Why I pursue a medically assisted death

Mental illness is hell. I should have the right to escape it, says John Scully.

Warning: This article contains graphic imagery.

A special joint committee of MPS and senators has tabled its report to Parliament, recommending a delay in expanding the health-care system to offer medical assistance in dying (MAID) for persons with mental disorders as their sole underlying medical condition. On Thursday, federal Health Minister Mark Holland introduced legislation to postpone this expansion of MAID until March 2027.

I am sharing my experience so people can hear from someone who is directly affected by the exclusion of people with mental disorders from accessing MAID.

My first diagnosis with major depression was 40 years ago. I am severely mentally ill. I am a drug addict. I suffer from severe, incurable depression; severe, incurable post-traumatic stress disorder; and a severe, incurable anxiety disorder.

I've been a patient in seven psychiatric wards. A dozen psychiatrists have tried to treat me. I've had 19 shock therapies, I've tried every single psychiatric drug known to science. I've tried talk therapies, acupuncture and cannabis. All have been abject failures. There is no cure.

I want medical assistance in dying for the mentally ill to be passed, devoid of the obfuscation that has prevented it from passing for three years.

This delay has been cruel. To help me cope, I now take 30 pills a day for myriad physical and mental illnesses, including chronic psychiatric pain. Pain that cripples me 24/7. I used to run 10 miles a day. Now, I can make 10 yards with the help of my walker. Hence, the opioids and the addiction.

I've worked as a journalist for the CBC, BBC, CTV and Global. I've covered news stories in 76 countries and 35 war zones, and I've paid a hell of a price. My family doctor believes I've suffered dozens of traumas. Such as the time I was lined up for execution by a Salvadoran death squad. Or the time a drunken Serb militiaman jammed a double-barrelled shotgun into my stomach and pulled both triggers. It didn't go off.

The resultant PTSD from those 35 war zones has swamped me with harrowing nightmares every night. I have seen myself being hacked to death by unknown enemies. Just last week, in one nightmare, I was sitting in some anonymous waiting room when an attack dog hurled himself at me and began chewing my face off. Then suddenly I was headto-toe with other bodies on a conveyor belt. The ultimate destination. A crematorium. I was going to be burned alive.

I woke screaming, as I do almost every might. “Make it stop! I can't take this anymore!” But it hasn't stopped. I've attempted suicide twice. There will be no mistake a third time. I agree that the mental-health-care system should be improved so that people have access to quality care in a timely manner. But for people like me who have already tried everything, we deserve the same rights as other Canadians.

My name is John Scully. I'm 82. MAID for the mentally ill must become law so that I can rest in peace, and die with dignity.