for me

 

 

this has been black history month and i have always equated the history of the us and its treatment of black people insanity...therefore, i have always been able to find the resilience to keep going by looking to ancestors and following their lead...last words on  this last day  of a month that is 24/7 for me...

 

 

 

 

“and they speak through me”

by jacquese armstrong

 

because there are diamonds/

gold in that rubble ( as some call it)

i dig and i dig

for nuggets of wisdom/clues left

by my ancestors

they comforted me

rocked me in their lap

when the lights went out

 

and they shine through me

people ask me why—

i am without blue remorse ‘cause

ancestors took my hands

led me lovingly

             to freedom of mind

                              from the red insanity of blue yesterdays

 

and they speak freedom through me

whispered knowings descend from mountains

stories grown cold

turn hot

insensitivities don’t fade

they blossom granite

(i love my family ‘cause

they rode the turbulent ill winds/

landed on fertile ground)

it doesn't mean I can't sip the tea of forgiveness (if served)

but i can never erase the tape unedited from my mind

‘cause they illuminate through me

 

held my head close to their chest

and i was rocked

consoled

they cried blood tears with me

 

ropes

tied in hand held earnest

emotions bitter/forbidden

to depart until death

like my impaired ones

but

a laugh/ a Joy/humor spewing from a story

brought stinging water to the open eye

for incessant timing

survival

 

they bleed through me

'cause I digest their pain

cubic tears bounce laughter

as madness

i gain

power/

stitched piece by piece--as

a quilt

introduce myself to myself now

sturdy pliable like

matured wood

 

they grow like vines through me  ‘cause there has to be

someone left

to tell the stories

come

eat from the fruit of the ancestors

it makes you stronger

the day’s mischief impeached

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.