These past few months have felt a lot like a New
York City spring. As I’ve traveled through death and rebirth, defeat and
victory, my life has been reminiscent of the unexpected frosts, brief
snow flurries, sixty degree days that warrant celebration, and the heads
of baby crocuses emerging from the cold soil. The April showers are
giving way to beautiful May flowers. For the first time in my short
life, I feel steady.
My current daily routine
begins with waking up anxious, my chest pinched tight as I try to shake
the sleep off of my heavy eyelids. The first moments of my day remind me
where I came from, as every twenty four hours, I am brought back to the
eighteen years that preceded this one. It is remarkable how I’ve
learned to change my natural state, as every morning I awaken a nervous
and depressed wreck, before slowly putting myself back together again.
Someone once described this phenomenon perfectly: “Every morning, I wake
up a dry drunk, and I have to become a sober person.”
Several
months ago, I watched the documentary Happy (by director Roko Belic).
It explained how 50 percent of our happiness is determined by genetic
predisposition, 10 percent is determined by external conditions (our
health, our relationship status, our house, our neighborhood, our car,
our friends), and 40 percent is determined by “intentional action”.
As a
young woman who is still getting her footing in a confusing and often
scary world, I frequently need other people’s words to help me describe
what I am feeling. Happy summed it up quite perfectly. Because, as you see, for my entire adolescence, I was miserable. Sure,
there were happy moments, hours, days, weeks, or even months! But over
the years, little to nothing changed. The way I saw it, the only change
was that things were getting worse. That is the 50 percent genetic
predisposition. As the only person who can diagnose myself, I believe
that I was born with the disease of addiction. I had an amazing, unconditionally loving, and
unbroken family.
I went to good schools. I lived in a beautiful
neighborhood. So why, then, did I always feel empty? I was surrounded by
love, but I always felt less-than, out-of-place, restless, irritable,
and discontent. Perhaps you’re reading this and thinking that I was
simply ungrateful. Yes, I was. But a lack of gratitude wasn’t my only
problem. I was the problem. I was not born a happy person.
Some
people believe that it is impossible for people who come from
backgrounds like mine to suffer from the diseases of depression and
addiction. They may believe that we don’t appreciate what we have, make
bad decisions, and/or have some sort of moral deficiency. I am here to
tell you that that is not true -- 10 percent external conditions. Mental
illness does not discriminate. However, that does not mean that there
isn’t hope for each and every one of us.
On many occasions during my recovery, the importance
of external conditions has worked for me, rather than against me. I am
inexplicably blessed to be surrounded by such beauty, love and
positivity; but that doesn’t mean I haven’t dealt with my fair share of
horrific situations. At those times, the inner peace and serenity I have
worked so hard to develop save me. This is the intentional action, as I
have come to understand it best.
I have learned
healthy ways to make myself feel better. I meditate. I exercise. I make
myself get out of bed even when I really, really don’t want to, and it
always pays off. I cry when I need to cry. When someone asks me how I’m
doing, even as a rhetorical and superficial greeting, I tell them the
truth. I write poems.
I practice gratitude by
counting my blessings; no matter what’s wrong, there’s always something
right. I try to make myself proud and give myself love. It’s not easy at
all. But I’ve learned that if I keep on doing what I’m used to doing,
I’ll keep on feeling the way I’m used to feeling. It has proven
invaluable to me to make a conscious effort to break the vicious cycle
that kept me in the hellish depths of depression and untreated
addiction. Today I am in recovery.
There are
challenges; there always will be. But every day, I focus intently on
progress. It’s progress -- not perfection -- that’s important. Getting
better is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I know that fighting my
depression, anxiety and addiction will be a lifelong battle. But today,
it is one that I’m willing to fight. Intentional action. The problems
that I have aren’t ones that fix themselves. But as I always say, the
most beautiful things come out of pain. And so long as I’m trying to
create a beautiful life, I’m in a better place than I was before.
Credit: www.xojane.com
Disclaimer: Black
and Blue is not a substitute for direct, personal, professional
mental medical care and diagnosis. None of the advice, or natural
therapies and supplements mentioned should be used without clearance
from your physician or mental health care provider. The information
contained within this blog is not intended to provide specific
physical or mental health advice, or any other advice whatsoever, for
any individual or company, and should not be relied upon in that
regard. I am not a licensed mental health therapist and nothing on
this website should be misconstrued to mean otherwise.
Depression and Black men is a silent epidemic. Black men often hide their depression rather than face the ridicule or shame they experience in their own community.
