Walking through the dark winter days in Montreal, I may seem like a typical young girl from the outside. But what lies within my mind? Just the thought of those days brings tears to my eyes. I had been struggling with mental illness for almost a year, an entire year in my twenties.

Immigration: Adaptation or paralysis?

At the time, I had already been an immigrant in Canada for two years. Throughout this period, I was constantly searching for my pathway. I had no luck finding my optimal job, got rejected by universities, and, to top it all off, dealing with the fast-spreading Covid-19 infection. Lockdowns and curfews made my situation even more complex. I tried my best to engage in society, but actions like taking online courses added to my stress. Adding to all my struggles, the cold weather with sub-zero temperatures made it impossible to just sit on a bench or enjoy any outdoor possibilities.

Depression: Let's talk. But with whom?

As long as I can remember, I have always been an outgoing person. Making friends in my home country was never an issue. We were always in contact with aunts, cousins, and other relatives. However, in the new country, I have desperately tried to make friends. Sometimes, I go out with a person I found on the Bumble friend-finding app, but I feel like I have nothing to talk about with them. Friendship does not happen in a day. I feel there is no one I trust and feel comfortable with.

One day, I remember walking on the streets, following two friends speaking Persian with each other. I trailed them because I longed to be a part of something, to have friends again, and it felt comforting to hear my mother language.

The burnout

It was more intense than I could have imagined. The experience began with something similar to a panic attack, but unlike any attacks I had experienced before—something entirely different. I can only liken it to the sensation one might feel during an earthquake, realizing that these could be the last seconds of their life. I was acutely aware of my distress and experiencing heightened awareness, which I later learned was derealization (feelings of unreality) and depersonalization (being detached from oneself). It was as if I were not inside my body, and my body was searching for me. That night was harrowing, but it didn't end there. The next morning, the attacks returned, becoming more frequent. I reached a point where I was shaking with nausea. However, the rest of the story is even worse. I began to experience episodes of the strangest sensations, all within me, without any external clues.

Drowning in the Shadows

Weeks and months went by, but I had not recovered. I found myself talking to myself in my headspace like crazy. Walking in the street, I was anxious, fearing someone would suddenly attack me. I felt trapped in a hole, and no one seemed able to pull me out. No one saw the depth of the hole I was in. I avoided eye contact with people, hoping they wouldn't realize how unwell I was. The guilt weighed on me. I felt sorry for my husband, thinking I was the worst person someone could marry.

My parents travelled to Canada in order to support me. Sometimes my mom talked to me, and in my head, I responded, but I couldn't vocalize my answers. I cried every day, questioning what had happened to me. I was terrified, feeling as if I were dead. Describing the depth of it was impossible. I saw myself as having passed away while others continued living right in front of me. I yearned for friends, desperate to be with someone, yet I was ashamed that I couldn't be happy with them. I lacked the energy to engage in conversation.

Healthcare or Financial Burdens?

Doctors did not know what my diagnosis was. My general doctor advised me to exercise and drink more water, which obviously did not help! Searching for a psychiatrist in that situation was not only stressful but also impossible. I actually didn’t know where to look for one. I am jobless, and my husband was a student. We had no public insurance since we were not Canadian. Our private insurance only covered a certain percentage of the payment, and we never knew how much. Also, we would receive the money several months later. We had to find a private doctor, and when I visited a social worker after many searches to understand who could help me, he suggested that I Google to find a doctor who takes private patients. I could only find one in Montreal. I checked his office, and his Google reviews caught my attention; he has 3 stars out of 5. Some people have even commented in their reviews that he is “dismissive, disorganized, and thoroughly unprofessional”.

I inquired about the costs of visits: 15-minute visit: $200, 30-minute visit: $300, 60-minute visit: $600."

Finding Light in Art

As the COVID situation improved, my husband searched for a painting class for me. That's when I discovered Zoya Art Studio, led by a Persian woman who offered painting classes in a community setting. I attended the class. At first, I was constantly afraid that others would notice my situation, so I avoided eye contact as much as possible. However, throughout the classes, I realized something incredible: the thoughts that had tormented me ceased while I was there. I became all ears, drawn into the stories of people sharing their daily lives. I felt life in their conversations. I felt alive. I envied each one of them. Once the class ended, the clouds returned as I walked again on the dark streets of Montreal, eagerly anticipating my next class.

A complex yet a simple remedy

After some time, and with consistent support from regular psychiatric visits and antidepressant medication, my situation improved significantly. Fortunately, my doctor was far from dismissive or disorganized; instead, he maintained a thoroughly professional approach.

In the initial weeks of taking the new medications, signs of life began to increase within me. Although a gradual process, a sense of hope emerged. However, it wasn't merely navigating through my psychiatrics visits that aided my survival and return to life; I discovered a new identity through art. It became an outlet for my emotions and a space for moments of quiet reflection. Moreover, I found a community to which I belonged. Through the classes, I found my voice, gradually opening up with each session. Anticipation filled me as I looked forward to each subsequent art session, finding deep satisfaction in the deliberate movements of the brush smoothly blending colors on the canvas.

Continuity of art as continuity of care

Now, what do I do in episodes of stress? I have a canvas and a brush. Painting has become my relief, allowing me to express my thoughts. I paint passionately, a continuous part of my recovery that helps me through moments of homesickness. In this process, I have learned a lot about myself. My paintings are not flawless or detailed; they are a reflection of me. I could never produce the cleanest, most detailed artwork because my brain just doesn't work that way. I named my art page on social media 'A Muddy Palette,' skipping the details and embracing a combination of lights and darks—an imperfect beauty, much like my brain.

Vision for a Global Health Canvas

The concept of the Global Health Canvas involves combining the essential components of three mental health elixirs: People, art, and care, with the primary goal of creating a robust community. This community actively observes and identifies health issues on a global scale, conveying messages to its audience through art and community activities.

The secondary purpose of this program is to directly raise awareness and formulate plans to take action in serving the beneficiaries of public health advocacy. We aim to increase our voices for the sake of raising awareness and funding for global health initiatives.

My hope is that the events and discussions of Global Health Canvas impact people similarly to how they affected me—drawing them into a community, enabling them to express their concerns through art. The goal is to assist individuals in conveying their messages through their paintings and bringing them joy, as well as exploring potential opportunities for networking.

In the complicated world of mental health, where darkness used to cover everything in my life, now I see bright colors coming out when I paint. The Global Health Canvas is more than just an idea; it shows how art, healthcare, and people can work together to bring hope, strength, and healing to everyone, no matter where they are. It's like a beautiful song that spreads positivity and recovery around the world.

Art, Healthcare, and Human Connection:The Elixir for Mental Health