Writings

A Personal Note About Mental Health

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...the demons that you’ve been dreaming up are angels under the pain...
— James Fauntleroy

Sometimes, sunny days are the toughest for me. I let the sun rays peek through the blinds, may even crack the window and allow some fresh air to come in to my room. However, now and then, I am too depressed to be engulfed in its luminance. It’s strange, really. The sun is supposed to raise vibrations and here I am, feeling insecure around its presence. I snuggle in the bed longer. I step outside of my 4-wall confines only when it’s absolutely necessary. I would prefer no one to see me, to notice me, to look into my telling eyes. Essentially, I want no one to know the pain I am holding deep inside because I'd never want to burden anyone. Also, at times, there is no rhyme or reason behind my emotions. They just exist inside of me and there's no easy way to get rid of them. They just live and the most loving thing I can do is allow them to breathe in the moment.

I wish I could logically explain anxiety and depression in words for everyone to understand. I can’t. At least, not right now. I am in the middle of one of those days...one of those super quiet days when raw emotions speak loudest. It’s rough but I can handle it. I’ve been here before plenty of times and have pulled through. 

I will pull through. 

And you will too. 

Those of us who deal with mental illness are some of the most sensitive, beautiful human beings you can ever meet. I say this from a very humble place. We feel so boldly, so brilliantly that it’s hard for folks to handle - shit, it’s hard for us to handle. We are the bearers of the brokenness in this world and we hold the painful pieces in our hands delicately, hoping we don’t flounder them away into the abyss. Sadly, some of us do. And, we are reminded on how deeply those thoughts can go and pray that we are able to grasp the support that eludes us during those critical moments, trying our hardest to remember why we agreed to be here at this present time. We don’t know what 'normal' is and wonder if anyone truly upholds that title. Does it even exist? We don’t know because that’s not our experience. Nevertheless, if you think about it, our inner life is like a masterpiece with so many rich and muted colors swirling around in an abstract painting - I bet someone like Basquiat tried his hardest to express this in literal form. 

To anyone out there who is going through any kind of mental health issue, please know your life is one of the most touching pieces God has ever produced and the constant swings downward are just as magnificent as the pleasant swings upward. That movement back and forth brings us closer to the essence of humanity and solidifies a sense of empathy for all, consciously and subconsciously.  Whether you're swinging at an extreme speed or at a relatively steady pace, I pray that you please don’t stop swinging. Keep going. Keep digging your inner tunnel until you see light within and shine that little light as much as possible. The world needs it. We need you. Perhaps, one day the swing won't be pushed so hard and the motion will get to the point where we don't even realize we are swinging at all. What a day that would be. Until then, please remember...

You will pull through, my friend. 

And I will too. 

don't let the media kill your positive vibe

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Media operates on fear.

Not us.

Media breaks people apart.

Not us.

Media tries to stop folks from elevating.

Not us.

Look around you, my friend. That's real life.

The screens may fool you.

Don't let the mess consume you.

Don't allow the programs to control your mind.

Let it motivate you to become greater than ever before.

Let it move you towards love even more.

Let it inspire you to create something magical.

Let it push you into empowerment.

Let it guide you towards solutions.

Let it energize you towards education.

Let it center you in mindfulness.

Let it bring you to stillness.

Let it encourage you to be in community.

You want to stop the fear right?

You want to win the spiritual warfare right?

Then get inside your Universe and align your own stars.

Be the light at the end of our dark tunnel.

Be the love in the middle of brokenness.

Love is the silent revolution we've been waiting for.

Be one of the soldiers of love.

And just love.

 

a tale | poem inspired by tonya m. foster

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A tale

A mother stands on a sidewalk talking

about how she landed

in the unfamiliar row houses of Philadelphia.

A summer story. 1990.

She was riding along a lonely

inappropriate road that only holds

certain shades to certain standards.

She made a wrong left turn and was in the right space.

That sticky sweaty sweetness of coco skin

makes a random bee excited

with bright eyes that she never saw before or

perhaps noticed before. So enthralled with this

typical object of pain, she follows its path to

corner stores, chalk coded games, water hoses as water coolers, music blaring messages of

pride in new sound systems, and five cullud boys drumming

that ball of loose baskets, dripping with excitement and tiredness.

Random passersby call her

by a nickname that she only heard on television. “Sista!” she exclaims

in her tale. Perhaps, they were drawn to her

wayward worries which were illustrated by her

engulfed eyes looking away from their faces, from their boom boxes, from their fist t-shirts

and dark shades many men wore to protect

from the sun, the stares of those who wanted their innate control, dried up tears of last night constant realization.

“They came to me,” she says

like the girl who finally got to go home

after going astray for days, “but

I had to say goodbye because my parents

promised Grandma’s pecan pie.”