From a business standpoint, it is understandable why insurers will not cover me with their standard policies. They see me as a liability or toxic investment because I have depression.
Insurance companies are not charities, and life does not always work out in our favour. But from a social standpoint, there is much to say about what this all means.
For example, the moment I declared that I suffer from depression, I was not entitled to hospitalisation claims. The chances of self-inflicted injuries are too high, I was told — before they looked at my profile.
They made a simple, ignorant generalisation that everyone who suffers from depression is a self-harming individual with nothing to live for. Even upon receiving my doctor’s evaluation that I am not suicidal, they did not falter.
I was also not entitled to critical illness claims because, apparently, prolonged use of my medication may result in long-term illness. To them, I am solving one problem by doing something that will cause another.
Until I am not on medication and deemed “psychologically fit”, they will not insure me. Perhaps they do not understand that I do not know when my problem will end, if at all.
They offered a horrible excuse for an alternative: Their endowment plan, which is essentially savings with interest averaging 3 per cent. Basically, I am not worth the risk, but my money is welcomed.
This is the general social perception of depression. Instead of help, one gets condescending acknowledgment. We are somehow a liability to ourselves and those around us. Due diligence on individual cases is done while wearing a judgmental lens.
What if something unfortunate happens? To whom and where do we turn? How do we expect people to open up about a genuine problem, since doing so means opening up to explicit, but socially acceptable, discrimination?
There are people with depression who will not get help because this is what happens if they do. Something must change.
Insurance companies are not charities, and life does not always work out in our favour. But from a social standpoint, there is much to say about what this all means.
For example, the moment I declared that I suffer from depression, I was not entitled to hospitalisation claims. The chances of self-inflicted injuries are too high, I was told — before they looked at my profile.
They made a simple, ignorant generalisation that everyone who suffers from depression is a self-harming individual with nothing to live for. Even upon receiving my doctor’s evaluation that I am not suicidal, they did not falter.
I was also not entitled to critical illness claims because, apparently, prolonged use of my medication may result in long-term illness. To them, I am solving one problem by doing something that will cause another.
Until I am not on medication and deemed “psychologically fit”, they will not insure me. Perhaps they do not understand that I do not know when my problem will end, if at all.
They offered a horrible excuse for an alternative: Their endowment plan, which is essentially savings with interest averaging 3 per cent. Basically, I am not worth the risk, but my money is welcomed.
This is the general social perception of depression. Instead of help, one gets condescending acknowledgment. We are somehow a liability to ourselves and those around us. Due diligence on individual cases is done while wearing a judgmental lens.
What if something unfortunate happens? To whom and where do we turn? How do we expect people to open up about a genuine problem, since doing so means opening up to explicit, but socially acceptable, discrimination?
There are people with depression who will not get help because this is what happens if they do. Something must change.
