Trust, Betrayal and Mental Illness

Supporting Our Loved Ones in Healthy Ways

Andre Lyons is bipolar.  He is one of the intensive, multi-faceted characters portrayed on Fox’s new hit TV show Empire.  The fact that mainstream television has taken society’s secret and put it front and center in our homes each week is refreshing.  But the truth is many families deal with bipolar, and other mental illnesses, in secret.

Mental illness in the African American community is probably one of our best kept secrets.  Either we face it with denial or tend to make it a completely “spiritual” issue.  Truth is, the frequent mood swings, outbursts of anger, long periods of being unproductive and/or using marijuana or other substances to self-medicate, are common.  The fact that black people suffer from biological dysfunctions is true too.  And, coping with life’s major events in addition to oppression, parental issues plus financial concerns make us just as susceptible to illness as anyone else. 

However, as the media is known to do, they have sensationalized Andre’s on screen meltdown and accused his family of betrayal.  They accuse his family of betraying him because they saw Andre in trouble and involuntarily signed him into a mental health facility.

Betrayed?  Why aren’t we examining their actions as an act of love?  Is it possible the family’s deep-seated love for Andre compelled them to ensure his safety from himself and protect him from harming others?

In one Empire showing, Andre had at least two “episodes.”  He is a tall, strong black man, who happens to live in America.  Would you want to be trapped in an elevator with him alone while he is having an episode?  What would your first reaction be?  Let me guess – call the police.  I don’t blame you either.  One of my adult children has the same disorder.  I recently informed him I would put him in the hospital if he couldn’t control himself.  This awareness made him angry.

But when a mental health consumer, like Andre, makes a poor decision, i.e. to stop taking their medication, the family has one of two choices:

1.     Volunteer for bizarre, unexpected behavior that harms both the mental health patient/consumer and anyone they potentially come into contact with, thereby, demonstrating their ability to threaten the well-being of others; or

2.     Ensure the safety of everyone involved and let the medical professionals treat our loves ones, thereby, affirming the value of the lives and safety of all involved.

Television has certainly evolved and is doing an excellent job bringing the stories and issues central to the African American community and other communities to light.  However, my hope is that we, as intelligent, caring, proactive humans, can ignore the media’s need to sensationalize an important and emotional issue and seek out the proper information to both help and protect our loved ones – thereby ushering them into a place of healing and wholeness. 

Michelle Baynes Owens is a freelance writer who lives in York, PA.  She runs a blog on the topics of depression, recovery and spirituality at http://michellethemystic.blogspot.com/

Adventures in Mental Health Advocacy: Connected to Our Kin

Years ago, a family member, by marriage, was being mistreated and shunned.  What bothered me about the family’s response to his mental illness was:

1.       The family had known for decades something was different about this person;

2.       The family chose to shun him into “correct” behavior;

3.       The family was very vocal and judgmental about the misgivings and shortcomings of other people in general while completely blind to their own faults; and

4.       The family was unable to see and understand the magnitude of the harm they were causing to their loved one.

I was so bothered by their behavior that I spoke up.  I asked them, “How dare you not help him?  You have always known something was different about him.”  Especially when I began to understand this family knew of his illness when he was only 8 years old. 

This family’s truth is a psychiatrist prophesied the patient would end up in one of three places – jail, homeless or dead.  When I met him, he has visited the first two places and, by God’s grace, was still alive and in his 30’s.

Before I spoke up, the family had ceased offering emotional, financial or physical support.  Most of the time, no one knew where he was for months at a time.  And when he did reappear, his living arrangements involved abandoned houses, shelters or some woman who was quickly growing tired of him.  His body might even reflected a new set of scars from his latest attempts at self-harm.

Little did I know, in advocating for him, I was standing up for myself.  In the journey of his life, he now has stable housing, a source of income and his mental illness.  But, he is also in counseling.

This above family member is/was connected to me by marriage.  Although that marriage has ended, I still hold a special place in my heart for this man. 

In fact, I spoke him a few times while visiting my counseling agency.  He said to me, “You know, I want to tell you something.  I was able to address my mental health problems because you were so open about yours.”

Today, I wonder if he ever experienced the inner rage I felt for my family not being more proactive in assisting me with my emotional dysfunctions.  I understand, in reflection, why he would talk to his family in angry, aggressive tones sometimes.  Granted, I’m not a therapist but I bet he felt alone in the world.  That feeling of being alone in the world is enough to make anyone angry because of the underlying fear. 

Then to admit to yourself that the people who brought you into the world and have blood ties to you are unwilling to TRY and understand your dysfunctions is difficult to accept too.  If their lack of support has stemmed over a season of decades, the pain is even stronger. 

As the mental health patient begins to understand the labels and symptoms associated with past behaviors, and the warning signals they displayed, anger towards the family for “not knowing” and “not helping” is probably common.

For those of us with mental health issues, our families have a lot of shame.  This is the only disease that brings about a large sense of shame and embarrassment within the family unit.  They deal with the matter by remaining in denial about our sickness, blaming the patient and believing he/she should “know better.”  The family’s choice to remain angry at the consumer, who typically cannot help

themselves because they aren’t even living in their own reality, is not a solution.  Remaining silent and ignoring the problem in the hopes that it will go away is not the solution either. 

Who tries to help find a solution?  Any solution for the family unit that is suffering as a whole?

In this adventure of advocacy, I believe everyone can participate in the solution.  My part is to share my personal story.  I have to reveal to the world what it is like knowing I have mental health issues, what it is like realizing I have been sick for a long time without any self-awareness and how I began to chart a path toward personal healing.  Sharing with others, even if it is one person at a time, what it is like taking medication, how I felt as a result of my family’s response to my mental health and the ways I monitor myself and my behavior can only help. 

Another solution is for family members to begin listening.  Breathe, listen and listen some more.  Reflect.  Be honest about the past.  Then, gather information for many resources about how to assist, support or, at the very least, not be a part of the problem anymore.

My hope is that others will see how they can help their kindred instead of ignoring the problem and remaining silent. 

The human voice is so powerful.  Already, in one-on-one conversations I have been able to share with non-mental health consumers what their family members are experiencing as they spiral downward into depression or race fast forward towards a brick wall.  I encourage others to help their loved ones, recognize their bizarre and often strange calls for help and to not look for someone to blame. 

What the mental health consumer needs is support.  And, sometimes that looks like tough love – in order to protect themselves and others from harm.  There is a solution for our dilemma.  And if we could all move past the shame, both the family and the mental health consumer can recover.

Which came first: The addiction or Mental Illness?

Moving Closer to the Root Issues

After engaging for 20 years with the mental health industry, 12-step programs, drug/alcohol rehabs, faith communities and any other organizations interested in “helping” me, I have arrived at this conclusion:  the mental illness was first.

Now, please remember this disclaimer as you read this post:  I am not a medical doctor or licensed counselor.  I have not studied the human brain or examined how/why humans behave in a particular manner.  All I know is that when I reflect on my life, one thing seems clear:  I had anxiety first and then tried to soothe my pain with marijuana and cigarettes.

Believe it or not, I used to loathe cigarettes and marijuana.  I said I would never smoke cigarettes.  I hated their smell and it was illogical to me that someone would voluntarily hurt themselves.  Well, as fate would have it, my judgmental young mind had to live the experience firsthand.  And if it sounds like I am blaming fate, yes, I am. Because I do believe what comes around goes around.  

Certainly my rigid home environment contributed to my anxiety.  It is probably what ignited it.  I’m not blaming anyone here.  This is just the product of the social and historical environment of my African-American, middle-class upbringing.  My dad was, I believe, bipolar and very strict.  I was afraid of him and my mother, in a healthy way, and sought to please them at any cost. 

It was unreasonable to me to disobey their rules.  I completely bought the “follow the rules” commands of God and my parents.  It seemed logical that if I did right, I would get right.  Between Sunday School, Sunday morning worship and my Christian home environment, I caught the subliminal and overt messages delivered Sundays through Saturdays. 

The problem was, when I turned into a teenager, my dad would creatively find ways to keep me and my sister locked in the house all summer and forbid us to participate in normal teenage activities, behaviors and emotions:  reading magazines, teen dances, riding bikes into the city on the summer, crying over spilled milk, etc.

Nothing I did was ever good enough and, in my opinion and my sister’s, I was a “goody two shoes.”  (It’s true.  Ask her.)  I was afraid of my dad and afraid to break the rules and his word was the gospel and the law!

But I still managed to get in trouble. 

The first physical sign of my own psychological, internal trouble were ulcers.  Yes, I had ulcers at the age of 14.  One of the church ladies thought this was strange, odd and a bad sign.  I still remember the look on her face and her expression when I told her.  I don’t know why I opened up to her, but I did.  I knew something was wrong in our homestead.  I knew it in my gut.  But Daddy wouldn’t acquiesce to my pleas for family counseling.

On the back of my school bus, the older students smoked marijuana.  I still remember the look on my best friend’s face when I marched to her house and asked her for a cigarette and the following week began to smoke marijuana on the back of the bus.

In rehab, we are taught if a person’s mental illness is not treated, they will self-medicate (i.e. use illegal drugs to soothe the psyche). 

By the age of 16, for reasons yet to be discovered (medical, emotional, etc.), I tried to commit suicide.  I was not high on alcohol or drugs when I made the decision.  But I do remember being plagued with thoughts that no one loved me or wanted me.  Lies really.  My parents did love me and demonstrated it, at the very least, by providing a food, clothing and shelter.  They showed it in other ways too, but my mind didn’t see it that way.

That, to my recollection, is the only time I tried to kill myself without alcohol or drugs being a contributing factor.  So, I am inclined to believe that the mental illness manifests first, and then, left untreated, drug usage or some form of self-harm will follow.

Please note, I am not saying that everyone who uses drugs has a mental illness.  I do not profess to have that kind of authority or intellectual knowledge.  Certainly, some substance abusers begin their trek in an effort to fit in with their peers.  All I can do is share my experiences.

But, I would also like to know the thoughts of others.  Do you agree or disagree?  I would be interested in reading someone’s comments.

Be blessed,

M

Thank You, Lord: A Place in God's House

            One of my favorite Gospel songs is sung by Fred Hammond, Thank You, Lord.  This song has been resonating in my spirit for about three weeks now.  I have to say, “I am so grateful and thankful to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

            Often, when people speak of being thankful, it can be felt by the speaker.  I’m not sure if I can deliver that atmosphere in a blog post, but I just felt so compelled to write. 

The catalyst for my gratitude is I just left a worship experience and faith community that is welcoming, affirming and loving towards people managing their mental health.

            This “outside the box” God that I serve loves me so much that I was lead to read a small newspaper publication announcing a “café conversation” about anxiety.  What started as a curious compelling to partake of the conversation eventually turned into a wonderful worship experience, manna from heaven and a few more people in my support system.

            The shared life experiences of us gathered in the café, combined with a willingness to be transparent, confirmed what I suspected for quite some time – God loves the mentally ill too and makes provision for them in the church.

            If only my African-American faith community could be so open and affirming.  My hope is that one day they will.  But until then, I will focus on being a part of the solution and helping them understand the necessity of their support for people just like me.

            Granted, there are many things I could vocalize complaints.  But, on the eve of my 49^th birthday, I have so much to be thankful for, I prefer to praise God.

            Thanking him for being a partaker of his grace, life, health and strength.  For being there for me and his love being available even when I was going down.  God has been on my side, even when it didn’t seem like it.  My God was surely there.

            Maybe you feel the same way.  Maybe you don’t.  But remember, God’s grace, love and blessing are available to all willing to receive – mental illness or not.  So, join me, if you will, in thanking the Lord.

Be blessed,

M

Depression and Spirituality

Three gifts of Silent Solitude

Taking the time to learn about how my mental health and illness impact my life has allowed me to deeply ponder the Word and the image I reflect in Christ.       

Although many Christians would not embrace major depressive disorder as an “approved” illness Christ would assist me in managing, their opinions don’t matter to me anymore.  I tried it their way.  I failed.

Now I am taking a different approach.  An empowering approach.  In deciding to educate myself about mental health, mental illness, balance and self-care, I’ve discovered many precious jewels of Truth revealed in the Word, in addition to discovering gems within my own soul that are resources to assist in my daily recovery.

The Gifts of Solitude

1.     Friendship with the Spirit – Without access to a telephone, cable or even a large network of supportive friends, I was alone many days in silence.  Initially, aware my depression could thrive in isolation, I was intentional about grooming my relationship with Christ and growing spiritually.  Many days and nights were spent listening to sermons, Gospel music and engaging in positive self-talk in order to remain encouraged, uplifted and in the healing process.

The results were tremendous.  I began to see me, a person recovering from mental illness, in the Scriptures.  I began to hear the Word preached in ways that guided me into healing and ministered to my often sad, emotional state.  I wasn’t rejected by God, even though some in the church would have me believe that.  I was accepted by God in spite of any illness that sought to keep us apart.

2.     Friendship with myself – I learned how to begin being happy with me and my own company.  This world is gifted in leading me to believe I need something other than me to find happiness.  Or, I know this is true for me, I used to think I needed other people’s approval to embrace myself or confirm a new path in life.

That’s not true anymore.  Since I have spent so much time with me, I learned how to like myself and enjoy my company.  I started pursuing hobbies that in the past were only sincere wishes.  It is amazing how much money you don’t need to enjoy the world around you.

3.     Peace with others – For me, forgiving others for anything is very important because Christ forgave me for so much.  What is interesting is that as I began to grow stronger within me, by being gentle with myself, I resumed being gentle with other people for their faults and shortcomings.  We are all human, prone to err and in need of our Savior’s redeeming grace.  It’s okay for you to be you because certainly it is okay for me to be me.

In accepting my depression and learning how to manage it, I have moved into a more secure emotional and mental frame of mind.  The Word of God and my faith have ushered me into a form of self-acceptance that was elusive for many, many years. 

This solitude has allow me to accept the fact that I’m different, I’m okay and all will be well.  How do I know?  Because I am created in God’s image and God said so.  My God does have the final say, you know!

Be blessed,

Michelle