Yesterday morning I had a conversation that got me thinking.
Twitter was poppin with discussions about the death of actor Corey Haim and my girl, Bassey, offered up her thoughts as to what may have led to his demise: mental illness. She’s quite familiar with the subject because she suffers from depression and is currently writing a book of essays about Black women and mental illness.
Her tweets got me thinking about my father and about beloved. Both men have found themselves between a rock and very hard place.
My father has gone from being a vibrant and talented high school basketball coach, with several offers to coach at the college level, to a functioning addict, using alcohol and cocaine to cope with his demons. He has lost nearly everything. He has no house of his own, no car, no material possessions and is on disability from work. He gets by, but is not living the life of a nearly 60 year old man, who has spent his entire life working hard.
And then there is Beloved. I remember thinking he was suffering from depression or perhaps even bipolar disorder the year before he got locked up. That year his emotions varied wildly. He seemed to be getting increasingly paranoid and had trouble dealing with certain people. At first, I brushed it off as stress. The months leading up to his arrest we had found out I was pregnant. Neither one of us were working, and we were both in school. He was so worried about how we’d make it and conflicted about having the baby, that I figured he was just buggin. Looking back, I think that was the beginning of his illness manifesting itself. Often times bipolar disorder manifests itself fully in the person’s 20s, and before getting locked up, Beloved’s drinking increased (a coping mechanism) and so did his paranoia. After he was sentenced and sent upstate, Beloved was diagnosed with schizophrenia. However, I now know that bipolar disorder is often misdiagnosed as schizophrenia. Currently, he isn’t being treated for either and I’m scared. I don’t want him to be left to his own thoughts, which have again becoming increasingly paranoid and disjointed. It’s good to know what the issue may be, but knowing is only half the battle.
Not letting it destroy you is something else entirely.
My father has not dealt with his issues of abandonment. His father died when he was 8, and he was left to help my grandmother out. He’s also never gotten over losing my mom to divorce. STILL, after 15 years, he holds onto to the idea that they will remarry someday.
Beloved has been through so much in his short life. Abandonment by his parents, his father’s alcoholism, homelessness, his mother’s constant uprooting, the list goes on. He has a lot of pain that he’s yet to deal with and I feel like it takes his toll on him.
I love both of these men. Watching them suffer kills me. Knowing that they can get help if they JUST acknowledge the need is like a kick to the gut.
Too many times we suffer in silence, shamed by the thoughts that asking for help signals some sort of weakness. As black folks, many times we discount the need to seek help for our mental health. We think if we pray a little harder we will be fine, but that isn’t always the case.
I look at my students. They’ve been through so much in their young lives that thearapy is a forgone conclusion, but i know they will have someone that tries to tell them only weak people get help.
When will we learn?
How many of us will take our own lives or someone else’s before we acknowledge
we can’t do it alone?
Being vulnerable. Asking for help. Dealing with emotions is necessary if we are to survive as a people.
Whole, and not damaged. And not passing these emotional handicaps on to our children.
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how do you deal with your mental health?
do you have a friend/relative that is hurting in silence?
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