I was recently having a chat with our supermarket delivery man when my horse-sized staffy-lab rescue dog, Johny, ran out for a cuddle. I watched them get to know each other, the delivery guy’s big smile, and remarked: "That'll improve your mental health. Scientifically proven."

He looked up at me and said completely neutrally "I think my mental health is pretty good actually." I had been joking but I was genuinely surprised by his response - because with a much-needed greater awareness of mental health issues, and the ability to talk about it in recent years, it seems to me that many people recognise they suffer from, if not an ongoing mental health diagnosis, at least times when their mental health takes a bit of a battering, in the same way as when you're a bit rundown you can catch a cold.

A lot of my work as a writer has been exploring how poverty impacts each part of our lives. It affects the outcomes of our education and therefore our careers and our financial realities. It can affect the future that our children will have. And, of course, it affects our physical and mental health as detailed in every study in this area, for many decades now. However, recently, someone countered that illness doesn't discriminate, and it can happen to anyone. This can be true but I would assert that mental health issues are inexorably linked to poverty, or even just, as many have faced with the cost of living crisis, straitened circumstances. When you’re struggling to pay the bills it can be twice as hard to step back from that cliff edge or climb out of that black hole.

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Though I grew up at the extreme end of generational poverty, I'm actually enormously privileged now. I've written before about the fact that I pay for private therapy. I can also afford to take time off work when I need to and know the world won’t fall apart. I also have time to do things that help me, getting out of the city, meditation. Most of all, I found a medication that worked for me relatively quickly, which I've been on for many years now.

But mine would be a very different story if I were on benefits or working one of my old jobs in call centres or as a waitress. If my only resource was the constantly-overstretched NHS, where once I'd managed to get myself up and out of the house to ask for help, the waiting list could be months or even years until I was able to access treatment.

Perhaps, somehow in the midst of a mental health crisis, I’d look for ways to help myself, but it seems to me that this is increasingly a privilege too. Online therapy, probably the cheapest option if you're going private, costs upwards of £40 per week as does an online cognitive behavioural therapy course. Even the meditation app Headspace will charge you £49.99 for an annual subscription. That’s a lot of money when prices for everything else have skyrocketed too.

Other aspects of mental health also come with a price tag. It’s true you don't need to pay for a gym or yoga class, though it's often helpful to have that structure in space when you're self-conscious and starting out, especially if depressed or anxious. But even if you decide to have a little jog around the park you'll need trainers, comfy clothes and, the greatest luxury for those who are hard up, where hours are paid at the minimum wage, time.

There are free resources but they take, again, time and motivation to find and are of very mixed quality. You can use YouTube classes for yoga for instance. I did, when I was skint and desperate, but spent a lot of it crying face down in "child’s pose" thinking about my problems rather than aligning my breathing.

Data from the Mental Health Foundation reveals that those on housing benefit are more than twice as likely to have a common mental health problem than those not receiving it. It's no mystery why. The grind of poverty causes its own mental health challenges. Daily existential worries that are situational, generational or genetic are hard enough without genuine practical fears about how you'll keep yourself or your kids housed and clothed and fed.

Research from 2022 shows that money problems are the leading cause of stress for UK employees, with one in four losing sleep over money worries. In the cost of living crisis, I wonder how many times feeling a little bit down has turned into something much more serious because people weren't able to access early intervention? That could be in the form of free, structured exercise, sliding-scale counselling or simply having longer than a 10-minute discussion with their doctor about what medication they might use, the side-effects, the impact that might have on their life, but also the ultimate benefits.

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The current cost of mental health problems in Scotland is estimated at £8.8 billion. I would wager more investment in treatment and intervention would lead to vast savings in the expenditure for social, addiction issues, unemployment and long-term potential for children of parents affected by mental health issues.

Ultimately, a mentally-healthy functioning person is part of a mentally-healthy and functioning society. And that should be a core focus instead of leaving people to try to treat themselves at their worst with YouTube videos and long walks.

It’s too much of a risk. We need to realise the true cost of mental illness if we do not want to end up with communities and a country riven with mental health problems. We need a better solution, sooner and especially for those who can least afford it and need treatment most. It’s my hope that everyone could look up to a stranger and say in complete honesty, ‘My mental health is okay actually.’