poet in transition

i am in transition. i have been for 5 years, ever since i came back to reality from psychotic manic delusional paranoia that always ended in extreme depression because it blocked me from doing everything i set out to do. now i am in the position to appreciate me because i am finally getting things accomplished and moving. i am laying the foundation for a new life. it has already started with the drafting of the plans for the house that is my home....(devil be damned, because he is)


women in transition I
(we are strength)

we fight inside and

out

we don’t always win

we

will never give up

too many people depend on

our existence


women in transition

fight with ghosts in the night

to greet the mourning

with tears

in silence

in private

we wait

for sun

pray and start the day

no one sees the pain

we are quiet actresses

we orchestrate

symphonies that

manifest our

reality

we are

the creators of a

Fate

that manifests itself

inside first

working its way

out



we pray

and it changes us

therefore

we have a hand in

changing the world

we are strength



women in transition II

(we are Life)


sometimes

we think we are pain

when we

cry out

asking our God

to deliver us from

this and only this it

was all we needed

but the pain was still there

we

wrestled with it daily

we

wrestled with pain

we wrestled

through the night

until our Father

blessed us

He gave us Life

we are Life born of pain

we are strength we are Life...

 
women in transition IV
(we are Hope)


i thank God

my heart is

stronger than

my mind—and so is yours

my dear sister

in the natural order of things

we bring

we can carry

we will make

we are vital

reborn

fierce beauty

uncontested by time

a natural innocent experience born of promise

Faith

and Love

we are strength we are Life we are immortal we are everlasting time

we are Hope

the world cannot exist without us

we must keep

moving...


this has been the truncated version of my "transition suite in c."

bambi emotions and a rambo brain

who says God doesn't have a sense of humor? he gave me a bambi heart and a rambo brain that's always on turbo power in a most curt, highly enunciated and intelligent way.

and, i can't blame it on schizophrenia or bipolar. i've been like this all my life, sensitive and heavy-handed. now, it's worse now 'cause i don't know what or who to strike out against. maybe my meds need to be tweeked, i have to find out from the doctor today. it's so complicated being spiritual, creative, intelligent, trying to work and recover financially at 50. none the less, i'm still feeling blessed to be able to struggle this way. God could have left me struggling in psychosis for the rest of my life. at least i have a chance now.

but, you wonder about the people who put wellness and recovery and the person-centered care wheel together. did they try to participate in all the activities on the wheel or at least a substantial amount and if they did did they succeed?

i know that nothing comes without a price. and i'm willing to pay the price of a few bumps and bruises to be a whole person after being shut down for so long. mental illness is a bitch. i hope those of you who read this blog and do not have mental health concerns (psychiatric medicated ones) appreciate this fact, because it is a bitch "with a litter."

but, i truly believe that those of us who fight to climb out of the barrel of disability and financial help for housing and from our families are better off in the long run. we have to face ourselves honestly to recover and learn to like what we see. this is a lot more than most do and we can tell. 'cause the stigma makes it hard to discuss our stances, misgivings and shortcomings with you. one thing is for sure, with this illness, you find out who your true friends are, very fast.

see me

see me

crouched in a corner

holding my head

wishing I could disconnect

throw it in a trash can

i am crying

see me

walking down the street

with a hurt mind

invaded by everyone

who passes

i am crying

see me exfoliating faces

thinking only i know exactly

who’s behind them

see me

in terror because i think

someone

can read my mind

again

in terror/panic

see me

take the bottle of pills

because the pain

is

too much

to buy

see me now

fresh/dressed

no agonizing

contortions on my face

no hiding

you don’t see me

i see me

every day in the mirror

and remember the terror/the pain

of psychotic fantasies

and darkest night

longer than…

i cry

but then i pick up my face

the one my Father gave me

put it on

so you can see me

and i can live with

the mirror image

 sometimes...you don't like what you see...but you know tomorrow you might and you live for that  chance.

jaa

the paranoia still gets me...a question of Faith

why is it paranoia symptoms are the last to go? i always think that there's some kind of conspiracy surrounding my existence on any level you can think of...or i can think of...

i guess it would be okay, sort of, if it was just paranoia..but paranoia unchecked for me leads to delusions and erratic behaviors associated with them...which could lead to psychosis (heaven forbid).

right now, i find that some people are looking at me as if i have three heads. real or unreal, this is getting to me. it is happening only in certain arenas and i know i should be strong and fight the symptoms, but the pressure is getting to me and all i can think about is that i am not going off the deep end again...

it happened in church yesterday. i'm going to the service to praise my God and people are looking at me like i have three heads...now i can think of lots of reasons why...first, being i made the mistake of disclosing with a minister to explain my spiritual position in the journey...other reasons could come into reason...anyhoo,who can praise and worship in that environment...it makes me most uncomfortable.

if i'm wrong, i'm still not going delusional by staying there...i also had a problem with the church before this but it was not imagined or intuitively reached at...

so, i have come to a grave conclusion...i have visited most of the churches in the area to find those two, so, i have decided to take a break from organized religion until i move...this is for real...i am not going backwards...i won't...

this is not to say that i don't believe, have Faith in, Trust with all my heart and talk to my God...I could not exist, let alone thrive like that and thrive i plan to do. let the devil be damned, as he is. but, some folks in organized religion just don't fit the definition of Christian to me (and i know i'm not supposed to judge). How can you call yourself Christian when on the most fundamental level you don't come through. churches, i have found are either fakes (all sanctified when they don't really mean it, it's an act) or highly political and only interested in the people who are "somebody" others are non-existent even if they try to work in the church.

and i know Jesus wouldn't have it this way, for me to give up on organized religion...he put a lot of emphasis on gathering and the disciples after he left addressed Christians in churches. but, this is not enough to hold me when i am in danger of delusions and subsequent erratic behavior...no thank you...i don't really want to worship with people  like that anyway. but i don't think i have a choice.

the only problem i have is.....where do i pay my tithes?

signed
churchless in central new jersey

inheritance

We as mental health consumers have a higher rate of smokers than the general population. I was a smoker for 35 years. It started out as a teenager just being cool, but after I got sick, I found the habit a big help even though I knew it wasn't good for me. Also, I had suicidal ideations everyday that I fought, so what did I care. This is a peice I want to get printed in the newsletter, CHOICES, a consumer run smoking information presentation service.

Inheritance

It’s been 10 months and I still sometimes want a cigarette. I have to reinforce myself by thinking, but I’m a non-smoker.

Ironically, a CHOICES presentation started me thinking seriously about quitting. They came to our peer support training class with their breath monitors, jars representing the amount and look of mucous in your lungs, fact sheets on the various toxins in tobacco aside from nicotine, et al. How could you not consider quitting? But what clenched it for me was my grandfather’s cough. My grandfather died about 3 decades ago from emphysema.

My grandfather had crystal blue eyes with bright green flecks (and yes, he was black). But, when there was a change of emotion, those eyes turned green. As the emphysema got worse, he had a cough that would go on for minutes and get out of control. And, in  the greenness of his eyes, I could see an honest fear as he shook uncontrollably. That should have made me stop smoking then. But, I was young, immortal and depressed.

 My grandfather’s cough clenched the deal for me, even from the grave; because 10 months ago, I had that cough.

It was a cough that you can’t control ending in a gag as if you would throw up. I felt as if I was coughing up my lungs and then gagging on them. My insides shook. I thought of my grandfather.

When I reported this cough to my primary care physician, very concerned, he said, “It’s a smoker’s cough.” As if to say: I’ve asked you to quit, you won’t, these are the consequences.

But there was another reason. Having over the past 5 years through proper medication and recovery tools regained a healthy sense of life, I want to do everything to preserve it. I am now hopeful for the future. So, not only did I quit smoking after 35 years, which my college friend of 32 years cannot believe, I go to the gym if only to cycle or walk for 30 minutes. I am now trying to change my eating habits, with the help of a wellness coach. It’s important to me to eat healthier, thereby losing weight, even though it’s hard. We all know how easy it was to blow up on psychotropic drugs.

However, even with all this in my head, I remember that I thoroughly enjoyed smoking cigarettes. The only thing that could really make me give it up, was my grandfather’s cough. So, I did.

###

the passing of a warrior

Recovery and wellness are always threatened by change. A sudden death in the family is the worst kind of change to have to experience. My uncle passed very suddenly. Everyone was in shock for days, including me. This poem is my tribute to him. He passed on Thursday, October 27, 2011. This is for my Uncle Luck.

the poem is a remix because the first poem I wrote on the night of his death at 11:00pm when I found out, was fueled with anger and shock. I still can't believe that I'll never see him again.

the passing of a warrior (remix)

and God said

well done my good and

faithful

servant

come home

and the servant knew

it was God’s Will

and the family of the servant knew

it was God’s Will

and so did the friends

as they assembled to celebrate

the life that was…

he was mama’s black sugar

                      mary’s luck

                                    our family’s joy

he

was the smile

that never ended

he was my  uncle

i always marveled at the union between my aunt and uncle

‘cause between the two

they had it covered

and they would tell you

in no uncertain terms

we got it covered

at the news of uncle sonny’s passing

i was angry

had to put on some coltrane

‘cause he was just that melodious and complex

a man who could pray the walls down

a deacon

not sanctimonious

not pious

a joker

but he fed his family

and everyone loved him

‘cause he was cool with it

a cat

unlike the jazz musicians you’ve ever  heard

and we can’t let the fact of his passing

steal the joy for us he will always be

i don’t

want to look

in the casket

‘cause

as far as I’m concerned

i will always see him standing

smiling

callin me jack-jack

with a joke to share/and some knowledge to impart…

study

to show thyself approved

a workman that needeth not be ashamed

rightly dividing the Word of Truth

rightly dividing the Word of Truth

rightly dividing the Word

‘cause

now we know

we don’t know the day or the time

but must always be ready

to answer the

Lord’s Call

-your niece, jacquese

strange days

i'm on a reminiscent kick now:

strange days

i

awake

in the morning

to

no static

at all

but it catches

me

as i let myself out

the door

there is a haze

helium

inside the mind

and other words

invade

i

shift to neutral

want to cry

but there are no more tears

recovery now

Now that I'm a peer specialist, I meet so many people that remind me of me in different stages of my illness. It's frightening sometimes. And, you want to give them the benefit of your experience and hindsight, but they don't see. Just like you didn't see when you were there. It's very frustrating. It's hard to try to help someone who doesn't think they need help or thinks they can do it themself, like I did.

I admit I was hell on wheels in my twenties. They weren't taking their cookie cutter approach and making a clone out of me! I was emphatic about that and to me it was non-negotiable. I didn't trust anyone. And, the very poeple who had to help me, i cursed out and gave them a hard time. I didn't realize that they were human and therefore would be less inclined to help me if I fought them tooth and nail. When I talked about breaking out of the hospital, even though I laugh about it now, this was part of that syndrome.

Not only that, I had it in my head that I was going to be a pulitzer prize winning writer. Therefore, you know that I didn't want them f-ing with my brain. And at the same time the emotional pain was so intense that I oscillated between this mode and give me anything just stop it!

I'm remembering shock treatments. I haven't talked about that yet have I? I missed a golden opportunity to meet someone of the highest caliber, because I was zombied. Just out of the hospital after shock treatments. The medical profession says they're safe, but having had them on two occasions, I think I lost a lot of brain cells.

The first time, I went back to school and failed courses for the first time. The last time, I was reduced to a Stepford wife for a period of time I can't recall (I wonder why?) and I wasn't even married.

But, I digress. Life is good now. I used to think that I was going to do something profound with my life. I no longer care as long as I can pay my own way and maintain. This poem I wrote in church the other day.

jus passin through

God has been blessing me
so
i'm always lookin
for a way to
be a blessing to
someone else
used ta think
it'd be thru writing
but now i think
it's just  to smile
and say hey
hey (smile)
-jacquese 10/30//11

dewey bozella is an inspiration

I've always thought that prison was a good allegory for mental illness. My favorite and most inspirational movie, as far as dealing with mental illness goes, is "Shawshank Redemption." I could identify with Tim Robbins' character. And when he made it out of the jail, even wading through feces, and slammed the prison system besides, this gave me hope.

But Dewey Bozella, is real, not a fictional character. He had the presence of mind and vision to make it through 25 years of being falsely imprisoned with his dream still intact. Now that's an inspiration.

There's a lesson here. He kept his head by the discipline of boxing and exercise. Prison seems like a likely place to lose your mind, especially if you know you're innocent. The excercise produces endorphins which create that good feeling, not to mention, its good for our bodies too. Discipline or structure is also good for mental health. It establishes a routine and makes you more inclined to get up--and follow your schedule. It also gives you a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, when you could feel totally unproductive.

But, I mostly admire Dewey because he would not compromise himself to lie just  to get out of prison. He knew he was innocent. He stuck to his guns.

God used his life as a bigger symbol, when he won the fight (wasn't that great). There is nothing that you can't do with integrity, determination and discipline. This is what it says to me. What a beautiful story. But, I'm sorry about what he had to go through to tell it.

medication is no panacea

Don't get me wrong. People with a chemical imbalance need chemicals to put them back in neutral. But, if you've been sick for any length of time, you have to learn to steer again when you put it in drive. I worked most of my life (and I've been ill for that portion) on myself; trying to get back. When I finally got the right mix of medication, this still wasn't good enough. I still had to work on myself.

This is what my blog and my memoir are about; how much work it takes to move a person with a serious mental illness back into society as a productive member. This is my goal for myself. Although, I enjoy a comfortable degree of wellness right now, I still have a length of road to discover to get me to totally productive. I still pray for this day.

But, look how good God is. When I had given up on ever getting the right meds and being condemned to a walking death in hell with voices and other hallucinations, He brought me back. It took one year for the medication to totally take effect. For two years I was on a high. No voices! Then, I realized that the work I had done heretofore was not sufficient.

So, I am here to tell you. If you are ill and aspire to reality and complete productivity. The pill they give you only relieves the symptoms. You have to do the work to move yourself back into society. (You are isolated whether you realize it or not.) The pills are not a panacea.

And, if you don't have an illness and you stigmatize or don't quite fully understand, this is for you too. I want you to understand the symptoms as best as I can explain them. I want you to understand the long walk, the long hard walk, we have to take just to be in the game again,not necessarily to win in your definition.

But, to my brothers and sisters who have a mental illness, we are winners when we get up every morning and shower and dress and try. Try has to become win. It's the only way we're going to make it.


"....but with God, all things are possible."

trying to overcome isolation and aloneness

After 29 years of being afraid of people for various reasons. They could read my mind, i could read theirs. I had paranoid delusions. They looked like ghoulish figuires. I thought they were ghouls. They wouldn't care or want to talk to me anyway. They were laughing and joking about me; and on. This was my life; I even doubted my family at times.

These machinations carry over into the good times I am experiencing now. I am still intimidated by large numbers of people in small spaces. Take the office I work in for example. The halls are very narrow and the rooms are very close and meetings are the worst. You are trapped; one way in and one way out. I know they think I'm manic because I walk very fast and work very hard. I can feel the hall's walls converging.

This was a good thing though. It forced me to recognize that some of the behaviors that were born to shield me when I was very ill are still around and must be worked on. Only with time and constant attention will they be overcome. I have to admit, I'm a bit of a hermit. It  hardly ever bothers me because I volunteer with NAMI a lot and know most of the people in the organization. It's the only stigma free zone I know besides the homes of my family. And, then there are my writing projects (numerous and on-going); and the open-mics and church and meetings. (yeah) And, sometimes I'm running ragged, even as a hermit.

I have this problem of analyzing everyone I come in contact with that I don't like or imagine that they don't like me. I'm not saying my analysis is wrong, but it is wrong for me to do it. I need to be a little more trusting (not a lot, just a little) and be more willing to reach out. I'm a Christian, it should be easy for me to Love my Neighbor, right.

This was the subject of a poetry slam I participated in. This was one of my poems:


i try (making a cosmic shift)


i am

trying to accept myself

warts and all…



i am trying to move into the Light

i am trying to make sense

of the machinations in this world

i am trying to make sense

i am trying

i am trying to extend

my hand to you

i am taking that chance



i am convinced

that anyone i see is my neighbor

and deserving of my respect



i am convinced

that the world works in stages

and only God knows

when they will change



we are remaking our destiny



we are making a cosmic shift

to anywhere

but here

when we identify our

shortcomings

and know our strengths

and love ourselves

then

we can

extend a hand

then we can love our neighbors.


So you see, I am trying and probably will be for the rest of my life; which is more than I can say for some folk.  (I am human).

the bridge (part II) a poem

poem for carolyn
(“breakthrough” my mirror in time)


i fought for a long time

to have my selves

stand

together at once

and worried about my

honesty

when i exhibited

myself on a page

the “triteness of my dreams” began to worry me

my poems “fidgeted” daily


but i learned

that when i just let go

the walls between my

selves

blended

and formed

a continuum



and what I put on the page was

myself if only for that moment in time

and found that my poems (when i wrote them)

didn’t “fidget”

and the “triteness of my dreams”

was directly proportional

to the way i live my life

as I continue to get older and

wiser


and so

when I revisited your poem

this time

after 28 years

i know that all the visits before

at different slots in time

held different meanings and were

not

a priming for a big payoff


and were not

the makings of a mindless migration

of thought i imagined



but that i was

building a bridge

a bridge to an unknown dream

and i see the dream

getting closer

but i don’t recall

its origin

i only know that

when I finally see it


i will embrace it

and not

consider it trite—

because i did all the work

and it

wasn’t

easy labor

and I will tell everyone

that God is Good

because

i’ve witnessed a miracle

in my lifetime

incongruent ramblings

have become parallel lines

which have formed

the outer edges of my bridge



when i prayed for peace

God gave me peace

when i prayed for freedom

He made me free

i asked for wholeness

and became whole



i find this to be

the foundation

of my bridge’s

structure



so now I can write

“a poem’s poem poem on a poem

every most could dig”

and “sound like no one in this black

world

but me”



or

maybe

i just think i can

but that’s ok too



and your “lopsided crystal sweet moment”

i thought

i understood

so many times before

is

clear

and i know (this time)

that it is in play

and I will never again rewind

just

pay and play

forward



and though i don’t know

what manner of older lady

you turned out to be

i can still say

thank you

for being my mirror

in time



and when you get puffed up and then

sucked in by blackness in that kind of “love black orgy”

you did

until you are a deflated balloon

remember it is the nature of our existence

being black with a poetic

mind

because as sonia has said

we are

“black and thought to be without meaning”

-jaa



“poem for carolyn (rodgers)” is a poem based on her poem from the 1960’s, “breakthrough.” I was 20 when I first read this poem in a black literature class. It struck me because I read it through the eyes of psychosis and I thought she had been through the same, even though I didn’t know I was ill at the time.

I “revisited” her poem ever so often and wrote my poem 28 years after the first reading. It is still valid for me to compare myself to, although this time in reality. I just turned 50 on October 16, 2011.

I had the privilege of meeting Sonia Sanchez (who is one of the reasons I am a poet, Carolyn Rodgers is another and I told her this)  at a book signing this year. She told me Carolyn Rodgers passed away in 2010.

the bridge (part I)

If you had known me just five years ago, you would not recognize the human being I've become. I didn't have the right meds then and therefore, could not effectively turn my life around no matter how hard I tried. I was severely depressed, hearing voices, thinking people could read my mind and scared of people in general. After I got the right medication, I knew it was up to me to make the turnaround; to bring the Joy back into my life. This is the bridge I built to fill the gap.


There are four things that bridged the gap for me from four years ago until now. They brought me to a degree of wellness that I can live with. They brought me my Joy back.

I first had to truly accept my illness and all the complications that come along with it. I will always be in a state of recovery.


Acceptance goes a long way. To me, if you accept something, then you take responsibility for it. You either try to change it or you live with it. But, it is your choice and no one else can carry the blame. I was ten years into the illness before I was able to begin bearing that load. Now, I own my illness and the pains that come along with it as spiritual challenges and growth. But then, I’m a poet.


But, don’t get me wrong, it’s no cake walk. Even when you find the right combination of medications (which I have entitled Russian roulette, only instead of one bullet, there is only one chamber empty), there is no guarantee of how long that combination will continue to work. There is always the threat of relapse looming over your head. This is why acceptance is so hard. It doesn’t seem fair to recover only to relapse again.


That’s why another part of getting your Joy back and keeping it is learning to deal with disappointment. I developed what I call the four R’s to deal with mine. I’ve had to do this most of my life.


First, you refocus, you single in on one positive aspect of your calamity. Then, you re-evaluate, to see if you might be able to use another route or another goal. You redefine yourself in light of the new goal and truly commit to it, trying not to look back. You then bundle all these together and redirect yourself towards the new route or goal. This has always worked for me; but, not without regrets. I am human.


I had to use this to deal with the reality that I would never be the scientist I wanted to be and never have the life I would have lived had I been that scientist and not had a mental illness. I still grieve for that 20 year old me. I probably always will.


But, you also have to recognize the beauty of God’s plan. Now, I know that the days that I suffered only reinforce my newfound Joy and make me a knowingly stronger person because I survived. Now, I can only say that God has blessed me. I can’t let my old longings dominate my thoughts. There are new challenges waiting.


To sustain my Joy, I give myself over to an attitude of gratitude. Gratitude is an acknowledgement of a benefit that one has received or will receive. Most people don’t think of receiving something positive from pain and gratitude is a positive emotion. But, scientists tell us that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Whatever is taken from you, you will get back and more. I truly believe this. So, when I’m going through a difficult time, I count my blessings.


The spiritual dimension of me is probably the main thing that has kept me through these years and even now. I was thinking today that every day I wake up sane, or as the old people used to say “clothed in my right mind,” is a blessing from God. Everything else is gravy. It will be this way until I die. (I am not planning on getting that ill again.)


Gratitude thinking is a good thing to do when I think back on the trauma I’ve been through living with a mental illness. Mental illness is a traumatic event in your life. But there is always something to grateful for. For me sometimes, it is simple. Sometimes, it is just knowing that I have a roof over my head, transportation, a job that I want to make my career and food to eat. If you had known me just five years ago when I was still severely depressed and hoped to die everyday, you would be amazed. I am. I am now thankful for every day in my life and I wouldn’t miss one.


Wellness came for me like night into day. One day I was praying to die and the next day I was looking forward to a new day and enjoying the day given.


You always look back if you’ve suffered long enough. Twenty-five years was just too long. But once you get that Joy back, you protect it like its gold…


-jacquese

Welcome

I'd like to take this opportunity to welcome all! Especially my friends from Canada, Germany, Russia and the U.K.  This just emphasizes that mental illness is no respecter of persons or countries for that matter. I am always amazed when someone tells me that I don't look like I have a mental illness. What do people with mental illnesses look like? Really, somebody tell me.

Also, I want to give a shout out to my brothers and sisters who are occupying Wall Street. I think you're very impressive.

jaa

bipolar

One of the added joys of having schizo-affective disorder is along with the schizophrenic symptoms, you have mania and depression. It's funny, a fellow peer support specialist and I were talking about mania and how its like "pinky and the brain." If you've ever seen the cartoon, you know that "the brain" is always plotting to take over the world, but always thwarted somehow, but still believes in his intrinsic genius. My colleagues call this "grandiose thinking." It's serious when it's happening, scary in hindsight. But, after you get a little wellness under your belt, it's funny. And, if you've ever watched the cartoon, you know what I mean. But, this condition is a bit too scary to put into a poem, at least for me.

I communicate my feelings and thoughts in poetry a lot. (this you know by now). This is how i communicate the feeling of depression:

depression (maximum strength)

the lights are out
i
am sitting
in the middle of the room
crouched
on the floor
numb/uncomfortably/naturally
i am not moving
i
do not want to move
it is a task to breathe
i cannot produce tears
the silence is deafening
i cannot leave
i will stay here
for the rest of my life
i
think
-jaa


You don't control when one starts and ends. Neither end of the spectrum is your personality, although you think so when the emotions are occupying your brain. So, this is what I wrote about this brain disorder as a whole:

bipolar

ever do a see-saw
on the other end of a person
so big and powerful
you were up and down
at their whim?

try walkin through
life
at the mercy of
whimsical emotion
turnin your face on a divide
called fear

a sing-song mary
turns into
a majestic princess
turns to a
fairytale hatred queen
and leaves a skeleton
-jaa

This disorder can wreak havoc in someone's life obviously. And when you pair it with voices, well, you can imagine. I have been fortunate, or perhaps unfortunate, in that I never articulated what I was thinking when I was ill. The voices told me to speak in allegories. I still made some really dumb choices, but they were harmless, just embarassing in retrospect.

I have been working on a fiction novel for quite some time. I had to put it down for a year. I couldn't handle it at that time. I gave the heroine of the book my delusions and psychoses that I never articulated and when I stared at it on a page, it scared the hell out of me, literally. I saw how far "out there" I had gotten during those years. It is a miracle, a modern day one, that I ever got back. I thank God for bringing me back daily.
What else can I say?

in earnest,
jacquese

my truth

Funny how people react to your personal truth when it has to do with a mental illness. In a presentation I give I end with my dream: "My dream is of a stigma free world where I can freely discuss my experiences of the past 29 years and not be laughed at, stared at blankly or ostracized." I don't know how people can take issue with my personal truth. It is what it is.

I want to encourage others to tell their personal truth about their illnesses. Only then can we transcend this thing called stigma. I also write to persuade those without mental illnesses to think about how it feels to lose your faculties and your dreams.

If my truth was another calamitous disease, even another brain disease, there would be no controversy. But, I do not apologize for my views on my personal truth. I am very proud of the fact that with my God and my family I have fought my way through this disease, at least till now. Sometimes, without the competent guidance of a mental health professional. I have been privy to many an unempathetic and/or incompetent professional. And, I will not be intimidated to say otherwise. How can anyone tell me what my truth is?

In reality, there is really nothing anyone can do to me but laugh at me, stare at me blankly or ostracize me. I have been alienated for so long by some, this no longer upsets me. But, I have also been alienated from myself; having to hide from my truth. This is the worst type of alienation. I am enjoying the freedom of embracing myself wholeheartedly, warts and all.

You gotta love me (smile).

to remind myself (humor is my best friend)

So, I'll be turning 50 on October 16th. I'm going to be a very young, vibrant 50. Having spent half my life in psychosis and looking like I'm in my thirties anyway, I feel I owe it to myself.

I also owe myself a "mini" mid-life crisis; just a little one. Since I've had enough drama in my head to last 5 lifetimes, this is all I want. I know who I am.

I told my father who thinks that red hair (my "mini" mid life indulgence) would not become me this:

• I don't have money to buy a sports car.
• I don't have a husband to leave.
• I don't smoke anymore.
• I don't drink.
• I don't ge high.
• I'm not promiscuous.

hair coloring is about all there is left. So, I'm trading in dark brown for a deep vibrant red. (My stylist, who is more conservative than I said, let's do it in stages). I like to have a sense of humor about my life and my illness. I like to be around people who joke and laugh with me about myself and life as well as their  own.

Like one  of my friends who has known me since before my break, found it very funny that on one hospital stay, I told her that they refused to let us watch "One flew over the cuckoo's nest" She always remembers this and we laugh. She is the first one to laugh with me about my condition. But then, we always had the same sense of humor, that's why we've been friends more than thirty years.

I enlisted my father to drive the "getaway car", when on one hospital stay I decided to break out. (I was extremely manic and they couldn't seem to get it under control.). I told my father that they had released me and where to pick me up. But, my father, being the astute gentleman that he is, checked with the hospital first. They said I was over an hour due to be back in the "ward."

This was when they still gave "priveleges" to go off the ward by yourself. You could check your self out for an hour at a time.

My father told them I was in the gift shop. They sent the "white coats" to come and get me. for the rest of my stay I had someone trailing me.

My father never let's me forget this and when I was writing my memoir he said, "Jacques, are you going to tell them about the getaway car story?" We still laugh about it.

I won't bore you with any more of my stories, but you get the gest. Whenever I'm really down on this disease I try to think on some of the things that made me laugh.

doing all things with thanks to God in mind

The spiritual dimension of me is probably the main thing that has kept me through these years and even now. I was thinking today that everyday I wake up sane, or as old people used to say "clothed in my right mind", is a blessing from God. Everything else is gravy. It will be this way until I die. (I am not planning to get that sick again.)


Think about it. How many people are blessed enough to come out of and survive 25 years of psychosis, paranoia and delusion? I'm not bragging, I'm just saying, I lived in insanity. It was what it was. And now I give the thanks to whom it's due.


Now, it's so nice to just sit by myself in my apartment and listen to the quiet. My mind was never quiet for those years except in sleep. So, listening to the quiet is a real blessing.


To go to a job I like and believe in is a blessing. Imagine, I get to encourage and support fellow peers as they journey into wellness. And, the job is as good in theory as it is in actuality.


So, I thank God, from whom all blessings flow. And I trust in the Lord, leaning not to my own understanding. I acknowledge Him in every way and He directs my path. I cast my burdens on the Lord, and lose my care.


This is my personal truth.

person-centered care

I believe in person-centered care. You have to use everything you have within you to make it through this kind of illness. A person who is just reduced to a "pill-popper" will never be well in the long-run in my opinion. Take it from one who found herself at 45 in body and 21 in emotional and social arenas.


I have isolated myself since this illness started. It took everything I had to work, the times that I did. I never really had a therapist until i was about 37. Oh, I've had flashes in the pan, but no one you would go back to. Mainly, my treatment consisted of meds, hospital and psychiatrists visits. It's no wonder I've always felt so disconnected, even from myself. So, I found myself in my 40's feeling like I was in my 20s.


I feel very awkward because I'm just facing the world as a rational adult and yet I'm 49.


There was much work to do when I found myself free from the torture. I do want to live a whole life and not just go to work and do nothing else. I think I deserve much more than that. So, I devised a plan that has here-to-fore been successful.


First, since I had been in isolation for so long and I knew my social skills were "not," I joined a group at NAMI that goes to different events and once a month bowling and pizza. It's a great group. I knew I could go there because not only is it just for consumers but it is consumer run. You didn't have to feel like a sore thumb. However, at first I did. I went for a year until my job changed and interfered with the timing. But, it's great because you have many consumers at many levels and there's got to be someone you click with. I found a lot of people like this.


Second, I devised a plan to get me away from here. I need to start over and I need to be around family. So, I put myself on a timeline to move to Atlanta. I'm sure that if I pass their test for certification, I can easily find a peer support specialist job, which was my career goal. I have already accomplished the goal for working here as one and I get to work for the company I envisioned working for. I have 200 of the 500 hours it takes to get certified in this state and then I would just have to take the test in Georgia.


Third, I had to find a more comfortable church. I needed to start over. The church I went to, I was a member for 6 years and knew no one but the Seniors I worked with and later attended bible study with at their fellowship. The church has thousands of members, three services and its just unmanageable for me to navigate. What I needed was a smaller down-home type of church where everyone at least talked about being family with one another.


After a couple churches, I felt like Goldilocks. But, I finally got it right (I think, it's still very new for me). I feel the Spirit and I feel comfortable and the Pastor is a good preacher. I'm not intimidated by a sea of faces every Sunday morning and I like that. That's really all I need. So, I dubbed this one "just right."


I just received confirmation that I passed my medical for my Commercial Drivers License and now all I have to do is get myself finger printed. That, I won't worry about. I have had no major run-ins with the law. But, my medical was a nail-biter because I take so many medications. I'm sure I need them though (after all these years of being refractory, I would know). It would have been ironic that the very condition that most qualified me for the job, kept me from complying. Praise God.


After 35 years, I've quit smoking. I have been smoke free for 6 months and some change. Now, I need to concentrate on my diet, my health and my weight. No one told me that I would gain a lot of weight on these medications and at first I was too sick to really care. I wish that someone would have talked to me about nutrition and exercise when I was still a size 6 (smile).

share the wealth of information (everyone)

I'm in love with the commercial with Susan Taylor and Terrie Williams trying to entice the African-American Community into a dialogue about mental illness. This has been a long time coming. We judge so harshly sometimes. Even some of those within our own families. They say things like,"stop being lazy and get a job," when you're trying to work but can't hold one.

I think these women are very astute for bringing this to the forefront. The more people that are educated about this illness, I believe they will let the stigma go. I think the nation is due for this kind of conversation.

I saw and heard Terrie Williams at a women's retreat. She was very compelling in her call for "a healing" in the community. I hope this catches on and in my lifetime, I can talk about the brain disorder I have as if it were diabetes. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

you better work

All the entries I have made in this blog are my experiences with schizoaffective disorder. This is all I know. There is not a wealth of definitive information about schizophrenia and other forms. The brain is a complex organ. Psychiatrists only guess at what medication will work for any given person; it's a crap shoot at best, in my opinion.

I tried to find information on suicidal ideations and schizophrenia. I didn't find many conclusive answers or statistics. Again, all I know is what I've lived. No journal can tell me about my pain and neither can a psychiatrist unless they have the same brain disorder.

Every day was a trial. I just wanted to escape the emotional pain and character orchestration in my head. It got to the point that I didn't know which voice was mine. I was still trying to work, but I never could hold down a job for long period of time because of the voices. There was one exception where I worked for seven years. I'm a 49-year old woman and that's the longest time that I have worked with no interruption until the end when I had to go on FMLA.

I  have a B.A. in Journalism that I tried to use twice. Both jobs were excellent opportunities for me. One was at a newsletter publishing firm in Arlington, VA and the other was a newspaper reporter position for a small town in West Virginia. The Arlington job was great. I even got to cover a story at a congressional hearing. It made me feel like a journalist because I was just out of school. I lived with suicidal ideations all day long and I never told my family this. I told them that I wanted to leave because I couldn't find good medical  help... well, I couldn't. But I was more scared of trying to commit suicide and succeeding and that they would only discover my body when it started stinking in the hall.

The worse part is I loved this job. Whenever my symptoms got too much to manage, I would tell them I suffer from migraines and leave (more acceptable) and they were cool with that as long as I got my work done. There's a real difference in working with creative people versus a "normal" job. I loved that difference. Nevertheless, the ideations and voices kept on to the point that I knew I had to go home and refresh. I refused to give up.
.
But, I should have. Two weeks into my new reporting job about six months after the newsletter firm, I tried to commit suicide.  I was on my way to the police station to discuss a molestation case. I had a panic attack, but at that time I didn't know what one was. I was crying like I was over one of my parent's grave. And I couldn't compose myself as I drove into the parking lot. I sat there a long time unable to compose myself.

I drove to my doctor's office. He wasn't there.  I went home. I called my dad. He wasn't in his office. I called friend. He wasn't there. That's when I looked at the bottle of Xanax  and decided to take them all.

I wanted my family to know that they could have done nothing. I just wanted to get rid of the drama that played out in my head every day. So, I left a note. I was blessed though; but, I didn't think so then.

In my haste to call someone, I left my apartment door unlocked. A friend from work, who was a quintessential reporter, came to investigate when I never returned from the police station. She brought police with her so that she could enter the apartment. They called an ambulance and saved my life.

The only reason I never attempted again is the look on my father's face the next day. He had driven from Pittsburgh to see about me. I didn't want to inflict pain on my parents or family, I just wanted mine to end. But, it didn't. So, as my poem in the first post said, I got a double dose.

I still tried to work, never finding a professional job. I worked a lot of minimum wage jobs. I couldn't hold one. This was rock bottom for me. I was 28 years old and I couldn't take care of myself. I felt so inadequate. This is about the time I was introduced to clozapine by my psychiatrist (an anti-psychotic) . It dulled the voices some so that I could crawl into a bank customer service phone job every day. But, I was proud of myself for working. There was a time when I was almost agorophobic, but my father scared me when he told me that I could sit here with him the rest of my life or push myself out the door everyday. Needless to say, visions of being an adult child in their home scared me.

I worked this job until my new psychiatrist (I had to change psychiatrists since I now worked, this messed my treatment up considerably) decided that he didn't know what to do with me after six years of treating me relatively well and reccomended FMLA. Well, that just gave me a vacation; it didn't improve my symptoms. When I came back things were very tense, but before they lowered the boom, I recieved a job offer from a company in Philadelphia I had applied to.

This company asked me to leave after two years. Of course, they persuaded me to resign. That brought me to New Jersey and my parent's home, again.

I have worked retail here. I was a security guard for three years. And, then I set my sites on a peer specialist position. I thank God for blessing me with such a position. I get to help people like me for a living.

Dreams deferred? I've had many. But I think that everything is in line right now. I know that whatever happens from now on, I'm going to be just fine. Even if I relapse or lose this job. I am very calm. And I feel relaxed. I know that He is in control.

risking feelings

Some people may think me strange to put it on the line with a subject like mental illness. I say we all need to have a serious discussion about the subject. Especially when the only time we hear about it is when someone has been murdered or shot. Nevertheless, I do it because I want to help and I think it needs to be done.

I first "disclosed" as part of a documentary, "Documenting our presence....", in 2007. I talked about my illness, treatment and life openly. I did it because I had just come out of 25 years of psychosis and I wanted to help.

After I saw the documentary for the first time, I thought, "Oh no...I've put myself out there for the world to see." But then, I thought that it was for the greater good. That is when I decided I wanted to be an active voice in the "trenches" of the war on stigma.

I work with NAMI-NJ (National Alliance on Mental Illness-New Jersey) as a volunteer. So, I then began to be a presenter in their program, "In Our Own Voice", where we speak to different groups in the community about our experiences living with a mental illness. Our main goal is to try to eliminate stigma through education and putting a "face" on the illness.

I have also done speaking engagements and I hope to do more. I maintain that if we would all speak out and stand up we could eradicate the stigma associated with brain disorders. I just want to do my part.

invisible and invincible

You may think of the two terms in the title as oxymoronic. They are. But they can still coexist. I was invisible for 25 years. I sat in public places alone, entertaining my voices (not out loud), laughing. Looking back, I know people looked; raised an eyebrow. But, I was oblivious. Because I felt invisible. I didn't care and couldn't imagine anyone caring about me or why they would. (illness will do this for you) Invisible.

Now, I am about 8 on the wellness scale. I still go out alone if I want to. I eat alone. I go to coffeehouses and write alone. I will go to the movies alone. Anything I want to do I do, if there's no one to come along or it's spontaneous. I go it alone, even though I now know I am not invisible. I don't care. Twenty-five years of psychosis trained me well. Although now, I feel I am invincible. I have come back to life. I have recovered.

I was reminded of this by a man I saw in Panera. I could tell right away he had problems. I saw myself.


we know us
(when we see us)

walkin around like a
ghost
in a public place
alone
can't sit still
outside/inside/outside/inside
putting little papers in the trash
intermittently
probably thinks he's invisible
'cause
he doesn't see us
i can look back
and see me
want to save someone
but don't want to scare them
telling them of
the road ahead
he was
refractory
or at the beginning
of a psychiatric journey

someone probably dropped
him off
thinking
it'll be good for him

but he doesn't mind
he's invisible

and i am
frequently alone in public places
doesn't bother me
psychosis and invisibility prepared me for it
now
i am invincible
i have recovered from a mental illness


By the way, I saw him later at the office where I see my therapist.

the things we leave behind

there are things we leave behind that we can never recover. i'm sure you can think of a few whether you have experienced a loss of your faculties or not. i was "struck down" at 20. i thought i was grown but i was still very much a child. i had no responsibilities but school and personal maintenance. suffice it to say, i was relatively carefree. i would have liked to progress from thos days gradually, naturally. i missed the natural progression of life at that stage into adulthood.

i would have liked to have been stable enough to meet someone and marry, have a family. i still don't think i am mature enough emotionally or financially to raise a child, especially on my own. sometimes, this saddens me. but, i know i couldn't have handled either in the state i was in.

i miss the friends i left behind because i was too paranoid to deal with them.

i miss the joy of meeting and knowing people because i was scared of them and thought they could read my mind.

i miss the many chances i had to make somewhat of the success of my life like the ongoing engineering internship, the newspaper job and the newsletter publishing job where i was a reporter. and even though i didn't particularly care for this job, the insurance job i got fired from (at least it was work).

i miss jacquese as i used to know her.

i missed a whole bunch of parties and clubs and foolishness. i used to love to trip with my friends.

i miss being the highly intelligent confident person i was and wonder if i would have maintained that had i progressed naturally.

welcome from outerspace

welcome me from outer space through the desert and into the greenness of my own backyard. I am feeling blessed in spite of all i've been through. i am feeling free although i was chained in shackles once and only dreamed of the concept of freedom. i used to look for a modern day harriet tubman to help me chart the course. tried to follow the drinking gourd on my own, but it didn't work. because my mind was chained and only my God could set it free. i am blessed. (can you tell i was listening to my sister jill scott this morning?)

where i had been torn, mutilated, i am now whole. i am blessed.

people i didn't know used to come up to me and say, "it can't be that bad." i would give a little smile knowing it was much worse than they could ever suspect. i would also think how dare they trespass into my personal sadness, extreme depression.

i used to be afraid that i would be forever psychologically damaged by the level of depression i lived with. (this was back in '84) until i went to a wynton marsalis concert and he played some notes that made me shed tears and i thought at least one person experienced that level, there must be more. i was in my 20s so i was still very self-absorbed.

now, i know that those days only reinforce my new found Joy and only serve to make me a knowingly stronger person for having gone through that very, very long period, because...i survived. and now i can only say God has blessed me.

my mother and father and brother are very positive people. i used to think that they were very naive. but, that was the depression talking. my father always loved the song that says, "God has smiled on me, He has set me free. God has smiled on me, He's been good to me."

i  used to think that was easy for him to say. he and my mother rose from the jim crow south to an upper middle class lifestyle. but now i know it's deeper than that. i'm sure they give God the credit for giving them the strength, insight and fortitude to manuveur into the position they came to know as home. so, there is depth there. and though i never picked cotton (my father said this solely gave him the motivation to leave alabama and go to college), i definitely understand adversity. and, i feel the depth associated with that song.

some call us a family of black nerds, but we don't care. we are happy with each other. we feel blessed to be here. and i for one feel blessed to be a part of the armstrong/thomas experience (it goes deeper than just the nuclear family). i guess that's where i get my persistence and hard headedness from.

dealing with disappointment

Another part of getting your Joy back and keeping it is learning to deal with disappointment. When we
are babies we cry. When we get a little older, we may become rebellious (yours truly). A little older and we tolerate or reason, usually superficially. But, none of these responses prepare you for the loss of
your faculties.

Over the years, I have developed a system for myself. I call it the 4 R's. I wrote a poem
that illustrates this point:

promise

mental illness is a thief

a thief that steals

futures

potential

 happiness

that is until you

refocus

reevaluate

redefine

redirect

and cheat the thief

 out of his spoils

-jaa

I’d like to introduce you to my four R’s. I truly believe in this sequence. I’ve had to do it most of my life.

To refocus, you single in on a positive aspect of your calamity. You reevaluate to see if you might be able to figure out another route or another goal. You redefine yourself and truly commit to the new goal, trying not to look back. You bundle all these together and redirect yourself towards the new route or goal. These four are my mantra for surviving a mental illness with a minimum amount of upset. But, you have to believe in them.