Warning: This blog contains language and topics related to mental health, suicide, and self-harm that can be a trigger. Please be advised that the author of this blog and any invited guests are not therapists or medical professionals. If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide or self-harm, please seek immediate help by calling 911 or contacting the National Suicide Lifeline at 988. Remember, it is okay to not be okay, and help is available.
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Introduction:
Hello, wizards of words and welcome back to another blog post. Today, I am peeling back the layers, revealing my inner struggles, answering your queries, and hopefully reaching out to those who are navigating similar stormy seas, encouraging them to seek necessary help.
Say hello to my uninvited guest, Chum, a symbolic representation of my mental health issues, who has decided to settle in for an indefinite sojourn. This unscheduled visit has led me down a road I never wished to tread again. Thoughts of self-harm started to creep in, and at this point, I knew I needed professional help. I couldn’t afford to tread back down that path and watch everything I had worked hard for slip away. The underline of my recent episodes is that haunting four-letter word: GRIEF.
Back in the game of life, I found myself grappling with a realization. I had spent a decade in the throes of depression, mourning my mother’s loss. But during the global lockdown, I failed to grieve for the life I was losing. From an everyday normal world, we were suddenly thrust into an unsettling silence. I was all set to move to Scotland, a job awaiting me, an apartment ready, and savings in my bank. This move was my escape from a job that belittled me and a relationship that was suffocating me.
Then, the world closed its doors, leaving me behind. My flight left without me, taking away the moment I had waited for so long. I was left watching the world fall silent, with a lurking invisible predator. Time flies when you’re not dealing with your baggage. 24 months passed in a blur as I tried to keep my mind busy – catching up on shows, writing, crafting, even dabbling in YouTube with craft tutorials and food reviews. Anything that would distract me from my underlying issues.
Fast forward four years, my grief is still a constant companion. As my therapist pointed out, it’s more than just my mother’s loss that haunts me. I built a wall around my mind, and now it’s crumbling down. I’m struggling mentally and physically. The thought of job hunting triggers anxiety attacks. The constant pressure of being the only black face in a crowd of white, the unending stress of having to outperform because of my skin color, is a heavy burden. Being black in today’s America comes with its own set of unwritten rules and expectations. You’re viewed as less than. This can shatter one’s spirit. I was on the verge of giving up when a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity arrived. As my therapist explains, it was a flight reaction – a desperate attempt to escape a painful reality.
I don’t want to live in constant pain, but I don’t know why I’m wired this way. The good news is, I’m back in the game and grappling with these issues. I’m learning to manage my feelings, grieve for the life I once had, and the potential it held. I’m looking at myself in a new positive light. With daily affirmations and a robust support system, I know I’ve won half the battle.
What are your motivations that keep you going? Please feel free to share. If you’re struggling with mental health, dial 988. Staffers are ready to help you get back on track. Remember, you’re not alone. Your support means the world to me. Thank you.