Dear Katie Hopkins, my mental health is not a luxury item

In my short time of financial independence, I have bought a few splurge items. That red Zara puffer that I must have in order to live a happy and fulfilled life being a key example of my measly barmaid pay check going to good use. What I do not plan on meticulously saving up my pennies in a jam-jar for, hoping wistfully that a 75 per cent off sale will come and ease my bank account of its misery, is my mental health.

Katie Hopkins, however, disagrees – which she made abundantly clear earlier this week.

This must be what Hopkins believes it is like to visit a NHS mental health facility, big heavy oak doors, a blonde bombshell of a secretary handing you a pamphlet advertising only the best and most elite counselling money can buy. Katie Hopkin’s mental health service probably has paid someone from Made in Chelsea to promote it on their Instagram account.

This is not what mental health counselling is. Mental health counselling is not a lavish, oh-fuck-it-I-just-got-paid, treat yo self purchase. For many who have used out country’s NHS services, myself included, mental health counselling has been a literal life saver – a necessity, not a luxury. Because the truth is, I can live without a trip abroad or a new coat or a new laptop, but many people in our country cannot live and thrive without free mental health counselling.

My father received free mental health treatment throughout his clinical depression and bipolar disorder, however he sadly took his own life in 2009, which is when my own experience with mental health counselling began. Thankfully all the counselling I received immediately after his death came from charitable organisations – none of which I or my family had to pay for. What Katie fails to understand is that at the age of 11 when I needed counselling, the money which I had to my name came from distant aunts shoving a fiver into my fist at a family gathering, and maybe a couple quid here and there gathering dust under my pillow from the tooth fairy. What she fails to understand is that mental health is indiscriminate, and can creep up on anyone – no matter their financial situation, no matter their age.

I can’t stress how grateful I am to live in a country in which free health care is such a priority to most of the population, but the sad truth is that the NHS is underfunded, and mental health services have unfortunately had to take the brunt of these cuts. I’ve only ever received one session of NHS counselling, three years after my dad died, only because my mum had begged relentlessly for it. By this point my mental health had deteriorated so much I struggled with eating disorders and self harm.

Access to free mental health counselling is becoming more difficult to receive, and it’s often an arduous task to get an appointment. I can only thank my mother for her persistence, calling my GP demanding that I see a specialist, as fourteen-year-old me was struggling enough with coming to terms with my mental health, let alone persuade someone on the other end of a telephone to give me the help that I so desperately needed.

This is not the first time that Katie Hopkins has said things like this either. In March 2015, eight days after the anniversary of my dad’s suicide, she tweeted this:

Comments like this only perpetrate the problem which much of society has with mental health issues – we are constantly being told that mental and physical health aren’t equally important. We disparage mental health problems as a “phase”, a “fashion statement” or “attention seeking”. They’re not – they’re life-altering conditions. By not acknowledging the severity of mental health, we shame people into not getting help, and the statistics are terrifying. Suicide is the greatest killer of men under the age of 45. I am saddened to know that my father is part of this statistic.

Dad when he was younger

I do understand Katie, that you make your money and ‘fame’ from regurgitating such nonsense online to stir up the public. But despite how prominent you are, and how loudly you shout into the abyss, us young people who you have criticised for “loving ourselves” far too much, I know love each other that little bit more. My generation is more tolerant and kind to one another than you will ever know. The outpouring of love online after your foul comments is something I am so thankful for, and so grateful to say that I am a part of. In short hun, your hatred is falling on deaf ears.

I also know Katie, that you’re a mother. One of the worst things my mother has ever had to do is sit me down (on Mother’s Day might I add), look into her child’s eyes and tell her that her idol, role model, father and best friend has ended his own life. I know that despite the façade you have put on, deep, deep, down you do have a heart, and having to break such news to your children would be devastating. I truly hope that you never have to do this, but I do also know that if this tragedy happens to you and your family, you will not be telling your children that if their father had just given up on the fashion statement, gone for a brisk jog, and ‘saved hard enough’, he would still be with them.

My tattoo of a line dad wrote in the last thing he ever gave me – my 11th birthday card

Finally – I know that you can, theoretically, save up enough money for mental health counselling. Much like you theoretically can ‘save hard enough’ for your own cancer treatment. But Katie, welcome to the United Kingdom – in a country which has since 1948 collectively concluded that it is an unacceptable thing to ask someone this, and have created provisions where no-one will ever have to make this decision. This, my dear, is called the National Health Service. I’m know you have heard of it.

Because Katie, unlike a new coat, trip abroad or flashy jewellery, mental health services are not a luxury. They are a human right, and a right which I know we will always defend.