Mental health cost of corruption in PH

IN our country, to seek psychological help is to face a long-hour queue at the National Center for Mental Health. Patients have to sacrifice a whole day standing in long lines to see a psychiatrist—a painful reminder of the difficulty in accessing mental health services.

The burden does not end after seeing a psychiatrist; you have to queue again for a month’s worth of medicine and then after one month for your refill. But if you have the endurance to get through the red tape and the piles of paperwork, you can ask for help at the Senate Public Assistance Office for a full dose of medicine. However, navigating this bureaucracy is like winning the lottery.

The inaccessibility of mental health services is magnified in rural areas. During my fieldwork in Mansalay, Oriental Mindoro, I encountered the harsh reality that people with mental health disorders see a psychiatrist only once every three months. Many travel from far-flung, mountainous areas. If they are lucky, they endure a three- to five-hour ride to Calapan, the provincial capital, to seek help.

The inability to seek help from the government forces families to resort to the painful remedy of chaining their loved ones at home to prevent them from wandering around. Suffering from a mental health disorder is already a burden; it should not be amplified by a failing system.

When budgets are appropriated to the right programs, Filipinos can experience shorter queues, accessible medicine, and dignity in care. However, when corrupt officials pocket funds from ghost projects, they are charging a psychological tax on the most vulnerable Filipinos.

It is time for us to refuse the resilience narrative that asks us to sit quietly in mediocrity, and demand better. The cost of corruption is not only measured in numbers but also in lives lost due to mental health suffering, the chained bodies of our countrymen, and the inaccessibility of mental health services in the country.

Vincent Paul R. Fulmaran,
kdotfulmaran@gmail.com