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