on mental health and the arts...

guess what....i'm baaaack....

i gave a presentation at the nami-nj annual conference on saturday 12-14-13 and a new friend
elena kravitz
asked me to post it, so here it is:
(much love and thanks to mike veny for back-up on drums)

imagine
you're a slave
you're looking for freedom
you meet up with moses/harriet tubman
it's the middle of the night
and these are her instructions

If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches, keep going. If there’s shouting after you, keep going. Don’t ever stop. Keep going. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.

now it's 2013 and

you're jacquese armstrong

you've been having a lot of trouble this past year and a half

you feel'

like a fugitve in your own life

you see a quote by moses that strikes you

so you write this poem

“underground railroad (of the mind)”

[inspired by harriet tubman/moses]

by jacquese armstrong



i hear her last instructions

keep going
no matter what



but i got hellhounds

on my trail

and the blue intrusive rain falls

daggers/each drop

a deadly reminder



(keep moving)



found a river to

wash away my scent

fell in the clayed mud dried

on my skin but

i keep runnin



labyrinth times 100

circles running endless

closed latched doors

shouts from open windows plague

an already vulnerable mind

the wind is not

my friend

i don’t concentrate on trees

i follow deep blue black skies’

Star tellin me

hope

freedom

tomorrow



tomorrow and tomorrow

and tomorrow

should i stop today i’ll be

eaten alive

so i will walk/run/crawl

‘cause i hear her voice

urgin me



KEEP GOING



the deepness of night

don’t upset me

‘cause i know

morning will come

i got nowhere to stay



KEEP GOING



angular pain

and diagonal circumference

synapses not communicating

and the laugh/cry thing

is strapped on my back



KEEP GOING

KEEP GOING

KEEP GOING



rest…

in the morning

when joy comes

rest

in the morning

when joy comes

rest

in the morning

when joy comes



and then

i hear the last skeleton

words callin out my head


...keep going
   if you want a taste of freedom
   keep going...

(end of poem)




I got started writing seriously in college when I had my first psychotic break. I’m diagnosed with schizo-affective disorder and the voices would dictate poetry (among other things). I was an engineering student then and had never thought about writing projects at all, let alone constantly the way I do now. Now, I write like I breathe. It’s a vital force in my life.




That was 32 years ago. My writing has now become an integral part of who I am. It’s the most powerful weapon in my arsenal to combat the ups and downs of this disease. My writing reflects where I am at any particular point in time and is sometimes a great tool for understanding myself.



You can say that Creativity is the ability to make something out of nothing, literally. If you believe in God, you know that being created in his own image gives us this Power, just in varying degrees. When I am having trouble, like I have been for the last year and a half, I am usually at my most creative.



When I get really stuck, I can write an essay or a memoir. Writing, whether getting published or not, is a very cathartic process for me. You have to know yourself, your motivations and your defenses in order to do it honestly. This is a prerequisite for fighting any particular illness or symptom. The process of writing reinforces by making you stronger within. You come through on the other side of trouble renewed, because not only have you revealed to yourself a part of your truth; you have created and no one can take that from you; you own it.

Creative writing enhances critical thinking and problem-solving skills. If you are like I have been this year, there are constant challenges and solutions become elusive at times. When you can discern ways to deal with or solve your own problems, it bolsters your self-esteem which contributes to a higher level of wellness.



Also, creative writing and other expressive arts enhance the recovery process just by being a fun activity; something we tend to forget about needing. I know I do. Creativity and imagination spark a lightness in the soul that dislodges burdens, if only for that point in time.



As I’ve said, I write like I breathe, it’s just that necessary. It provides an out for me. At any given time, whether I’m in a setback or thriving, I always have a creative project I’m working on. It creates a parallel universe for me, that lets me come out on top; no matter the outcome. It’s a place where I can succeed on my own terms.



I jokingly say sometimes that I have my own planet. My blog is named the view from my planet. I say I live on another planet because most people don’t go through what I go through and therefore their frame of reference is much different from mine. I used to do “In our own voice” a lot for NAMI and one of the participants in the video we use says, “mental illness is not for sissies,” and it isn’t. It’s no cake walk, but through creativity and imagination you can make a luxurious place out of a shack. It also goes a long way toward making someone else understand your humanity.

In this world that sometimes rains mean-spirited stigmatizing people, creativity is a broad sturdy umbrella. Once you’re inside, it is a blanket and a cup of cocoa. It’s the friend that let’s you do you, no matter how far from the norm it may be.



This is why the arts are so important in general. Without creative endeavors or appreciation for them, life is like a robotic sequence of tasks on a conveyor belt. You are robbed of feeling and that is the worst calamity for a human being. The ability to feel and express that feeling through art or just connect through art with the human that created it is a gift. Not only does it make the world a more understandable place, it makes us as humans notice our sameness and not our differences.



###

this is it!

this is the last entry on my blog as my symptoms and situations are cyclical and I don't care to comment on them any more. it's redundant. please visit the pages prior to gain a better understanding of what a person with a mental illness goes through. if i ever get my book published, please read it...i made it uplifting.

jacquese...

of course i'm leaving with a poem...

by the way, check me out in blackberry: a magazine in september 2013 and black magnolias literary journal in winter spring summer and upcoming fall 2013.

a heartfelt goodbye...

the colors of my indiscretions

by jacquese armstrong

 

i hate broken wing days

grey and red colors/red

magnified shouts intricately woven

in the partial grey fabric of my

quilt born life

 

my grandmothers taught me to weave

 

(i see a bag lady on the street

from a local coffee shop window

realize i’ve known her for years)

 

quilt born life makes perceptions

change

innocence

is a learned emotion

 

(i am an enigma in my neighborhood)

 

grey insides make deep pockets

like the ones m’dear had

on her ankle length cotton soft aprons

rocking

with much patience

on her black/brown/grey wooden front porch

her greyed eyes quite lived in

 

innocence is a learned emotion

 

quilt born life consists

of anything i pick up

the time i spend in outerspace

is calming

mauvy

pink tissue paper blowin in the breeze and

crystal

blue

clear

running

streams

and i create in this space

i own it

 

innocence is a learned emotion and

earth is a prohibitive destination

 

(rasta walks

the abandoned streets alone

i know him as an african drummer

who does poetry)

 

perceptions are a prism

and the Light plays with

the Mind/colors you

my quilted life’s

childhood colors

voluminous violets’

furious fuschia’s

screaming yellow

and the all-embracing care and treasured time

time

it took to

weave and sew fabric pieces

 

they make the warmth

 

caring brown hands with

chocolate arms that hug and

loving peppermint smiles from

the men and women

who taught the lessons that make

innocence

a learned emotion…

 

i hate broken wing days

the colors are grey and red.

 

sometimes we have to revisit the past in order to appreciate the complexities of the present

I am always looking back because one, I don't want to make the same mistakes and two, I find it easier to appreciate now no matter how hard it may be for me. I don't think that I will ever have another 24 year non-stop symptomatic roll and I am thankful to Jesus for that. So, I revisit. Because even though it is tough now, I don't go through the symptoms as long. I hope you can appreciate this poem. I wrote it a couple of years ago.

 see me

by jacquese armstrong

 

see me

crouched in a corner

holding my head

wishing i could disconnect

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 deal with the

mirror image.

a note of preparation

note: this is from a collection i'm working on with the title "for sisters who fear their own magnificence." our mothers and grandmothers started with less than not much but through faith in God, their families, their communities and churches they overcame almost all the obstacles. it is my belief that we must start to summon this spirit just to keep ourselves and our families "afloat."

preparation

by jacquese armstrong

 

and i am walking through

the jungle

my gait sober steady

i smell the humid air and know

the rains are coming

i don’t want to take shelter

the jungle needs me

 

and i am walking through the jungle

hear the thunderous roar sense

the flash of light coming next and

if it strikes it strikes

i will comfort others

i do what i can to protect my own

 

i am not alone

we are many

and many have come

before us

sojourners in these states

sojourners on the earth

harriet tubman, “the original” sojourner truth, ida b wells,

madame c j walker, mary mcloud bethune, zora neale hurston, gwendolyn brooks,

abbie lincoln, fannie lou hamer, rosa parks, bessie kyles, lena thomas, loree armstrong,

carolyn rodgers, isis originile…

their spirits mix with ours

inspire/

           color/

                    revive/

ashe, ashe

magnificent female warrior ancestors

the numbers cannot be named

strong sturdy spirits

 

and their spirits mix with ours

we cannot help

but be encouraged

have faith in our heaping spoons of

foresight and courage

we must always look to fill a  need

 

and their spirits mix with ours

we are the children

we the living

we are guards of inheritance

 

…when the Power descends

we will come together

and the sister revolution will begin

the battle fought with wit and intellect

courage and encouragement

each within our own discipline

each a part of the Universal…

 

Shine on my sister ancestors

you are only numbered

by the stars on cobalt blue

 

begin to Shine

my sisters

we are needed in the Universe

to balance the Power of Light.

 

in our natural state

in our natural state

by jacquese armstrong

 

i fell

asleep on the back of a swimming

                                 green

                      sea turtle

huge by my standards

but he rode me far away

far away from my home

 

i was in a land where

no one

had wings

especially not colorful ones

they felt constrained by their own

very presence

i thought it strange

that these creatures with so many devices

would be so sad

 

at home

we don’t own

we don’t create

we don’t think most of the time

we fly.

previously published in Blackberry: a magazine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

visionquest

So...I've started on a quest, a meager start, but a start never the less. I have a vision to bring my truth about mental health recovery to the person I was when it "hit" me.  I want to take it to my back yard and to the college age people who so often fall prey at that crucial time in life. I am petitioning HBCU's to see if they would like me to speak to their students about mental health recovery. If nothing else, I have made them aware of the problem. And, I feel good about that. Something good has to come out of all this pain.

on another note: I am so glad I have the therapist and doctor that I have. They never think I'm delusional when I tell them the things I want and need to do. Even though no other projects have worked out yet, I have to follow my heart, my dreams, my goal...I'll never survive this if I don't.

i woke up this morning...

...i woke up this morning and my mind
was set on freedom...

To route all the negativity from your life is a hard thing to do. It is a tedious and tiring task. It is a daily grind. But, every morning I must remind myself to do it. It is not a choice for me. Negativity is like the devil; it preys on minds like mine. I can't afford the luxury and hipness of cynicism, which is the sophisticated form of negativity. It is so sleekly disguised that most forget that's what it is.

Freedom is always what I strive for. Freedom from dis-ease. I long to have everything on an even keel. This freedom quest has always moved me forward. It's a fight I can handle because my many ancestors fought and died for freedom of another form. But freedom none the less. This has been my battle cry ever since I started to actively fight this thing. I used to say to myself that if my ancestors could make it through slavery (evidenced by the fact that I am here) and my grandparents and parents could survive jim crow in alabama, surely I can make it through a mental illness. And this became my sojourn, my mantra for dealing with my mental illness.

I have felt that I am too sophisticated for that now. I have felt that I am lacking in vision. I have felt that since my voice often stands alone, that maybe Fights don't matter. But still, I can't seem to forget my history and that of my family's.

My mother and father attended HBCUs in the south. When they finished their educational journeys, my mother had a master's as a reading specialist and my father a doctorate in polymer chemistry. All this they accomplished with "separate but equal" schooling at the start. They have now in the last phases of their careers come back to give to the HBCU tradition. They both teach at a small HBCU.

My grandmothers and grandfathers did all they could to encourage their offspring to get through college. It wasn't easy for both of my parents. They had to work more than one job and play catch up besides. And, my grandparent's worked every job they could find; all were the original "multi-taskers."

When I look back on this rich history that I have. I get angry. I get angry that all had to go through what they went through. Just as I sometimes get angry that I have to go through this and work so hard just to breathe.  I wonder if all americans had to overcome as much adversity as we as African-Americans have overcome, would our country still be standing? (that's for  you to ponder and answer)

However, I have decided not to dwell on anger and hate, and this is not the first time. I do get worked up on this subject. And, my anger is insurmountable. I often ponder at a resolution because some of my brothers and sisters are still waiting in the wings for their "taste" of freedom. At this point, I have given it to God, but in return, I have picked up on the "good fight" again. It's all i know...."songs of freedom...redemption songs...songs of freedom..." (bob marley)

(won’t you) help me sing

trees don’t notice
the thunder and lightening
they just fall
when struck

we have given our all and all

and are continuously set up for a fall

and yet

we still exist

strong

He must have a plan for us

 

we have built this country from scratch

and watchers

never call us anything but lazy

He must  have a plan for us

 

no one could live without the

inventions and innovations

we have designed

and yet they boast

our intelligence level is less

than most

He must have a plan for us

 

our every creative endeavor is

either used by advertising

or shared or taken over

and yet it is said that we

are not to the right of the bell shaped curve

naturally

He must have a plan for us

 

they are building jails

based on the numbers of those of us

who drop out weary from the fight

no plan of redemption from a system that

over the years has

catapulted our communities into their

worst fears

but God has a plan

 

marley

sang redemption songs

all he ever had

songs of freedom

 

freedom

a much used word

in this society

the ancestors of those who enslaved

complain of chains economic now

makes no distinction until it comes down

to the color of skin...

 

and yet God has a plan

 

i am not the Universe’s Mind

i can’t know what will go on before me

but i know my Father has a plan of Redemption

that will see Time right wrongs

 

so i continue to sing

songs of history

so that none will forget

songs of freedom

so that none will lose Hope

shed light on insanity

to free you and me

from slavery of mind

won’t you... help me sing...?

 

the river widens

and it narrows

suffers from drought

and deluge

but it keeps on flowing

and so do we...

jacquese

 

these are the days i hate

I don't know what to think now. I have a day where i'm fine and then the next few days, I pray hard for God to take me; let me die. And, I'm  crying as if I'm over my parent's grave. Not just superficial sobs and a few tears, I am howling. The emotional pain is sometimes more than I think I can bear. There is no other option though. I have to press on through and hope I get back to a time when I feel good most of the time.

I had an episode with voices recently too. I haven't been bothered with this for 7 years, so we're trying a new med.

When I'm up and feeling okay, I am optimistic and love life. But I am so weary on days that are not good. I feel as if I'll never accomplish anything. If someone killed one of my family members, I would not wish them this. They classify my illness as severe and chronic; I say it's a condemnation of the soul for life. I'm not being melodramatic either.

Today is an ordinary day

The man said he made a living out of releasing the "insanity" in his head. He is an entrepreneur with 6 businesses and looks to be about my age, also African-American. He was candid about his bout with mental illness early in his life.

I love to hear a speaker like this. Although he spoke briefly as he received an award, his candor hit me. I knew where he was coming from. I have had so many hair-brained schemes and I am about to give up and think that it's all a big fantasy job I'm doing on my head. But, there is hope. Maybe some of my "insanity" can be released and make a career for myself. I still long to fully support myself.

At  the luncheon, they were talking about work being an integral part of recovery and up until the end of January, I would have been engrossed in every conversation. But, today, I'm feeling the pain of another "failure." I had to get out of the luncheon before it was over. I used to have a happy ending message. But today is an ordinary day, just like the one before it. And I am working on my wellness, but I haven't an idea where I will go from here.

I just wrote in a poem that I can't know what will go on before me. I am not the Universe's Mind. But, my Father will right all wrongs in His Time. I have to trust.

I have no more to say. today is an ordinary day.


release the insanity (it's a positive thing)

and so
in the beginning
you get all these seeds in your brain
and only the ones you nurture
come to fruition...

i release my inner self to laugh
i release my inner self to Love
i release my inner self to pray
i release my inner self to stay
whole
in this bitch of a life i live
but it goes on
and the Bible tells me
this too shall pass
and so i hold my well worn string
tied to Hope and pray
i have the ability to do the long haul thing

and so
in the beginning...

i actually thought i would beat
this thing
first by thinking through it
next by working through it
i'm still waiting for a break
in the weather
so i can get across the street

and so in the beginning
you get all these seeds
in your brain...

and some times they are delusions
and hallucinations that you
can't distinguish from reality

and so
in the beginning
you get all these seeds in your brain
and only the ones you nurture
come to fruition...

so
what if you nurture
the delusions and hallucinations?

how do i make a positive out of a
no win situation?...

trust in the Lord and lean not to your own
understanding in all thy ways acknowledge Him
and He will direct thy path...


o win situation.

the speaker speaks

If you would like to have me speak or do a workshop at an event (none too small) please contact me at jacquesearmstrong@hotmail.com with "speaker" on the subject line.

peace always peace,
jacquese

Happy Mother's Day "Mother Dear"

I went to do a presentation today even though I am in the midst of yet another crisis...I felt good about it though...It restored my sense of me...I am a fighter...I will not lay down...ever.

I may not have beat this thing, but on the flip side, it has not beat me. Nor will it ever. There is always Hope...I believe that. I may be at wit's end at the moment and a door may have been shut in my face, perhaps a couple, but God's gonna open a window so that I can breathe.

That's what I hate most about being in the psychiatric hospital. There are so many people with no hope. And, while I truly understand their pain, I can't commiserate with them. Negative thoughts are the enemy. I have to guard against them daily. Since I'm living in Jersey, I have to fight them.

My mother's day poem might explain my resilient nature...This is for you Mom...with a nod to Langston Hughes...Happy Mother's Day...

daughter to mother

i watched you cautiously

along a weary time for me

climbing

              always

                          climbing

didn’t matter what kind of stair

crystal wooden steel cement

even saw  you construct  your own

and if you slowed

a little

i could still see  you climb

and then you told me

how they denied you stairs once

so you cast a balloon to the sky

to get to your destination

you’re still climbing

(and they ask me

  why i’m so resilient)

jaa 2/27/13

 

This poem came about because they asked me in the hospital why I'm so resilient. This was my answer on paper.