A 2024 study showed almost 26% of Nebraskans reported having a mental-health illness in the past year -- nearly 3% higher than the national average.

Providers and stakeholders of Nebraska's behavioral health care system face uncertainty as more budget cuts loom. In the last legislative session, $15 million was cut from the state's behavioral health services budget and the heads of state government divisions are now being asked to find more cuts.

Tiffany Gressley, regional administrator for Region 3 Behavioral Health Services, questioned how cuts to behavioral health align with Nebraska's conservative values.

"We're being fiscally conservative by serving these people early; as early as we can," Gressley pointed out. "We're saving money and we're saving, on top of that, the human cost that goes along with untreated mental health conditions. "

Gressley explained last year's cut brought the total budget reductions to Nebraska's behavioral health system to nearly $50 million over the past six years, much of it from unfunded provider rate increases. She stressed budget cuts mean fewer Nebraskans receive services.

Among Nebraska counties, 88 of 93 had a shortage of behavioral health providers in 2023, and 29 had none at all. Many rural Nebraskans face considerable challenges accessing behavioral health care, which advocates said further budget cuts will only exacerbate.

Sadie Thompson, chief innovation officer for the Lincoln-based Wellbeing Initiative, an organization providing services for mental health, substance use and chronic physical health conditions, said after a nearly 12% cut to its budget this fiscal year, the organization had to close satellite locations in Fairbury and Geneva and was unable to open one planned for Seward.

"All of these rural communities that we were really starting to see lots of engagement with and impact basically got the rug pulled out and weren't able to continue to have these services," Thompson noted. "These communities don't have services anyway."

Bob Shueey, CEO of South Central Behavioral Services in Hastings and Kearney, said they are constantly looking for qualified therapists and frequently have to turn patients away as a result. Shueey added the state's low provider rate combined with retirements has depleted the state's behavioral health workforce. He argued without attention, the situation will only worsen.

"Even if we raise the rates to a sustainable rate today, it's a multiyear pipeline before someone's even able to start working," Shueey emphasized. "Then that information has to be out there to new students and to young people. 'I'll be able to make my house payment and pay my student loans if I do this; I'm not going to be poor my whole life.'"


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One in four Californians is an immigrant and a new report showed many are refugees who may need mental health services but have trouble finding treatment.

Researchers from the California Pan-Ethnic Health Network found a pressing need for culturally-responsive behavioral health services.

Vincent Chou, community advocacy manager for the group, said many barriers can hinder access.

"These communities face distinct challenges such as trauma from displacement, stress, language barriers, and systemic discrimination," Chou outlined. "All of which contribute to why they're not really utilizing the mental health services that are available to them."

Community groups said they have seen a huge increase in demand for mental health services since the pandemic. The report also called for training on trauma-informed care for providers and county workers who assist immigrants.

Mary Anne Foo, executive director of the Orange County Asian and Pacific Islander Community Alliance, said California faces a dire shortage of bilingual, bicultural mental health providers; people who can better connect with patients.

"When they see a counselor who can speak their language, they're more apt to be able to describe what's going on with them," Foo pointed out. "Or to be able to participate fully in their care."

Ruqayya Ahmad, policy manager for the network, said the state needs to better fund community-based organizations so they can recruit mental health professionals from the populations they serve and offer competitive pay to retain them.

"They're the ones who have these trusted relationships," Ahmad emphasized. "They're helping to normalize mental health conversations and reducing that stigma that exists in some communities."

Vattana Peong, executive director of The Cambodian Family Community Center in Santa Ana, said the state also needs to make it easier for groups like his to get credentialed to accept Medi-Cal insurance.

"There are a lot of barriers for community-based organizations who want to become Medi-Cal mental health providers," Peong stressed. "That is something we need to fix."

He added community groups often offer wraparound services, like child care and transportation, making it easier for low-income families to access health services.

Oregon Health and Science University and Legacy Health have officially submitted merger plans to state regulators. Behavioral therapists at Legacy unionized in anticipation of this to protect themselves.

Sixty behavioral health therapists at Legacy Unity Center for Behavioral Health have voted to join the Oregon Nurses Association.

They're also doubling the size of an existing bargaining unit at the hospital, which includes other mental health workers.

Legacy Behavioral Health Therapist Meaghan Wilkinson-Smith said she and her coworkers didn't know about a potential merger until they heard it on the news.

"It worried people that we were going to continue to have no information," said Wilkinson-Smith, "and just be kind of blindsided by whatever decisions and changes Legacy decided to move forward with."

Wilkinson-Smith said with the union, they hope to have a more standardized pay structure.

ONA and other unions representing workers affected by the merger say they support it, based on assurances from OHSU - including on job security, pay parity, and honoring union contracts.

Access to mental health has been an issue in Oregon. A Mental Health America ranking from 2022 placed the state third to last.

Wilkinson-Smith said the union will help her and her colleagues better advocate for patients.

"We hope that we'll have more of a voice in expressing the things that we think could be helping our patients before they get to a point of needing hospitalization," said Wilkinson-Smith, "but also afterwards, and what that looks like for them."

Wilkinson-Smith also said the union will give them more of a voice in Salem when it comes to state policies.

Along with mental and behavioral health specialists, ONA represents more than 220 nurses at Legacy Unity Center for Behavioral Health.

By Cheryl Platzman Weinstock for KFF Health News.
Broadcast version by Kathleen Shannon for Wyoming News Service reporting for the KFF Health News-Public News Service Collaboration

When Pooja Mehta’s younger brother, Raj, died by suicide at 19 in March 2020, she felt “blindsided.”

Raj’s last text message was to his college lab partner about how to divide homework questions.

“You don’t say you’re going to take questions 1 through 15 if you’re planning to be dead one hour later,” said Mehta, 29, a mental health and suicide prevention advocate in Arlington, Virginia. She had been trained in Mental Health First Aid — a nationwide program that teaches how to identify, understand, and respond to signs of mental illness — yet she said her brother showed no signs of trouble.

Mehta said some people blamed her for Raj’s death because the two were living together during the covid-19 pandemic while Raj was attending classes online. Others said her training should have helped her recognize he was struggling.

But, Mehta said, “we act like we know everything there is to know about suicide prevention. We’ve done a really good job at developing solutions for a part of the problem, but we really don’t know enough.”

Raj’s death came in the midst of decades of unsuccessful attempts to tamp down suicide rates nationwide.

During the past two decades federal officials have launched three national suicide prevention strategies, including one announced in April.

The first strategy, announced in 2001, focused on addressing risk factors for suicide and leaned on a few common interventions.

The next strategy called for developing and implementing standardized protocols to identify and treat people at risk for suicide with follow-up care and the support needed to continue treatment.

The latest strategy builds on previous ones and includes a federal action plan calling for implementation of 200 measures over the next three years, including prioritizing populations disproportionately affected by suicide, such as Black youth and Native Americans and Alaska Natives.

Despite those evolving strategies, from 2001 through 2021 suicide rates increased most years, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Provisional data for 2022, the most recent numbers available, shows deaths by suicide grew an additional 3% over the previous year. CDC officials project the final number of suicides in 2022 will be higher.

In the past two decades, suicide rates in rural states such as Alaska, Montana, North Dakota, and Wyoming have been about double those in urban areas, according to the CDC.

Despite those persistently disappointing numbers, mental health experts contend the national strategies aren’t the problem. Instead, they argue, the policies — for many reasons —simply aren’t being funded, adopted, and used. That slow uptake was compounded by the covid-19 pandemic, which had a broad, negative impact on mental health.

A chorus of national experts and government officials agree the strategies simply haven’t been embraced widely, but said even basic tracking of deaths by suicide isn’t universal.

Surveillance data is commonly used to drive health care quality improvement and has been helpful in addressing cancer and heart disease. Yet, it hasn’t been used in the study of behavioral health issues such as suicide, said Michael Schoenbaum, a senior adviser for mental health services, epidemiology, and economics at the National Institute of Mental Health.

“We think about treating behavioral health problems just differently than we think about physical health problems,” Schoenbaum said.

Without accurate statistics, researchers can’t figure out who dies most often by suicide, what prevention strategies are working, and where prevention money is needed most.

Many states and territories don’t allow medical records to be linked to death certificates, Schoenbaum said, but NIMH is collaborating with a handful of other organizations to document this data for the first time in a public report and database due out by the end of the year.

Further hobbling the strategies is the fact that federal and local funding ebbs and flows and some suicide prevention efforts don’t work in some states and localities because of the challenging geography, said Jane Pearson, special adviser on suicide research to the NIMH director.

Wyoming, where a few hundred thousand residents are spread across sprawling, rugged landscape, consistently ranks among the states with the highest suicide rates.

State officials have worked for many years to address the state’s suicide problem, said Kim Deti, a spokesperson for the Wyoming Department of Health.

But deploying services, like mobile crisis units, a core element of the latest national strategy, is difficult in a big, sparsely populated state.

“The work is not stopping but some strategies that make sense in some geographic areas of the country may not make sense for a state with our characteristics,” she said.

Lack of implementation isn’t only a state and local government problem. Despite evidence that screening patients for suicidal thoughts during medical visits helps head off catastrophe, health professionals are not mandated to do so.

Many doctors find suicide screening daunting because they have limited time and insufficient training and because they aren’t comfortable discussing suicide, said Janet Lee, an adolescent medicine specialist and associate professor of pediatrics at the Lewis Katz School of Medicine at Temple University.

“I think it is really scary and kind of astounding to think if something is a matter of life and death how somebody can’t ask about it,” she said.

The use of other measures has also been inconsistent. Crisis intervention services are core to the national strategies, yet many states haven’t built standardized systems.

Besides being fragmented, crisis systems, such as mobile crisis units, can vary from state to state and county to county. Some mobile crisis units use telehealth, some operate 24 hours a day and others 9 to 5, and some use local law enforcement for responses instead of mental health workers.

Similarly, the fledgling 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline faces similar, serious problems.

Only 23% of Americans are familiar with 988 and there’s a significant knowledge gap about the situations people should call 988 for, according to a recent poll conducted by the National Alliance on Mental Illness and Ipsos.

Most states, territories, and tribes have also not yet permanently funded 988, which was launched nationwide in July 2022 and has received about $1.5 billion in federal funding, according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration.

Anita Everett, director of the Center for Mental Health Services within SAMHSA, said her agency is running an awareness campaign to promote the system.

Some states, including Colorado, are taking other steps. There, state officials installed financial incentives for implementing suicide prevention efforts, among other patient safety measures, through the state’s Hospital Quality Incentive Payment Program. The program hands out about $150 million a year to hospitals for good performance. In the last year, 66 hospitals improved their care for patients experiencing suicidality, according to Lena Heilmann, director of the Office of Suicide Prevention at the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment.

Experts hope other states will follow Colorado’s lead.

And despite the slow movement, Mehta sees bright spots in the latest strategy and action plan.

Although it is too late to save Raj, “addressing the social drivers of mental health and suicide and investing in spaces for people to go to get help well before a crisis gives me hope,” Mehta said.


Cheryl Platzman Weinstock wrote this story for KFF Health News.


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