further by trying to address their health needs one-by-one in isolation from one another. I am calling for a system where a person like Tyler Lindsay can access the health care he needs without artificial rules, barriers or “red tape.” I ask for this on behalf of the community, including DI staff and clients, and most importantly people like Chung and his family.

May Vinh Chung rest in peace.

Natalie Noble is the director of housing and programs at the Drop-in and Rehab Centre.