Generational Curses: What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

I haven’t blogged in YEARS...it has truly a while and I did miss it. But as usual, life gets in the way. I hope not to take such a huge break anymore. This topic really touched my heart and I have to get it out of my head. Tonight.

Mental health has a huge stigma. It’s not cool to be depressed or crazy. It’s so taboo and `i think it’s a huge disservice for people that are out here suffering. They can’t get the help they need because of the negative stigma. So...let’s get started. Let me start off by saying that this is my experience and my experience only. In other words, these are the thoughts of Shondra and Shondra alone…

My family has a history of mental illness; on my mom’s side and I think on my dad’s side too. My maternal grandmother suffered from schizophrenia and manic depression. I have a few uncles that are schizophrenic as well. On my dad’s side, I had a cousin that committed suicide. It was something that wasn’t ever really discussed. In my opinion their illnesses were/are seen as an inconvenience. I remember when my brothers and cousins were younger how we used to laugh when we would see my grandmother talking to herself. We used to do it all the time. I remember talking to her and listening to how she grew up in the 1940s. She was fixated on collecting watches and drinking Pepsi. She taught me how to knit and crochet. She drifted in and out of episodes but the one thing that I loved was her off-kilter sense of humor. We watched old movies and ate sweets...I got to see her as a person and not her illness. I didn’t know how much it affected me until I saw one of my cousins making fun of her. I threatened her so fast, my only instinct was to protect my grandmother, to give her the dignity and respect that she deserved.

I don’t remember much about my cousin’s suicide. I heard that he hung himself and he was depressed. All of my memories of him were positive. He was always smiling, cracking jokes and just an all-around positive guy. Not much else was said afterwards.

I think that not seeing the human side of mental illness makes it so scary.

A person just doesn’t know if they are depressed. You can’t diagnose yourself. But when you have a family history of mental illness, “crazy” isn’t something that you want to be. You tend to overthink everything. Is talking to yourself really talking to yourself? Are you seeing shit that isn’t really there? It’s rough trying to keep everything in perspective. To open yourself up to talk to someone is hard too. Trusting your thoughts with someone is personal...hell, it’s damn near intimate and sharing the your thoughts leaves you open. To criticism, to help, or possibly to nothing at all. And it’s scary. So most times, you’d rather say nothing at all.

I never thought I could be depressed. I think that people focus so much on the outside that no one thinks to focus on what’s going on inside. All my life, I’ve been encouraged to “do the right things”. Go to school, get good grades, get the degree, don’t make any babies, get the good job, etc. I’ve done all that...and then some. And I still wasn’t happy. I would ask myself all the time. What do you need to be happy? And why wasn’t I happy when I’ve done everything to be happy? I can only imagine what someone is clinically depressed is going through. As hard as you try, you can’t pray that shit away, and to tell someone to do that is fucking ridiculous.

Lately, I’ve seen that a few celebrities have committed suicide. People say it’s the easy way out and to say that limits their experience. I don’t think suicide is the easy way out. I think it may be the hardest thing someone could ever do. To be in so much pain that the only thing that you can do is to leave this earth...it’s hard. I know because I thought about it myself. I don’t know why I did. But I DO understand. I learned that nothing on this earth can matter if your soul isn’t at peace. Money, cars houses...nothing will ever matter because it’s not enough. It will never be enough. Unless you get help. I’ve made the conscious decision not to judge.

I thought about getting help, but I’m not ready. My moods just pass through. It was really bad when I got sick with kidney stones and then diabetes. I didn’t care. I was in denial, and now I’m at the point where I want to live and be happy. It’s a hard journey and I’m not advocating what I’ve done for anyone else to do. That’s your personal journey. I can only talk about mine. I’m just thankful that I DO have something to live for, because for a while, I didn’t think I did. Today, it’s my nieces, Morgan and Mackenzie. I love those little girls as if they were my own. I see their joy in living and I appreciate it so much. I get to see them explore new things and discover the world and it makes me so happy just to be a part of their lives. I feel have to stay around just so I can make sure they’re doing well. I want them to be the carefree girls who epitomize black girl magic and can be whatever they want to be. They have so much spirit – I swear it’s contagious. I love them so much and I can’t imagine my life without them. I want to live because I feel...no...I believe that I can’t lose. I have something to fight for, so many things to accomplish and I can’t leave just yet.

Again, I can’t speak for everyone else – you have to do what’s best for you. But what I want you to know is that your journey is your journey. Everybody is different and what works for one person may not work for another. If you need help, please get it, and if anyone tries to make you feel bad or ashamed about how you feel, please show them the nearest exit out of your life. You have a right to be...to exist...to live. I can’t tell you it will get better. But finding someone that is trained to help you can possibly put you in the right position. Be kind to people because you never know what internal battles they are facing. Peace. I wish you the best.