Every night, my regimen looks similar: brushing my teeth, washing my face, and taking two 100 mg pink tablets of Lamotrigine before bed. I was diagnosed in 2021 after a longwinded process of psychiatrists and psychologists who helped create a routine that allowed me to restart my life—one with a rigid structure. Since then, moving away from familiarity and beginning education at Camosun, my two 100 mg tablets are no longer the haven of stability they once were.
I began browsing the options available at Camosun’s Centre for Accessible Learning (CAL), to find that they offer support to those who fit into a range of mental-health disorders, among many other categories of disabilities. Accessibility to this service allows for personalized academic accommodations of individual care, providing an equitable learning environment to students with disabilities. But, as Camosun’s website states, one must “be proactive!”
CAL is designed for students suffering from brain injuries, hearing and visual impairments, permanent or chronic disabilities, and mental illness—that is, as long as those in need have the time, money, and energy to endure the application process.
The service requires an intake form, and for individuals struggling with mental-health disorders, the form asks to provide a DSM-IV or DSM-5 diagnosis, which are supplied by a $200- to $300-an-hour psychologist or psychiatrist. Cost of the bill aside, the wait time for these medical professionals can extend to several months, and the wait for a formal diagnosis is often unknown. If a person is able to source these resources publicly, the costs may be lower, but the wait significantly higher.
The result is a student left behind.
For the case of someone prescribed medication who’s no longer under the supervision of a psychiatrist, my 2021 diagnosis is just not enough. The several-hundred-dollar process, including time away from work, eats away at the end goal of what is supposed to look like care. As a student and minimum-wage worker, this limits the opportunity to receive necessary support as a result of both disability and socio-economic barricades.
A community college such as Camosun cannot simply enjoy the badge of inclusivity without recognizing that some people will choose this sort of institution over a larger university for financial reasons—because finances are tight due to the same reasons that bring them to CAL. Making an active commitment to students’ mental health means more than self-care cafes and mental-health awareness weeks, after all.
The wealthy can afford mental well-being, and the process to get into Camosun’s CAL program perpetuates that further, creating barriers to a process for students desperate for care. Costly new medical bills are unfathomable to many disabled students struggling to make ends meet.
It’s important to note that navigating mental illness is non-linear. Understanding what might prompt crises may help avoid needing these services altogether, but with complex minds, it’s easy for disorders to fall into unseeable cracks. Many students disproportionately struggle around exam season and, with the unfortunate obligation of requesting aid eight to 12 weeks before classes begin, a student can be left suddenly without resources from an institution expected to be celebratory of care access.
Camosun should better understand its demographic before creating a system that excludes them. Loosening unproductive rules around CAL will allow for a healthier environment for students at the college. Eliminating these obstacles and quickening the process is imperative to accommodating disabled students with their education requirements, as not all diagnoses are cut and dry.
I acknowledge Camosun’s strides toward building a supportive environment, but it is time to make the Centre for Accessible Learning accessible.