Bruni in the City: My Choice Not to Have Kids
A Column by Christina Bruni
Flouting White Middle-Class Rules About Childbirth
As a Lefty, I want to talk about a new 2018 book Trust Women: A Progressive Christian Argument for Reproductive Justice by Rebecca Todd Peters.
My own life narrative is atypical. A woman I hired told me my story was “unusual.”
I don’t think and act like a lot of people of my race and gender. I’ve always gone Left when everyone else goes Right.
Christian social ethicist Rebecca Todd Peters asserts: “The public rhetoric that insists women must justify their abortions represents a thinly veiled racial and class bias that does two things: It attempts to impose white, middle-class values about marriage, sexual activity, and childbearing on everyone. And it focuses on individual women’s behavior while effectively obfuscating the complexity of their day-to-day lives and the viability of their various choices.”
The feminist author proposes: “Public policy ought to focus on addressing systemic social problems rather than attempting to police and control the behavior of women and their bodies.”
In her view the real issue is that women who have abortions are told they need to take responsibility. The truth is that “difficult real-life moral decisions stand in contrast” with the prevailing white, middle-class politicians’ and anti-choice crusaders’ perception that women who terminate pregnancies need to take responsibility.
Trust Women tells a different story through statistics about women’s reproductive health choices:
• 91.6 percent of abortions happen in the first trimester;
• 73 percent of women indicate they could not afford to have a baby at that point in their lives;
• 74 percent cited interference with their education or job/career or responsibility for existing children or other dependents;
• 49 percent of women who had abortions in 2014 were living below the federal poverty line;
• 95 percent of women terminating pregnancies think it was the right decision for them;
• Between 50 and 60 percent of women who have abortions were using some form of contraception the month they got pregnant; and
• 60 percent of women who have abortions already have children.
According to Rebecca Todd Peters: “Women also face a host of barriers when trying to obtain birth control: cost and lack of insurance…difficulty accessing a pharmacy…challenges in getting prescription contraception…in scheduling appointments and getting to a clinic or doctor’s office.”
These barriers were greater for women living below 200 percent of the poverty line.
My Own Story
Let’s face it, doesn’t every woman out there have hard-luck romance stories under our Hermes-H or other belt?
One of the psychics I went to told me: “Love’s been up and down and all around for you. It’s been to the dogs.”
This waterfront fortune teller told me I’d meet a lot of turkeys along the way. Yes, she used the word turkeys to talk about the guys I’d meet.
Taken in this context I haven’t been so quick to drop my skirt to get into bed with just any guy that walked on by in my life.
As a woman with a mental health diagnosis, I didn’t want to get married and raise a family.
Yes—I’ve known without a doubt since I was 15 or 16 that I didn’t want to have kids—not even one kid.
This stance of mine doesn’t fit into the white middle-class heterosexual norm that prevails in American society.
It’s this world that I was born into that I so intuitively rejected as not being the right lifestyle for me to live.
Leading yet again to how I championed everything Left of the Dial in my memoir.
I still haven’t found Mr. Right nor have I found Mr. Almost Right either. And I definitely haven’t found Mr. Not-Right-Yet-I’ll-Take-Him-Anyway.
In this dry climate with no prospects does it make sense to risk getting pregnant by having sex just to prove you’re a normal woman?
This is the double-bind or double-standard women are held to:
If we’re not having sex we’re viewed as being screwed-up and that there’s something wrong with us.
If we’re having sex and, heaven help us, too much sex, we’re viewed as having a lack of morals.
What Do You Say?
Isn’t it time to give the boot to restrictive regressive political policies that make it harder and harder for women to remain child-free by choice?
Isn’t it time to stop judging women for the choices we make?
Isn’t it time to accept the multitude of expressions of what is “normal” in society?
It’s time.
I for one have failed at living a mainstream life.
I have failed to please the people who stand in judgment of me even though they haven’t met me.
I have failed to see the logic in overpopulating the planet.
More to the point: not only did I not want to have a kid: I didn’t want to go through the experience of being pregnant.
Pullout: “One of the psychics I went to told me: ‘Love’s been up and down and all around for you. It’s been to the dogs.’”
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Monday, November 26, 2018
Monday, June 18, 2018
Ward Stories: Poetry
Ward Stories
Organized by Dan Frey, Editor in Chief
Four poets are featured in this Summer 2018 edition of Ward Stories. The themes discussed in these poems reflect some of the experiences felt throughout the mental health community: falling through the cracks, getting back up, healing yourself, a friend’s betrayal and mood swings.
Escape
By J. David Scott
Your floor is my floor
Having walked upon the cracks
And fallen through where I now linger,
I often look up and wonder what it's like
To never use my feet again,
To never ever run again,
Just to fly away.
The Every Day Healer
By Gracelynn
I heal myself
Not because I received a prestigious degree
Or trained with the yogis and great healers of the world
But by the innate healing ability all of us possess
To Every Day
Bring my mind, my heart, my body
To a place of presence
To a place of harmony with the Divine
Of which we are all a part.
To a place of Love.
Day by day
I choose to heal
And become Health itself.
Untitled
By Anna Santacroce
Sister forsythia. Dichotomous dicot flower.
Psychotic psychiatric flower.
Schizoaffective disorder (bipolar type).
I live alone.
I often write.
For my friend with megalomania:
I hope for the best for you.
I often wonder if you remember your words and actions,
Adverse to the lying.
I don't have the same illness.
I must confess.
Do you remember after your tantrums and uses of myself and others?
Or do you just do that lying?
You see yourself in others.
To paint (me) as yourself.
You apply sadism to see myself in your world.
I am not always sure if we are yours.
In your megalomania you imagine a world to target.
Then you lie about it.
Like this personal monopoly.
Gets scarier by the day.
You paint these sadistic pictures to reflect yourself.
Is it love you have ever felt?
Mood Swings
By Ted Walner
The pendulum swings up
The pendulum swings down.
Riding on this ride we go.
As we approach everywhere
One moment utterly depressed.
The next phase in euphoria land
Feeling immersed in these emotions
Takes me nowhere.
I cling and I climb.
I hurt and I love.
One minute blue
The next moment as happy as can be.
Truly, the meds help.
But they don’t terminate my emotions.
Swinging on this chandelier
Flying through all types of peril.
I look up, I look down
And nowhere would I like to be.
As I shift
As I ride
As I fall
I lean to some and hope they are there for me.
Yes, hoping this perilous ride ends.
And…
I am smoothly sailing.
Hoping I find that happy medium.
Hoping I find that calm in the storm
And am stable once again.
Organized by Dan Frey, Editor in Chief
Four poets are featured in this Summer 2018 edition of Ward Stories. The themes discussed in these poems reflect some of the experiences felt throughout the mental health community: falling through the cracks, getting back up, healing yourself, a friend’s betrayal and mood swings.
Escape
By J. David Scott
Your floor is my floor
Having walked upon the cracks
And fallen through where I now linger,
I often look up and wonder what it's like
To never use my feet again,
To never ever run again,
Just to fly away.
The Every Day Healer
By Gracelynn
I heal myself
Not because I received a prestigious degree
Or trained with the yogis and great healers of the world
But by the innate healing ability all of us possess
To Every Day
Bring my mind, my heart, my body
To a place of presence
To a place of harmony with the Divine
Of which we are all a part.
To a place of Love.
Day by day
I choose to heal
And become Health itself.
Untitled
By Anna Santacroce
Sister forsythia. Dichotomous dicot flower.
Psychotic psychiatric flower.
Schizoaffective disorder (bipolar type).
I live alone.
I often write.
For my friend with megalomania:
I hope for the best for you.
I often wonder if you remember your words and actions,
Adverse to the lying.
I don't have the same illness.
I must confess.
Do you remember after your tantrums and uses of myself and others?
Or do you just do that lying?
You see yourself in others.
To paint (me) as yourself.
You apply sadism to see myself in your world.
I am not always sure if we are yours.
In your megalomania you imagine a world to target.
Then you lie about it.
Like this personal monopoly.
Gets scarier by the day.
You paint these sadistic pictures to reflect yourself.
Is it love you have ever felt?
Mood Swings
By Ted Walner
The pendulum swings up
The pendulum swings down.
Riding on this ride we go.
As we approach everywhere
One moment utterly depressed.
The next phase in euphoria land
Feeling immersed in these emotions
Takes me nowhere.
I cling and I climb.
I hurt and I love.
One minute blue
The next moment as happy as can be.
Truly, the meds help.
But they don’t terminate my emotions.
Swinging on this chandelier
Flying through all types of peril.
I look up, I look down
And nowhere would I like to be.
As I shift
As I ride
As I fall
I lean to some and hope they are there for me.
Yes, hoping this perilous ride ends.
And…
I am smoothly sailing.
Hoping I find that happy medium.
Hoping I find that calm in the storm
And am stable once again.
Bruni in the City: We Feast Together
Bruni in the City: We Feast Together
A Column by Christina Bruni
Living in Two Worlds
You think it’s a secret only it’s not. I’m aware others most likely pick up that I’m different in some way. Yet I don’t want my MH life to infringe on my other life. I move between these distinct worlds like a chameleon.
Italiani. We feast together. We meet a person for the first time and they are our new best friend for that evening. Everyone is famiglia here.
It was the day after Columbus Day. I arrived early to the restaurant and was seated at our table.
A drop-dead gorgeous guy walked in and was seated with a companion up front. All the guys were handsome and talking Italian at the other tables.
It’s true that I have a striking look: a heart-shaped face and dramatic Mediterranean features. If you saw me you’d think: “Of course, she must be Italian.”
The 900-pound elephant in any room is always what people see even though I wish they wouldn’t. A former hairstylist claimed you can’t tell by looking at someone that they have a mental health challenge. This is most likely true.
Yet I’m a strange girl in other ways: I don’t drink beer or liquor. I won’t eat meat. Instead of a garrulous talker, I prefer to listen to what people are saying and give them the spotlight.
Deride me all you want for my focus on fashion and style. Yet having a hurdle to clear socially is all the more reason I dress chic: to put others at ease as well as for me to feel at ease in their company.
When I walk down the street I want people to think: “Who’s that girl?” I want them to take a second look as I destroy the stereotype of a person diagnosed with SZ.
I’ve thought long and hard about this. It’s the bedrock that the premise of my memoir Left of the Dial is founded on: “Enjoy your quirkiness.”
At the end of the day I don’t care what people think of me. I’ve observed that most people are kinder than you think. Find the compassionate so-called normal people, and gravitate towards them.
It’s the little things that count the most:
That day in October I got a better haircut from a real parucchiere: an Italian hairdresser. She was older and had auburn hair. Snip, snip. She was done in ten minutes.
Figuring out how to apply the new blush helped too. It looks better swiped on my cheekbones not the apples of my cheeks. The rose fresque shade is good. I applied it in the afternoon. At nine o’clock at night the blush was still going strong when I checked my face in the restroom mirror.
I say: ladies, put on your face and go out. There’s a world out there that would look better with you in it. And guys, you’re handsome too. So, go out and paint the town gold.
As hard as it is living with an MH thing, I find that making the effort is worth it. Go on MeetUp.com to join others in the city doing things you’re passionate about. There’s even the #1 New York Shyness and Social Anxiety MeetUp you can join.
Once a month, the Mental Health Project of The Urban Justice Center in lower Manhattan, hosts an open mic with a theme for the month such as “self-care,” “diversity,” “action,” “bravery,” and others.
As I toggle between these two worlds, I understand how it is for a lot of us mingling in disparate environments. Yet feeling like an outsider shouldn’t stop us from doing things.
What the world needs now is MH peers with the courage to show up. To take a seat and be counted. All of us have paid our dues. Festeggiamo insieme. We feast together.
Common ground is the ground on which everyone stands. Be not afraid to get rejected. Plenty of fish are swimming in the sea of friends and lovers.
It’s up to us to cast our nets wide. The unlikeliest stranger could turn out to be the most compassionate. Talk to a therapist if it would help you to set and achieve goals like this.
My Italian therapist tells it like it is. She colludes with me to help me get what I want.
I wish all you loyal readers tanti auguri. Good wishes.
A Column by Christina Bruni
Living in Two Worlds
You think it’s a secret only it’s not. I’m aware others most likely pick up that I’m different in some way. Yet I don’t want my MH life to infringe on my other life. I move between these distinct worlds like a chameleon.
Italiani. We feast together. We meet a person for the first time and they are our new best friend for that evening. Everyone is famiglia here.
It was the day after Columbus Day. I arrived early to the restaurant and was seated at our table.
A drop-dead gorgeous guy walked in and was seated with a companion up front. All the guys were handsome and talking Italian at the other tables.
It’s true that I have a striking look: a heart-shaped face and dramatic Mediterranean features. If you saw me you’d think: “Of course, she must be Italian.”
The 900-pound elephant in any room is always what people see even though I wish they wouldn’t. A former hairstylist claimed you can’t tell by looking at someone that they have a mental health challenge. This is most likely true.
Yet I’m a strange girl in other ways: I don’t drink beer or liquor. I won’t eat meat. Instead of a garrulous talker, I prefer to listen to what people are saying and give them the spotlight.
Deride me all you want for my focus on fashion and style. Yet having a hurdle to clear socially is all the more reason I dress chic: to put others at ease as well as for me to feel at ease in their company.
When I walk down the street I want people to think: “Who’s that girl?” I want them to take a second look as I destroy the stereotype of a person diagnosed with SZ.
I’ve thought long and hard about this. It’s the bedrock that the premise of my memoir Left of the Dial is founded on: “Enjoy your quirkiness.”
At the end of the day I don’t care what people think of me. I’ve observed that most people are kinder than you think. Find the compassionate so-called normal people, and gravitate towards them.
It’s the little things that count the most:
That day in October I got a better haircut from a real parucchiere: an Italian hairdresser. She was older and had auburn hair. Snip, snip. She was done in ten minutes.
Figuring out how to apply the new blush helped too. It looks better swiped on my cheekbones not the apples of my cheeks. The rose fresque shade is good. I applied it in the afternoon. At nine o’clock at night the blush was still going strong when I checked my face in the restroom mirror.
I say: ladies, put on your face and go out. There’s a world out there that would look better with you in it. And guys, you’re handsome too. So, go out and paint the town gold.
As hard as it is living with an MH thing, I find that making the effort is worth it. Go on MeetUp.com to join others in the city doing things you’re passionate about. There’s even the #1 New York Shyness and Social Anxiety MeetUp you can join.
Once a month, the Mental Health Project of The Urban Justice Center in lower Manhattan, hosts an open mic with a theme for the month such as “self-care,” “diversity,” “action,” “bravery,” and others.
As I toggle between these two worlds, I understand how it is for a lot of us mingling in disparate environments. Yet feeling like an outsider shouldn’t stop us from doing things.
What the world needs now is MH peers with the courage to show up. To take a seat and be counted. All of us have paid our dues. Festeggiamo insieme. We feast together.
Common ground is the ground on which everyone stands. Be not afraid to get rejected. Plenty of fish are swimming in the sea of friends and lovers.
It’s up to us to cast our nets wide. The unlikeliest stranger could turn out to be the most compassionate. Talk to a therapist if it would help you to set and achieve goals like this.
My Italian therapist tells it like it is. She colludes with me to help me get what I want.
I wish all you loyal readers tanti auguri. Good wishes.
Book Ends: "Written Off" by Philip T. Yanos
Book Ends: "Written Off" by Philip T. Yanos
A Column by Kurt Sass
Examining Stigma with a Critical Eye
Dr. Yanos, a Ph. D. and Professor of Psychology at John Jay College, has written a captivating and well-researched book on the history, foundation, and most importantly, the effects of stigma about mental illness. This stigma includes the stigma by others (media, government, community and society in general), but also the stigma mental health consumers place on themselves (Self-Stigma)
Dr. Yanos has certainly put a tremendous amount of time and effort into this book as there are almost 500 references cited. Many of these references point to a current theme: The stigma and misconception (by both society and consumers alike) that once a person has had a psychiatric episode they will never go back to having a normal life.
Dr. Yanos points out many true instances of how this stigma has affected people's lives. The Nazis, for example, started an extermination campaign of their own people who had mental illnesses in 1939 called the T-4 program. The rationale behind this (even advertised in propaganda films) was that these were "mercy" killings and acts of euthanasia, as people with mental illness were incurable.
Another example is the actress Margot Kidder, who was extremely popular from the Superman and other movies. In fact, by the 1980s, she was one of the most popular actresses in the world. In the 1990s, however, she suffered a psychotic break, which was widely publicized. Although she has not had any episodes in many, many years, she feels that people still think of her only in terms of the breakdown, and that this has hurt her career tremendously.
Of course, it is not only celebrities who have to deal with stigma. Dr. Yanos relayed the story about a single parent in Kansas, who, shortly after giving birth in 2009, experienced a psychotic episode. Her daughter was taken into custody by child welfare authorities. The mother was treated and recovered. She petitioned to regain custody but was denied even though she never abused or neglected her daughter, even while she was symptomatic. The judge in the ruling stated that her condition "is permanent and there is no likelihood the condition can be reversed." She went on to give birth to another child in 2011 and has been allowed to keep custody of that child, but not her first born. As of 2014 things have remained the same.
The last story I would like to share from the book is how stigma from the community can cause mental health consumers to suffer from "Self-Stigma." While doing an ethnographic study in Los Angeles, a sociologist came across the case of an intelligent, outgoing man in his 30s, living in a community residence. Due to all the stereotypes he heard over the years that no one ever recovers from mental illness—although he was no longer suffering from any symptoms of his mental illness—he was desperately struggling and grappling with these negative stereotypes and stated that he had a "futureless future." He feared that he was becoming a "human rock," and that he had no hope. He eventually committed suicide.
Alas, there is hope. Research from the book has shown at least three strategies that have proven to work. The first is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. The second is a National Anti-Stigma Campaign. (Note: The United States has local campaigns, but not a national one.) The last one is peer support.
I have given just a few examples of the stories showing how stigma can impact people's lives and the names of the strategies most effective in fighting stigma. I highly recommend you read this book to both read more of the stories and to find out how the strategies mentioned above work.
A Column by Kurt Sass
Examining Stigma with a Critical Eye
Dr. Yanos, a Ph. D. and Professor of Psychology at John Jay College, has written a captivating and well-researched book on the history, foundation, and most importantly, the effects of stigma about mental illness. This stigma includes the stigma by others (media, government, community and society in general), but also the stigma mental health consumers place on themselves (Self-Stigma)
Dr. Yanos has certainly put a tremendous amount of time and effort into this book as there are almost 500 references cited. Many of these references point to a current theme: The stigma and misconception (by both society and consumers alike) that once a person has had a psychiatric episode they will never go back to having a normal life.
Dr. Yanos points out many true instances of how this stigma has affected people's lives. The Nazis, for example, started an extermination campaign of their own people who had mental illnesses in 1939 called the T-4 program. The rationale behind this (even advertised in propaganda films) was that these were "mercy" killings and acts of euthanasia, as people with mental illness were incurable.
Another example is the actress Margot Kidder, who was extremely popular from the Superman and other movies. In fact, by the 1980s, she was one of the most popular actresses in the world. In the 1990s, however, she suffered a psychotic break, which was widely publicized. Although she has not had any episodes in many, many years, she feels that people still think of her only in terms of the breakdown, and that this has hurt her career tremendously.
Of course, it is not only celebrities who have to deal with stigma. Dr. Yanos relayed the story about a single parent in Kansas, who, shortly after giving birth in 2009, experienced a psychotic episode. Her daughter was taken into custody by child welfare authorities. The mother was treated and recovered. She petitioned to regain custody but was denied even though she never abused or neglected her daughter, even while she was symptomatic. The judge in the ruling stated that her condition "is permanent and there is no likelihood the condition can be reversed." She went on to give birth to another child in 2011 and has been allowed to keep custody of that child, but not her first born. As of 2014 things have remained the same.
The last story I would like to share from the book is how stigma from the community can cause mental health consumers to suffer from "Self-Stigma." While doing an ethnographic study in Los Angeles, a sociologist came across the case of an intelligent, outgoing man in his 30s, living in a community residence. Due to all the stereotypes he heard over the years that no one ever recovers from mental illness—although he was no longer suffering from any symptoms of his mental illness—he was desperately struggling and grappling with these negative stereotypes and stated that he had a "futureless future." He feared that he was becoming a "human rock," and that he had no hope. He eventually committed suicide.
Alas, there is hope. Research from the book has shown at least three strategies that have proven to work. The first is Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. The second is a National Anti-Stigma Campaign. (Note: The United States has local campaigns, but not a national one.) The last one is peer support.
I have given just a few examples of the stories showing how stigma can impact people's lives and the names of the strategies most effective in fighting stigma. I highly recommend you read this book to both read more of the stories and to find out how the strategies mentioned above work.
The Ayesha Karim Story
The Ayesha Karim Story
By Ayesha Karim
The Little Black Girl That Grew Up and Became Herself.
What makes a healthy self-image? It’s not perfect parents, but good parents, loving parents and a protective environment. I lived in a rather protective environment with a middle class socio-economic background. My stepfather retired from his Social Security Administration job after 25 years, and told me he loved the poetry chapbook I had published in 2016.
I started writing poems in the 5th grade while attending a school called Al-Karim in Old Brooklyn. I call the Brooklyn of my childhood Old Brooklyn. I was born in Brooklyn, New York on January 28, 1981 at a hospital called Brookdale. My parents loved Chinese food and my mother said their favorite meal was called Chicken Cantonese.
This is the story of the little African American girl who grew up to become a woman who likes and accepts herself. Ayesha wore a school uniform that consisted of a green sweater with AKS on it for Al-Karim School and a green plaid jumper that all the girls wore to school. Ayesha went from preschool to 6th grade at Al-Karim School, which had mostly African American students. Ayesha was a smart girl and her teachers encouraged her parents to skip her a grade in elementary school.
Ayesha started writing poetry in the 5th grade. She loved to write poems about everyday mundane occurrences. She kept a composition notebook for every subject when she was a little girl and pupil at Al-Karim School. She was also good at mathematics.
Ayeesha left Al-Karim School and went to the Brooklyn Friends School, an integrated K-12 independent school established by the Quakers, for 7th and 8th grades. She was a shy 10- and 11-year-old.
Ayesha got into three New York City Catholic high schools after she took the Catholic Schools Admission Test in 1993. She chose her top three schools: Catherine Mac Aulay, an all-girl high school in Manhattan where school uniforms were mandatory; Bishop Ford high school; and Bishop Loughlin, the school her cousin Jeanette went to.
Ayesha was in the honors program at Bishop Loughlin and in the best freshman class until she started to lose her own voice and develop schizophrenia.
Ayesha’s parents, Shellon and Neil, moved with their daughter to New Jersey in the summer of 1994. One day, in February 1995, after only six months in New Jersey, Ayesha was walking home from the school bus when a man screamed “Nigger” at her and sped off in his car. This was the incident that pushed Ayesha over the edge into schizophrenia.
Ayesha finished high school on home instruction. She graduated from a 4-year college/university at age 34 despite living with schizophrenia since she was 14-years-old.
Ayesha volunteers with an organization called NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). She has been involved with NAMI Mercer NJ since September 30, 2008. She’s been a volunteer from December 2010—present. NAMI gives Ayesha quality of life. Ayesha has a place to go, friends to socialize with and a place to volunteer and be productive.
Ayesha had a poem published in the January 2018 NAMI Mercer NJ newsletter. She has published several poems in their newsletter since January 2013. Ayesha is a poet, creative writer, blogger and now a children’s book author. Ayesha is in her mid-late 30s. She loves putting on lipstick, one of her five moto jackets and a motorcycle hat while smiling at herself in the mirror.
Ayesha feels good about herself, having grown up from that bullied little African American girl who wrote poetry as a form of escape since the 5th grade. She is a self-love advocate and quite independent despite her diagnosis of schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder.
Ayesha loves her life and says, “I wouldn’t have done much differently even if I could. I made peace with my illness. I have SZ; SZ doesn’t have me.” That is the Ayesha Karim story!
By Ayesha Karim
The Little Black Girl That Grew Up and Became Herself.
What makes a healthy self-image? It’s not perfect parents, but good parents, loving parents and a protective environment. I lived in a rather protective environment with a middle class socio-economic background. My stepfather retired from his Social Security Administration job after 25 years, and told me he loved the poetry chapbook I had published in 2016.
I started writing poems in the 5th grade while attending a school called Al-Karim in Old Brooklyn. I call the Brooklyn of my childhood Old Brooklyn. I was born in Brooklyn, New York on January 28, 1981 at a hospital called Brookdale. My parents loved Chinese food and my mother said their favorite meal was called Chicken Cantonese.
This is the story of the little African American girl who grew up to become a woman who likes and accepts herself. Ayesha wore a school uniform that consisted of a green sweater with AKS on it for Al-Karim School and a green plaid jumper that all the girls wore to school. Ayesha went from preschool to 6th grade at Al-Karim School, which had mostly African American students. Ayesha was a smart girl and her teachers encouraged her parents to skip her a grade in elementary school.
Ayesha started writing poetry in the 5th grade. She loved to write poems about everyday mundane occurrences. She kept a composition notebook for every subject when she was a little girl and pupil at Al-Karim School. She was also good at mathematics.
Ayeesha left Al-Karim School and went to the Brooklyn Friends School, an integrated K-12 independent school established by the Quakers, for 7th and 8th grades. She was a shy 10- and 11-year-old.
Ayesha got into three New York City Catholic high schools after she took the Catholic Schools Admission Test in 1993. She chose her top three schools: Catherine Mac Aulay, an all-girl high school in Manhattan where school uniforms were mandatory; Bishop Ford high school; and Bishop Loughlin, the school her cousin Jeanette went to.
Ayesha was in the honors program at Bishop Loughlin and in the best freshman class until she started to lose her own voice and develop schizophrenia.
Ayesha’s parents, Shellon and Neil, moved with their daughter to New Jersey in the summer of 1994. One day, in February 1995, after only six months in New Jersey, Ayesha was walking home from the school bus when a man screamed “Nigger” at her and sped off in his car. This was the incident that pushed Ayesha over the edge into schizophrenia.
Ayesha finished high school on home instruction. She graduated from a 4-year college/university at age 34 despite living with schizophrenia since she was 14-years-old.
Ayesha volunteers with an organization called NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness). She has been involved with NAMI Mercer NJ since September 30, 2008. She’s been a volunteer from December 2010—present. NAMI gives Ayesha quality of life. Ayesha has a place to go, friends to socialize with and a place to volunteer and be productive.
Ayesha had a poem published in the January 2018 NAMI Mercer NJ newsletter. She has published several poems in their newsletter since January 2013. Ayesha is a poet, creative writer, blogger and now a children’s book author. Ayesha is in her mid-late 30s. She loves putting on lipstick, one of her five moto jackets and a motorcycle hat while smiling at herself in the mirror.
Ayesha feels good about herself, having grown up from that bullied little African American girl who wrote poetry as a form of escape since the 5th grade. She is a self-love advocate and quite independent despite her diagnosis of schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder.
Ayesha loves her life and says, “I wouldn’t have done much differently even if I could. I made peace with my illness. I have SZ; SZ doesn’t have me.” That is the Ayesha Karim story!
Return Our Sanity Through Timely Treatment
Return Our Sanity Through Timely Treatment
By Jane
People with Stable Minds Can See Illness for What It Is
It's the day after the Newton Children’s Massacre and I want to say something as a mentally ill person. I have had bipolar disorder all my life. I have been successfully treated for the illness for 23 years. Since then I have done extensive research on the disorder and written four books on the subject. I have developed opinions on the way treatment is given (and withheld) in this country.
Mentally ill persons are the most discriminated persons in the country. They can easily be fired from jobs (“she just wasn’t capable of doing the job,” instead of the truth—we were afraid of having a mentally ill person around).
When people find out about their illness, they lose friends and sometimes are blackballed from organizations. A mentally ill person has to be careful with what he or she says and does at all times, so as not to trigger stigma.
At the same time, access to treatment has been made difficult. In the past few years, states have cut access to mental health treatment by limiting the illnesses they will treat. In my own state, mental health clinics will only treat those with schizophrenia, depression, and bipolar disorder. No other illnesses are eligible.
In the past year, I was cut from the program after five successful years with the same psychiatrist because I was “too stable” to receive treatment any longer. And I am a person who actively seeks treatment, demands it, and insists that I always have my medication, even if it means an ER visit to get it.
What about those who resist treatment? Those like the school, theater, congress-people, and mall shooters? The profile invariably shows that they did not seek treatment, that they refused it. Often it is found that a parent tried many times to get help for their child, but was turned away because he was not a danger to himself or others—yet.
Read Pete Earley’s book Crazy, in which he describes his efforts to get help for his bipolar son. He found that most mentally ill people are not in institutions, but in jails or prisons, because they did not get help when they needed it, but the criminal justice system intervened after they had acted out.
What about a person’s right to be healthy? We don’t leave sick people lying on the street to die. We deliver them to the hospital to be healed. What about a person’s right to not be mentally ill? They are in no shape to make a decision as to whether or not they should receive treatment or medication. They have a right to be treated. The “freedom” we allow people to have in our country to be mentally ill is illusory and has nothing to do with real freedom. These are chains that bind and hold a person even as they declare their own freedom.
Treat the person—return him or her to sanity—then let the person decide whether or not they wish to be ill. Then, and only then, are they capable of making such a decision. We need to upgrade our mental health system and to change our laws to deal with the reality that is mental illness and to truly help the helpless.
By Jane
People with Stable Minds Can See Illness for What It Is
It's the day after the Newton Children’s Massacre and I want to say something as a mentally ill person. I have had bipolar disorder all my life. I have been successfully treated for the illness for 23 years. Since then I have done extensive research on the disorder and written four books on the subject. I have developed opinions on the way treatment is given (and withheld) in this country.
Mentally ill persons are the most discriminated persons in the country. They can easily be fired from jobs (“she just wasn’t capable of doing the job,” instead of the truth—we were afraid of having a mentally ill person around).
When people find out about their illness, they lose friends and sometimes are blackballed from organizations. A mentally ill person has to be careful with what he or she says and does at all times, so as not to trigger stigma.
At the same time, access to treatment has been made difficult. In the past few years, states have cut access to mental health treatment by limiting the illnesses they will treat. In my own state, mental health clinics will only treat those with schizophrenia, depression, and bipolar disorder. No other illnesses are eligible.
In the past year, I was cut from the program after five successful years with the same psychiatrist because I was “too stable” to receive treatment any longer. And I am a person who actively seeks treatment, demands it, and insists that I always have my medication, even if it means an ER visit to get it.
What about those who resist treatment? Those like the school, theater, congress-people, and mall shooters? The profile invariably shows that they did not seek treatment, that they refused it. Often it is found that a parent tried many times to get help for their child, but was turned away because he was not a danger to himself or others—yet.
Read Pete Earley’s book Crazy, in which he describes his efforts to get help for his bipolar son. He found that most mentally ill people are not in institutions, but in jails or prisons, because they did not get help when they needed it, but the criminal justice system intervened after they had acted out.
What about a person’s right to be healthy? We don’t leave sick people lying on the street to die. We deliver them to the hospital to be healed. What about a person’s right to not be mentally ill? They are in no shape to make a decision as to whether or not they should receive treatment or medication. They have a right to be treated. The “freedom” we allow people to have in our country to be mentally ill is illusory and has nothing to do with real freedom. These are chains that bind and hold a person even as they declare their own freedom.
Treat the person—return him or her to sanity—then let the person decide whether or not they wish to be ill. Then, and only then, are they capable of making such a decision. We need to upgrade our mental health system and to change our laws to deal with the reality that is mental illness and to truly help the helpless.
Criminal Justice Forum Reveals New Information and Old Problems
Criminal
Justice Forum Reveals New Information and Old Problems
By
Carla Rabinowitz, Advocacy Coordinator, Community Access, Project Coordinator,
Communities for Crisis Intervention Teams in NYC (CCINYC)
Community
Asks Its Leaders, “What Is Taking So Long?”
The
Daily News, The Greenburger Center for Social and Criminal Justice, and Metro
Industrial Areas Foundation(IAF) hosted a forum on diverting people with mental
health concerns away from the criminal justice system.
The
February 14, 2018 forum was actually the 4th in a four-part series.
The
focus of the last forum was Crisis Intervention Team training and catching
people at the first intercept. An intercept is a step where people encounter
the criminal justice system. There are 4 intercepts:
·
Intercept
1 is on the streets, where people meet police;
·
Intercept 2 is from arrest to disposition;
·
Intercept
3 is diverting people when they are in jail away from longer sentencing; and
·
Intercept
4 is release and re-entry.
In
attendance were some heavy hitters in the field of mental health and criminal
justice. There was Dr. Gary Belkin, Executive Deputy Commissioner of the New
York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene(DOHMH), Commissioner
Elizabeth Glazer, Director of the Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice, and NYPD
Commissioner James O’Neill.
A
large part of the planning for this event centered not only on what the police
are doing but what the Mayor is doing to find solutions to the recent string of
nine police shootings of New York City residents with mental health concerns
during crisis calls, or Emotionally Disturbed Person(EDP) calls.
In
2014, Mayor de Blasio convened an impressive Taskforce to look into all the
intercepts where people with mental health needs encounter the criminal justice
system. Many city agencies and health care providers were on that Taskforce.
Each stage of encounter—intercept—had a committee.
I
was on the Taskforce committee that strategized about Intercept 1. We
brainstormed for a year and came up with the recommendation to train police
about how to respond to those in emotional crisis and to build two drop-off
centers where police could take people in distress, now known as diversion
centers.
At
the meeting in February, Elizabeth Glazer was asked about whether Mayor de
Blasio would revive his Taskforce on Criminal Justice and Behavioral Health.
Glazer
did not publicly answer the question. But as I caught her walking out the door
she said the Mayor was working on something, maybe not what we want, but some
version of a Taskforce. But politicians
always say that.
Dr.
Gary Belkin was grilled on why DOHMH has not yet built the two diversion
centers promised in 2014. Dr. Belkin noted that Project Renewal and Samaritan
Day Top Village were awarded contracts to build the diversion centers recently.
But the questions are still: where will they find the land to build the massive
diversion centers? And how long will the construction take? No timeline has
been given.
Commissioner
O’Neill was asked many questions and hit with many concerns, as one might
imagine. To his credit, the Commissioner answered all questions and remained
after the end of the Forum to speak to people.
Commissioner
O’Neill admitted that most EDP encounters occur quickly. He noted one shooting
occurred in the first 17 seconds of officers being on the scene. Usually
experts say the first 3 to 4 minutes is where violence occurs.
Many
people asked about non-police alternatives to answering the crisis calls.
Surprisingly,
O’Neill stated that Staten Island is piloting a program where some 911 calls
get screened to determine if police are needed or if social workers can field
the call instead. Little is known about this program to anyone. This program
was not mentioned in the quarterly NYPD advocate meetings I attend, nor is
DOHMH staff familiar with this program.
Instances
of projects being hidden like this show the need for the Mayor to bring a Taskforce
back together to look at alternatives like this, and at least to issue reports
to the public on what is already being done.
Beyond the Medical Model with Neesa
Beyond the Medical Model with Neesa
A Column by Neesa Sunar, Peer Specialist, Transitional Services for New York, Inc.
Changing the Language That is Used to Describe Us
Many of us who find ourselves in the mental health system have shared experiences as to how we got there. To speak on my own experiences, I first displayed “maladaptive,” saddening symptoms as a teen, which then led to my first hospitalization at around my fourteenth birthday. I was diagnosed with clinical depression and medicated with Zoloft. Upon returning to school, I labeled myself as “depressed,” which elicited within me a negative worldview amongst my classmates. My experiences with mental illness seemed alien to them, so my label further served to summarize my failures in forging meaningful friendships.
My condition turned for the worse when I developed schizoaffective disorder in my early twenties. Again, this diagnosis became a box I fell into, deeming me a “schizophrenic.” Adopting this label as a self-descriptor caused me to feel broken in mind and character. And even as I remained compliant with medications and psychiatric appointments, I continued relapsing, causing me to believe that my schizophrenia would haunt me for the rest of my life. Thus, the label seemed inescapable, thus sadly accurate.
My inability to work caused me to file for disability, which was an incredibly freeing experience. I began openly disclosing my illness to anyone who would serve as an audience, and even felt proud that my struggles had a name, instead of being some amorphous spiritual curse. At the same time, the label of “schizophrenic” still caused people to distance themselves from me. Perhaps my label served as a threat, indicating that I had lying dormant within me a sense of criminality.
When discovering the peer movement in 2014, beginning as a student at Howie the Harp Advocacy Center, I learned that I had been entrenched in the Medical Model for my entire mental illness “career.” I realized that I had completely internalized and unconditionally accepted the top-down dynamics of the therapeutic relationship between practitioner and consumer. I absorbed that my mental illness diagnosis served as a label that indicated who I was and the future trajectory for the remainder of my life. And that all this was an injustice.
I became appalled that I had never even heard of the Recovery Model as a counter to the Medical Model. Even in this massive city of New York, brimming with resources, I had never encountered peer specialists or Recovery Model enthusiasts. How could this be? Many of the peers I have since met proudly disown their diagnoses as descriptors, instead using more affirming language such as, “I am a person with schizophrenia,” or “I have past lived experience.” The peer community is a group of vibrant people with dynamic personalities, free from such labels. Bearing this perspective, we flourish and grow in our own recovery journeys as we influence and support one another.
Many of us peers are compelled to take action as mental health advocates in our communities. When we fight for widespread awareness of peers and the Recovery Model, we hope to challenge people in reevaluating their perspectives of those with mental illness. Part of our advocacy efforts should also include the request for creating alternative language that is person-centered, trauma-informed and affirming. A person “suffers from” or “experiences” mental illness and is not the illness itself. And what defines mental illness anyway? Descriptive words such as “crazy,” “insane” or “dysfunctional” also serve to obscure the personhood of one suffering. When insensitive language is used, a person can internalize this and develop a sense of shame and fear. This can prevent a person from reaching out to friends, family, and/or professionals. In the worst of situations, such silence can end in immense and irreversible tragedy.
As we advocate for change in language, we must also recognize that each individual has their preference for how they should be regarded. Some people prefer to be called “disabled,” while others eschew the term. Other terms can be preferred as well, such as “mentally ill,” “other-abled,” “neurodiverse,” “chronically ill,” “in remission,” or simply “a human being.” In the same way that the transgender community has fought for preferred pronouns, so too should we demand that mainstream society develops interest in engaging the mental health community with respectful language.
We each have our individual journeys towards recovery, as we leave behind our pasts to walk towards a bright future. The hope and vision that guides us in this process can be the foundation on which we stand, as we fearlessly share our stories of recovery. Part of our stories can include how we have reclaimed our lives by adopting affirming language. If we are able to incite curiosity in our audiences, we may enjoy immense success in this endeavor.
A Column by Neesa Sunar, Peer Specialist, Transitional Services for New York, Inc.
Changing the Language That is Used to Describe Us
Many of us who find ourselves in the mental health system have shared experiences as to how we got there. To speak on my own experiences, I first displayed “maladaptive,” saddening symptoms as a teen, which then led to my first hospitalization at around my fourteenth birthday. I was diagnosed with clinical depression and medicated with Zoloft. Upon returning to school, I labeled myself as “depressed,” which elicited within me a negative worldview amongst my classmates. My experiences with mental illness seemed alien to them, so my label further served to summarize my failures in forging meaningful friendships.
My condition turned for the worse when I developed schizoaffective disorder in my early twenties. Again, this diagnosis became a box I fell into, deeming me a “schizophrenic.” Adopting this label as a self-descriptor caused me to feel broken in mind and character. And even as I remained compliant with medications and psychiatric appointments, I continued relapsing, causing me to believe that my schizophrenia would haunt me for the rest of my life. Thus, the label seemed inescapable, thus sadly accurate.
My inability to work caused me to file for disability, which was an incredibly freeing experience. I began openly disclosing my illness to anyone who would serve as an audience, and even felt proud that my struggles had a name, instead of being some amorphous spiritual curse. At the same time, the label of “schizophrenic” still caused people to distance themselves from me. Perhaps my label served as a threat, indicating that I had lying dormant within me a sense of criminality.
When discovering the peer movement in 2014, beginning as a student at Howie the Harp Advocacy Center, I learned that I had been entrenched in the Medical Model for my entire mental illness “career.” I realized that I had completely internalized and unconditionally accepted the top-down dynamics of the therapeutic relationship between practitioner and consumer. I absorbed that my mental illness diagnosis served as a label that indicated who I was and the future trajectory for the remainder of my life. And that all this was an injustice.
I became appalled that I had never even heard of the Recovery Model as a counter to the Medical Model. Even in this massive city of New York, brimming with resources, I had never encountered peer specialists or Recovery Model enthusiasts. How could this be? Many of the peers I have since met proudly disown their diagnoses as descriptors, instead using more affirming language such as, “I am a person with schizophrenia,” or “I have past lived experience.” The peer community is a group of vibrant people with dynamic personalities, free from such labels. Bearing this perspective, we flourish and grow in our own recovery journeys as we influence and support one another.
Many of us peers are compelled to take action as mental health advocates in our communities. When we fight for widespread awareness of peers and the Recovery Model, we hope to challenge people in reevaluating their perspectives of those with mental illness. Part of our advocacy efforts should also include the request for creating alternative language that is person-centered, trauma-informed and affirming. A person “suffers from” or “experiences” mental illness and is not the illness itself. And what defines mental illness anyway? Descriptive words such as “crazy,” “insane” or “dysfunctional” also serve to obscure the personhood of one suffering. When insensitive language is used, a person can internalize this and develop a sense of shame and fear. This can prevent a person from reaching out to friends, family, and/or professionals. In the worst of situations, such silence can end in immense and irreversible tragedy.
As we advocate for change in language, we must also recognize that each individual has their preference for how they should be regarded. Some people prefer to be called “disabled,” while others eschew the term. Other terms can be preferred as well, such as “mentally ill,” “other-abled,” “neurodiverse,” “chronically ill,” “in remission,” or simply “a human being.” In the same way that the transgender community has fought for preferred pronouns, so too should we demand that mainstream society develops interest in engaging the mental health community with respectful language.
We each have our individual journeys towards recovery, as we leave behind our pasts to walk towards a bright future. The hope and vision that guides us in this process can be the foundation on which we stand, as we fearlessly share our stories of recovery. Part of our stories can include how we have reclaimed our lives by adopting affirming language. If we are able to incite curiosity in our audiences, we may enjoy immense success in this endeavor.
After Things Go Wrong Sometimes Amazing Things Happen
After Things Go Wrong Sometimes Amazing Things Happen
Book Review by Carl Blumenthal
Some Stories Have No Ending
How many of us could survive one day in New York City’s notorious Rikers Island Jail, given we have behavioral health issues? Wouldn’t admission to a psychiatric hospital be safer and more therapeutic?
Until recently I worked as a peer counselor in the psychiatric ER of Brooklyn’s Kings County Medical Center. I admit that I approached with caution what the police call “emotionally disturbed individuals” (EDI’s) charged with crimes. Even with one wrist handcuffed to a gurney, they were liable to react aggressively. Unfortunately, the sooner they calmed down and went to Rikers, the sooner our staff could focus on less agitated patients.
Having “done time” on psychiatric units as a non-forensic inpatient, I expected a lot more heartbreak than hope in psychiatrist Elizabeth Ford’s Sometimes Amazing Things Happen: Heartbreak and Hope on Bellevue Hospital’s Psychiatric Prison Ward (2017). I was surprised to discover a role model who all mental health providers should copy.
Due to the revolving door between Bellevue and Rikers—the hospital has 68 beds to treat the most distressed of 5,000 inmates with mental illness—she admits, “I have come to see my success as a doctor not by how well I treat mental illness but by how well I respect and honor my patients’ humanity, no matter where they are or what they have done.”
Ford shines a light not just on the jail’s insufferable conditions but also on prisoners’ lives that are too often defined in psychiatric and legal terms. The list of their challenges—addiction, homelessness, poverty, illiteracy, racism, etc—is as long as an indictment. To paraphrase African American psychologist, Amos Wilson, these men have learned to be the best at doing the worst.
Ford proves one wo(man) can make a difference by never giving up on her patients even when society has cast them aside. And they do their part merely by surviving. As one peer tells another in group therapy, “You are worth it, man. You got mad courage. You just hang on and keep going one day at a time. That’s all you got to do.”
Elizabeth Ford may never have taken a course in conflict resolution, but she’s a natural at calming potentially (self-) abusive patients and keeping the peace among staff—mental health providers and corrections officers alike. Even as she climbs the career ladder, there is always someone telling her what to (and not to) do. Yet she’s not afraid to speak truth to power.
Her calling is to assume more and more responsibility for events others consider beyond their control, in the end becoming the current head psychiatrist of the city’s correctional health services. She prefers the intensity of working with psychiatric inmates than other populations in other settings.
For example, Ford is in her glory (or God’s), when, like a modern-day Noah, she evacuates the prisoners to an upstate hospital during super storm Sandy and finds refuge elsewhere for those re-housed on Rikers Island, where she discovers just how poorly those with mental illness and substance abuse are treated.
Is Elizabeth Ford too good to be true? Except for a few moments of self-congratulation, burnout seems to be her only shortcoming, but that’s because she cares too much. Her family and therapist keep her on an even keel; she recognizes her racial, social, and economic privileges. And there are events out of her control, such as the beatings, murders, suicides, and escapes she learns about second-hand.
Ford’s memoir has the pace of a well-directed movie with enough drama to satisfy the most avid consumer of stories about abuses at mental hospitals. Her prose is straight-forward. Her eye for detail demonstrates the mindfulness necessary to survive amidst daily trials and tribulations. She enables us to witness what others can’t or refuse to see.
Thus, it’s the small blessings that give her and us hope: A phone call home by a scared teenager, a grungy prisoner’s unexpected shower, proper clothes for a court appearance, a sing-along in community meeting, ping-pong on a makeshift table, and a patient forgiving a doctor’s mistake.
She concludes Sometimes Amazing Things Happen with these words: “A story without an ending is still a story worth telling.” Meaning these are snapshots of lives—sometimes like our lives—that we must honor, no matter how difficult to appreciate.
Yet, much as she treats our peers humanely, Ford doesn’t hesitate to use both diagnostic labels and psychiatric medication for what she believes is our own good.
Based on my experience in the psychiatric department at Kings County, I now see the language is a shorthand and the meds are shortcuts to get people out of the hospital as quickly as possible. (After all, who wants to be confined in a mental hospital?) It may be only with long-term community services that peers have a better chance to educate clinicians.
I volunteer for the American Friends (Quaker) Service Committee’s Prison Watch to end solitary confinement, which causes and worsens mental illness. Agencies such as CASES, the Fortune Society, and the Osborne Association now rely on peer specialists to connect with ex-prisoners living with behavioral health challenges. I recommend that readers of City Voices get involved in these efforts if not doing so already.
Book Review by Carl Blumenthal
Some Stories Have No Ending
How many of us could survive one day in New York City’s notorious Rikers Island Jail, given we have behavioral health issues? Wouldn’t admission to a psychiatric hospital be safer and more therapeutic?
Until recently I worked as a peer counselor in the psychiatric ER of Brooklyn’s Kings County Medical Center. I admit that I approached with caution what the police call “emotionally disturbed individuals” (EDI’s) charged with crimes. Even with one wrist handcuffed to a gurney, they were liable to react aggressively. Unfortunately, the sooner they calmed down and went to Rikers, the sooner our staff could focus on less agitated patients.
Having “done time” on psychiatric units as a non-forensic inpatient, I expected a lot more heartbreak than hope in psychiatrist Elizabeth Ford’s Sometimes Amazing Things Happen: Heartbreak and Hope on Bellevue Hospital’s Psychiatric Prison Ward (2017). I was surprised to discover a role model who all mental health providers should copy.
Due to the revolving door between Bellevue and Rikers—the hospital has 68 beds to treat the most distressed of 5,000 inmates with mental illness—she admits, “I have come to see my success as a doctor not by how well I treat mental illness but by how well I respect and honor my patients’ humanity, no matter where they are or what they have done.”
Ford shines a light not just on the jail’s insufferable conditions but also on prisoners’ lives that are too often defined in psychiatric and legal terms. The list of their challenges—addiction, homelessness, poverty, illiteracy, racism, etc—is as long as an indictment. To paraphrase African American psychologist, Amos Wilson, these men have learned to be the best at doing the worst.
Ford proves one wo(man) can make a difference by never giving up on her patients even when society has cast them aside. And they do their part merely by surviving. As one peer tells another in group therapy, “You are worth it, man. You got mad courage. You just hang on and keep going one day at a time. That’s all you got to do.”
Elizabeth Ford may never have taken a course in conflict resolution, but she’s a natural at calming potentially (self-) abusive patients and keeping the peace among staff—mental health providers and corrections officers alike. Even as she climbs the career ladder, there is always someone telling her what to (and not to) do. Yet she’s not afraid to speak truth to power.
Her calling is to assume more and more responsibility for events others consider beyond their control, in the end becoming the current head psychiatrist of the city’s correctional health services. She prefers the intensity of working with psychiatric inmates than other populations in other settings.
For example, Ford is in her glory (or God’s), when, like a modern-day Noah, she evacuates the prisoners to an upstate hospital during super storm Sandy and finds refuge elsewhere for those re-housed on Rikers Island, where she discovers just how poorly those with mental illness and substance abuse are treated.
Is Elizabeth Ford too good to be true? Except for a few moments of self-congratulation, burnout seems to be her only shortcoming, but that’s because she cares too much. Her family and therapist keep her on an even keel; she recognizes her racial, social, and economic privileges. And there are events out of her control, such as the beatings, murders, suicides, and escapes she learns about second-hand.
Ford’s memoir has the pace of a well-directed movie with enough drama to satisfy the most avid consumer of stories about abuses at mental hospitals. Her prose is straight-forward. Her eye for detail demonstrates the mindfulness necessary to survive amidst daily trials and tribulations. She enables us to witness what others can’t or refuse to see.
Thus, it’s the small blessings that give her and us hope: A phone call home by a scared teenager, a grungy prisoner’s unexpected shower, proper clothes for a court appearance, a sing-along in community meeting, ping-pong on a makeshift table, and a patient forgiving a doctor’s mistake.
She concludes Sometimes Amazing Things Happen with these words: “A story without an ending is still a story worth telling.” Meaning these are snapshots of lives—sometimes like our lives—that we must honor, no matter how difficult to appreciate.
Yet, much as she treats our peers humanely, Ford doesn’t hesitate to use both diagnostic labels and psychiatric medication for what she believes is our own good.
Based on my experience in the psychiatric department at Kings County, I now see the language is a shorthand and the meds are shortcuts to get people out of the hospital as quickly as possible. (After all, who wants to be confined in a mental hospital?) It may be only with long-term community services that peers have a better chance to educate clinicians.
I volunteer for the American Friends (Quaker) Service Committee’s Prison Watch to end solitary confinement, which causes and worsens mental illness. Agencies such as CASES, the Fortune Society, and the Osborne Association now rely on peer specialists to connect with ex-prisoners living with behavioral health challenges. I recommend that readers of City Voices get involved in these efforts if not doing so already.
Friday, December 15, 2017
The Challenge of Mornings
By Rebecca Sande
And They Say It Could Be Worse
People always say that things could be worse. I am quite sure that indeed they could be. To some people who see me, I seem to have it all together. To the few who know the real me, even though I have a home and small support system, I sometimes feel like this is the worst.
My name is Rebecca. I have two wonderful sons, and I suffer from severe mental health issues. My illnesses range from MDD (major depressive disorder) and OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) to DID (dissociative identity disorder) and schizoaffective disorder. Some days are great and I love being the quirky person that I am, while other days are lower than low, and I just do not want to exist at all. It’s easy for someone on the outside looking in to think that things aren’t as bad as I might say, but for me it’s not like that at all.
It starts out with just getting up in the morning. For some people, this is something you just do without much thought. For me, there are days when I have to fight myself to get out of bed and start my day. There are days when I compromise with myself and go back to bed after I do what I have to. Some days I wake up and begin the day with little effort at all.
Once the early morning struggle is over and I am semi-exhausted with myself, I have another struggle ahead of me, which is eating. First, I must have my black coffee. Once that first cup is in me, I may try to eat (a battle I sometimes lose). The mental struggle of what should be a simple no-brainer has now turned into a duty. Soon after follows a bout of OCD and the accompanying anxiety: checking locks, lights, doors, appointments, phone, computer and anything else my obsessive little thoughts can find. It is only 10 A.M. and I am already dreading my day.
And now, a little bit about my attempts to go out in public. Let's talk about the voices in my head that yammer before I’ve even left home, the worry of the social mocking that is sure to come just from going out. What about the people who will stare at me? What about the whisperings? What if someone follows me? What if there is a horrible catastrophe? All of this and only one foot out of the front door. Meanwhile, the logical side of me fights and screams that I have to get the shopping done, or go pay that electric bill, and no one will even notice me (it would be nice if I could believe that).
This is why I have to start leaving an hour or two before I have to be somewhere. I do not drive myself anymore because I have a horrible fear that I will be the cause of some major accident, so I take the bus. Some days the bus is the safest place to blend in with my surroundings, but typically, not so much.
Despite all of the daily challenges I face, I let a smile be my armor. It’s not especially easy for me to do so on days when I just want to give up. Despite the people who see me and say things could be worse, I face every day with a new hope that the next day has to be a little better.
I take my medicine and go to therapy like I am supposed to and it truly helps. No one would look at an elderly person and tell them to get over being old. So, I hope one day we all get to the point when we stop telling each other it could be worse and we start making it better.
And They Say It Could Be Worse
People always say that things could be worse. I am quite sure that indeed they could be. To some people who see me, I seem to have it all together. To the few who know the real me, even though I have a home and small support system, I sometimes feel like this is the worst.
My name is Rebecca. I have two wonderful sons, and I suffer from severe mental health issues. My illnesses range from MDD (major depressive disorder) and OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) to DID (dissociative identity disorder) and schizoaffective disorder. Some days are great and I love being the quirky person that I am, while other days are lower than low, and I just do not want to exist at all. It’s easy for someone on the outside looking in to think that things aren’t as bad as I might say, but for me it’s not like that at all.
It starts out with just getting up in the morning. For some people, this is something you just do without much thought. For me, there are days when I have to fight myself to get out of bed and start my day. There are days when I compromise with myself and go back to bed after I do what I have to. Some days I wake up and begin the day with little effort at all.
Once the early morning struggle is over and I am semi-exhausted with myself, I have another struggle ahead of me, which is eating. First, I must have my black coffee. Once that first cup is in me, I may try to eat (a battle I sometimes lose). The mental struggle of what should be a simple no-brainer has now turned into a duty. Soon after follows a bout of OCD and the accompanying anxiety: checking locks, lights, doors, appointments, phone, computer and anything else my obsessive little thoughts can find. It is only 10 A.M. and I am already dreading my day.
And now, a little bit about my attempts to go out in public. Let's talk about the voices in my head that yammer before I’ve even left home, the worry of the social mocking that is sure to come just from going out. What about the people who will stare at me? What about the whisperings? What if someone follows me? What if there is a horrible catastrophe? All of this and only one foot out of the front door. Meanwhile, the logical side of me fights and screams that I have to get the shopping done, or go pay that electric bill, and no one will even notice me (it would be nice if I could believe that).
This is why I have to start leaving an hour or two before I have to be somewhere. I do not drive myself anymore because I have a horrible fear that I will be the cause of some major accident, so I take the bus. Some days the bus is the safest place to blend in with my surroundings, but typically, not so much.
Despite all of the daily challenges I face, I let a smile be my armor. It’s not especially easy for me to do so on days when I just want to give up. Despite the people who see me and say things could be worse, I face every day with a new hope that the next day has to be a little better.
I take my medicine and go to therapy like I am supposed to and it truly helps. No one would look at an elderly person and tell them to get over being old. So, I hope one day we all get to the point when we stop telling each other it could be worse and we start making it better.
Let’s Take a Look at Friendship
By MVK
The What, Why and How
What is Friendship?
I believe friendship is a loving bond that enriches the lives of all who partake. It is a special connection between people that has at its core both affection and respect.
When we say to someone that we want to be their friend, we are, in effect, saying that we want to learn more about that person, to share personal knowledge and insights with them, and to be there in times of sorrow and in times of joy.
Why Have a Friend?
Having a friend enriches your life and helps you become a better person. You learn things about the world, others and yourself. You see your friend’s world view and witness how he/she achieves goals and handles life; and, in turn, you gain insight into your own world view, what you do in various situations, and how you respond.
I believe the ultimate gift of friendship is having the ability to give and receive love. By love I mean the caring, compassionate kind—not the romantic kind—which has as its purpose the joining of two hearts.
This is where friendship becomes tricky. Do we love our self enough to accept the love of a friend? If we do not love our self, we will not allow our friend to love us and will keep them and their affection at a distance from us. How can we give back to them what we do not possess in the first place?
How to Make a Friend
To make a real friend, a person must show their inner self, the self he/she is when alone and not putting on a disguise for the world. In this way, the other person can see your humanity and can, if they are being authentic too, relate to you and find that special connection.
It is a beautiful thing to reveal oneself to another and have that person say they like you and want to be your friend. When this happens, we feel validated and accepted for who we are. This acceptance makes us feel like we belong in the world and are a part of a greater human family.
How to Keep a Friend
Friendships, like all human relationships, require a great deal of work. It is not simply a matter of finding someone you like and spending time together. For a friendship to succeed, there must be a caring, respectful balance between both people.
I’ve had many friends over the years, but few who have remained active in my life. Some have departed from me while others I chose to depart from.
For those who have left me, I have had to look at myself candidly in the mirror and see where I might have gone wrong. Rarely will a person tell you why they no longer wish to remain close. Some will, in which case you can learn and improve from the knowledge, or if the reason is unjustifiable, you can at least know that the other person is not able to maintain the friendship for reasons they themselves do not understand.
I had one friend who became irate with me because she felt that I was not there to help her at all times. I have a personal life with issues and problems of my own. She did not seek an explanation from me because, in truth, she did not care. That, I sensed all along, but never wanted to admit. She never delved into the why and wherefore of my life and my sorrows, or my hopes and my dreams.
For the friends that I let go, there were three major reasons: 1) I felt insecure and doubted that the other person truly liked me (I often do not like myself); 2) I was not being seen and accepted for my true self and found it tiring to conform into the kind of person my friend was seeking; or 3) I felt an imbalance in the relationship and resented the fact that I was always on the giving side of emotional support. Unfortunately, when I perceive these developments, I tend to keep it inside and eventually remove myself from the friendship.
Not communicating is something I want to change. I feel it is important to talk to your friend and tell them what you are feeling and why you do not want to spend time with them. Not only will your friend benefit from this disclosure, but you will feel better and lighter of heart for having shared your feelings. Their response may even surprise you. They may offer to work on establishing a better, more balanced, real and healthy relationship with you. In this case, you may find yourself remaining their friend.
Friends should not be in our lives to fill an emptiness, but rather to comfort and share some part of our life with us. Friendship should be a sharing relationship in which we benefit by experiencing the affection of another and feeling less alone on this planet.
Summing Up
At this point in my life, I am more philosophical about making and keeping friends. Length of time is not a good way to measure the value of a friendship. I’ve enjoyed having friends for just a few hours when I travel and meet new people. Other friends have been in my life for many years. Some people will be there with you on your life’s journey while others will take a turn in the road and go in a different direction. There is nothing wrong with this. What is of importance is that both people are mutually caring, respectful and honest with each other, and that both want the best for the other person.
The What, Why and How
What is Friendship?
I believe friendship is a loving bond that enriches the lives of all who partake. It is a special connection between people that has at its core both affection and respect.
When we say to someone that we want to be their friend, we are, in effect, saying that we want to learn more about that person, to share personal knowledge and insights with them, and to be there in times of sorrow and in times of joy.
Why Have a Friend?
Having a friend enriches your life and helps you become a better person. You learn things about the world, others and yourself. You see your friend’s world view and witness how he/she achieves goals and handles life; and, in turn, you gain insight into your own world view, what you do in various situations, and how you respond.
I believe the ultimate gift of friendship is having the ability to give and receive love. By love I mean the caring, compassionate kind—not the romantic kind—which has as its purpose the joining of two hearts.
This is where friendship becomes tricky. Do we love our self enough to accept the love of a friend? If we do not love our self, we will not allow our friend to love us and will keep them and their affection at a distance from us. How can we give back to them what we do not possess in the first place?
How to Make a Friend
To make a real friend, a person must show their inner self, the self he/she is when alone and not putting on a disguise for the world. In this way, the other person can see your humanity and can, if they are being authentic too, relate to you and find that special connection.
It is a beautiful thing to reveal oneself to another and have that person say they like you and want to be your friend. When this happens, we feel validated and accepted for who we are. This acceptance makes us feel like we belong in the world and are a part of a greater human family.
How to Keep a Friend
Friendships, like all human relationships, require a great deal of work. It is not simply a matter of finding someone you like and spending time together. For a friendship to succeed, there must be a caring, respectful balance between both people.
I’ve had many friends over the years, but few who have remained active in my life. Some have departed from me while others I chose to depart from.
For those who have left me, I have had to look at myself candidly in the mirror and see where I might have gone wrong. Rarely will a person tell you why they no longer wish to remain close. Some will, in which case you can learn and improve from the knowledge, or if the reason is unjustifiable, you can at least know that the other person is not able to maintain the friendship for reasons they themselves do not understand.
I had one friend who became irate with me because she felt that I was not there to help her at all times. I have a personal life with issues and problems of my own. She did not seek an explanation from me because, in truth, she did not care. That, I sensed all along, but never wanted to admit. She never delved into the why and wherefore of my life and my sorrows, or my hopes and my dreams.
For the friends that I let go, there were three major reasons: 1) I felt insecure and doubted that the other person truly liked me (I often do not like myself); 2) I was not being seen and accepted for my true self and found it tiring to conform into the kind of person my friend was seeking; or 3) I felt an imbalance in the relationship and resented the fact that I was always on the giving side of emotional support. Unfortunately, when I perceive these developments, I tend to keep it inside and eventually remove myself from the friendship.
Not communicating is something I want to change. I feel it is important to talk to your friend and tell them what you are feeling and why you do not want to spend time with them. Not only will your friend benefit from this disclosure, but you will feel better and lighter of heart for having shared your feelings. Their response may even surprise you. They may offer to work on establishing a better, more balanced, real and healthy relationship with you. In this case, you may find yourself remaining their friend.
Friends should not be in our lives to fill an emptiness, but rather to comfort and share some part of our life with us. Friendship should be a sharing relationship in which we benefit by experiencing the affection of another and feeling less alone on this planet.
Summing Up
At this point in my life, I am more philosophical about making and keeping friends. Length of time is not a good way to measure the value of a friendship. I’ve enjoyed having friends for just a few hours when I travel and meet new people. Other friends have been in my life for many years. Some people will be there with you on your life’s journey while others will take a turn in the road and go in a different direction. There is nothing wrong with this. What is of importance is that both people are mutually caring, respectful and honest with each other, and that both want the best for the other person.
Monday, June 5, 2017
Press Release for the The New York City Mural Arts Project
Announcing the The New York City Mural Arts Project
From the NYC Department of Health and Mental Hygiene and the Fund for Public Health
Murals in the Bronx and Manhattan–developed through community engagement–will address mental illness
NYC DOHMH and the Fund for Public Health have organized a community-based project to create three public murals about mental health in East Tremont, West Bronx, and Hell’s Kitchen. The New York City Mural Arts Project is a collaborative effort between mental health consumers, artists, community-based organizations and the community at large. The two murals in the Bronx will be created by VIP Community Services and muralist Tova Snyder. The mural in Manhattan will be created by Fountain House Gallery and artist Andrew Frank Baer. The Mural Arts Project is part of the City’s effort to increase services and awareness about mental health, and aligns with First Lady Chirlane McCray’s goal to build social cohesion and reduce the stigma that continues to surround mental illness.
The Mural Arts Project will include a series of community activities over the next three months to engage the public in the mural making process and foster community conversations about mental health. The artists will lead weekly workshops at community-based organizations to discuss ideas for the designs. The artists will then present a first draft of the mural and receive feedback from participants. In May, the project will culminate with two Community Paint Days, arts and wellness fairs where the public can paint the murals.
“The Mural Arts Project is an important investment and builds on the impact ThriveNYC has had improving our city’s mental health infrastructure,” said First Lady Chirlane McCray. “Art has the ability to profoundly change the way we think, feel, and even spark meaningful conversation to begin to break down the strongholds of isolation and stigma.”
“The NYC Mural Arts Project is part of a citywide effort to take discussion of mental health from lectures to living rooms, creating the opportunity for a community conversation,” said Health Commissioner Dr. Mary T. Bassett. “Projects like this engage the community through discussion, thought, and action—ultimately reducing the stigma associated with mental illness.”
“We are pleased to take part in this important effort to connect residents to community-based organizations, social centers, and art in order to bring mental illness out of the shadows and encourage New Yorkers to seek services to help them flourish,” said Sara Gardner, Executive Director of the Fund for Public Health in New York City.
For further information and additional open studio dates, check the Mural Arts Project Facebook page or visit www.nycmap.org.
The Mural Arts Project steering committee includes members from the NYC Health Department, the Fund for Public Health, the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs, NYC Health + Hospitals, the Mayor’s Office, VIP Community Services, Fountain House, Fountain House Gallery, Citiview Connections Clubhouse, Bronx Community Board 6, and Manhattan Community Board 4.
About the Artists
Tova Snyder received a Master of Fine Arts from Temple University’s Tyler School of Art. Her work includes public and commercial murals, fresco painting and restoration. Her largest piece of public art is a six-story mural off the Grand Concourse in the Bronx.
Andrew Frank Baer studied fine art at Brooklyn College. His work has been shown in galleries in Washington, D.C. and New York City, and he has painted large murals in New York City.
From the NYC Department of Health and Mental Hygiene and the Fund for Public Health
Murals in the Bronx and Manhattan–developed through community engagement–will address mental illness
NYC DOHMH and the Fund for Public Health have organized a community-based project to create three public murals about mental health in East Tremont, West Bronx, and Hell’s Kitchen. The New York City Mural Arts Project is a collaborative effort between mental health consumers, artists, community-based organizations and the community at large. The two murals in the Bronx will be created by VIP Community Services and muralist Tova Snyder. The mural in Manhattan will be created by Fountain House Gallery and artist Andrew Frank Baer. The Mural Arts Project is part of the City’s effort to increase services and awareness about mental health, and aligns with First Lady Chirlane McCray’s goal to build social cohesion and reduce the stigma that continues to surround mental illness.The Mural Arts Project will include a series of community activities over the next three months to engage the public in the mural making process and foster community conversations about mental health. The artists will lead weekly workshops at community-based organizations to discuss ideas for the designs. The artists will then present a first draft of the mural and receive feedback from participants. In May, the project will culminate with two Community Paint Days, arts and wellness fairs where the public can paint the murals.
“The Mural Arts Project is an important investment and builds on the impact ThriveNYC has had improving our city’s mental health infrastructure,” said First Lady Chirlane McCray. “Art has the ability to profoundly change the way we think, feel, and even spark meaningful conversation to begin to break down the strongholds of isolation and stigma.”
“The NYC Mural Arts Project is part of a citywide effort to take discussion of mental health from lectures to living rooms, creating the opportunity for a community conversation,” said Health Commissioner Dr. Mary T. Bassett. “Projects like this engage the community through discussion, thought, and action—ultimately reducing the stigma associated with mental illness.”
“We are pleased to take part in this important effort to connect residents to community-based organizations, social centers, and art in order to bring mental illness out of the shadows and encourage New Yorkers to seek services to help them flourish,” said Sara Gardner, Executive Director of the Fund for Public Health in New York City.
For further information and additional open studio dates, check the Mural Arts Project Facebook page or visit www.nycmap.org.
The Mural Arts Project steering committee includes members from the NYC Health Department, the Fund for Public Health, the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs, NYC Health + Hospitals, the Mayor’s Office, VIP Community Services, Fountain House, Fountain House Gallery, Citiview Connections Clubhouse, Bronx Community Board 6, and Manhattan Community Board 4.
About the Artists
Tova Snyder received a Master of Fine Arts from Temple University’s Tyler School of Art. Her work includes public and commercial murals, fresco painting and restoration. Her largest piece of public art is a six-story mural off the Grand Concourse in the Bronx.
Andrew Frank Baer studied fine art at Brooklyn College. His work has been shown in galleries in Washington, D.C. and New York City, and he has painted large murals in New York City.
Expressing Emotion and Experience
Expressing Emotion and Experience
By Lisa Roma and Reginald True Coleman
The “Evolutions of Us” Art Exhibit
Have you ever come across a piece of jewelry that caught your eye, and as you looked closer there was one thing about it that sold you? Then, after having it for some time, it seemed to be more attractive the longer you owned it. That is one way to describe the “Evolutions of Us” art exhibit. When we walked into the room we knew we had stumbled upon a jewel. But the longer we stayed the more interesting it became.
It was a mild winter day, Saturday, February 18th when we arrived. The brightly lit walls of the ample sized gallery were lined with quite a variety of art styles. The space was filled with guests and exhibitors. A spread of refreshments covered a table near one corner of the large square room at the School of Visual Arts (SVA) 5th floor gallery located at 321 West 21st Street in Manhattan. The exhibit featured the work of 12 artists, five of whom spoke.
Viewers listened intently while various artists stood in front of their respective exhibits and shared what their artwork meant to them and why they created it. Several exhibitors voiced how creating their art helped them to express their feelings and experience some level of healing. Others chose to express a political point of view.
The artwork covered a range of topics. Some of the paintings were photo-realistic portraits, while others were surreal. Some combined retouched photographs with typed words. One artist combined dream-images that he described while beating an African hand drum. Some artists included controversial political content while other described their art as being an extension of their mental health journey.
Laura Anne Walker, the event’s host, opened the exhibit with a reading of her poetry before discussing her art, whose colorful drawings were prominently displayed. Her eloquent poetry and art spoke about her experiences with hospitalization and recovery.
Guest viewer Steph Walker shared the words of photo-realistic artist El Kuumba: “He said he uses his artwork to express his pain, and that’s how he processes his pain. It also helps him connect to who he is.”
Artist Cynthia Timms spoke about her art project, which revolves around her letter to Rosa Parks, and said she believes “in art and activism. What can I do as an artist, as a writer, as a citizen, as a woman, as a black woman?” Vincent Salas, whose art expressed his spiritual and shamanic phase, also played an African hand drum during his talk, explaining how he added paper from his prescription drugs as a background to some of his art. Artist Ray Lopez spoke of the controversial and political views expressed in his work. Artist Lawrence Willoughby talked about his New York City painting. The other artists whose work was displayed, but who did not speak, were: Jenny Chan, Michael Johnson, Linda Moses, Girl Negron, Georgia Redd and Aracelis Rivera.
The “Evolutions of Us” art exhibit was curated by Being Neighborly, a not for profit organization, in collaboration with The School of Visual Arts art therapy program. Being Neighborly is directed by artist Francis Palazzolo, who formerly created and directed the HAI Art Studio.
By Lisa Roma and Reginald True Coleman
The “Evolutions of Us” Art Exhibit
Have you ever come across a piece of jewelry that caught your eye, and as you looked closer there was one thing about it that sold you? Then, after having it for some time, it seemed to be more attractive the longer you owned it. That is one way to describe the “Evolutions of Us” art exhibit. When we walked into the room we knew we had stumbled upon a jewel. But the longer we stayed the more interesting it became.
It was a mild winter day, Saturday, February 18th when we arrived. The brightly lit walls of the ample sized gallery were lined with quite a variety of art styles. The space was filled with guests and exhibitors. A spread of refreshments covered a table near one corner of the large square room at the School of Visual Arts (SVA) 5th floor gallery located at 321 West 21st Street in Manhattan. The exhibit featured the work of 12 artists, five of whom spoke.Viewers listened intently while various artists stood in front of their respective exhibits and shared what their artwork meant to them and why they created it. Several exhibitors voiced how creating their art helped them to express their feelings and experience some level of healing. Others chose to express a political point of view.
The artwork covered a range of topics. Some of the paintings were photo-realistic portraits, while others were surreal. Some combined retouched photographs with typed words. One artist combined dream-images that he described while beating an African hand drum. Some artists included controversial political content while other described their art as being an extension of their mental health journey.
Laura Anne Walker, the event’s host, opened the exhibit with a reading of her poetry before discussing her art, whose colorful drawings were prominently displayed. Her eloquent poetry and art spoke about her experiences with hospitalization and recovery.
Guest viewer Steph Walker shared the words of photo-realistic artist El Kuumba: “He said he uses his artwork to express his pain, and that’s how he processes his pain. It also helps him connect to who he is.”
Artist Cynthia Timms spoke about her art project, which revolves around her letter to Rosa Parks, and said she believes “in art and activism. What can I do as an artist, as a writer, as a citizen, as a woman, as a black woman?” Vincent Salas, whose art expressed his spiritual and shamanic phase, also played an African hand drum during his talk, explaining how he added paper from his prescription drugs as a background to some of his art. Artist Ray Lopez spoke of the controversial and political views expressed in his work. Artist Lawrence Willoughby talked about his New York City painting. The other artists whose work was displayed, but who did not speak, were: Jenny Chan, Michael Johnson, Linda Moses, Girl Negron, Georgia Redd and Aracelis Rivera.
The “Evolutions of Us” art exhibit was curated by Being Neighborly, a not for profit organization, in collaboration with The School of Visual Arts art therapy program. Being Neighborly is directed by artist Francis Palazzolo, who formerly created and directed the HAI Art Studio.
My Mental Health Journey: Mirroring Success Through the Eyes of a Relationship
My Mental Health Journey: Mirroring Success Through the Eyes of a Relationship
A Column by J. Alfreda
Success is Obtained by Letting Go of the Toxic Pieces
Our relationship has been strained at best, a really rocky road. It’s a love/hate relationship that borders on psychosis. But, in the final analysis, I am the one who knows her best. She is the closest person to me. She is me.
There was a pouring of rain on our already strained relationship. You see, I have schizophrenia, bipolar type, which onset at age 20. Many voices and much pain have infiltrated my mind over the past 35 years. I have just arrived at a place of readiness to accept this illness as mine.
You might possibly think it’s strange that it took me so long, but I have always thought of my illness as another entity, an alter-ego, an arch nemesis. I refused to see myself as a whole person. My war had an enemy though I couldn’t see that the enemy was unintentionally me. Success would start with forging my “selves” and attaining as much peace as possible.
Schizophrenia is a different realm of reality. You realize what you go through intermittently. But, when you are there, it is real. It is marked by delusions, extreme paranoia, suicidal thoughts, steep highs and lulls of depression in my case.
In the beginning, it was like having my life, mind and soul hollowed out and strewn across the four corners of the Earth in scraps, feeling like I had to travel to each site and retrieve them piece by piece in a zombie state. The disease alienates you from yourself.
Schizophrenia is a useless, evil being who can’t stand in a church for fear of bursting into flames. It is a pimp that bids actions contrary to your will, turning you inside-out. That is, until you fix it.
I walked around in this nightmarish, delusional state for 24 years before a medication was created that I would respond to and not put me in the conveyor-belt-shuffle-mode.
When I was 20, I was sure that by now I would have an engineering firm, a great home, kids, and the whole nine yards, but that hasn’t been in the plan for me. I have barely been able to take care of myself. I did manage to finish college, though on the revolving door plan; one quarter in school, the next in the hospital and so on. I changed my major from chemical engineering to journalism because after the first break, with the tranquilizers I was taking (that was all they had for schizophrenia back then), I found I could not comprehend my coursework anymore. I was in my junior year before the break.
You can imagine why I would rebel against this entity. It has undermined my every opportunity and effort to gain success, but it is a part of me and I have resolved to make myself whole.
After some soul-searching prompts, my first stop was in the gratitude market. You can’t ask the Universe for more without thanking It for what you already have. It just wouldn’t be polite. I bought a gratitude journal in which I write daily those things I am grateful for: past, present and future.
The little things that I appreciate and make me happy fascinate me the most. In my first entry I always thank God for “waking me up this morning clothed in my right mind,” a phrase my grandfather used to say in his prayers, which has taken on a new meaning for me. You can guess why.
I’ve also created a gratitude board somewhat akin to a vision board, visually celebrating all of the things that make me happy, appreciative and that I am thankful for. It has things as frivolous as vintage clothing and jewelry, as marvelous as a multi-hued sunset or a cobalt night sky, and as welcoming as family and all that it entails. It helps me to embrace the positives of my life.
Some would say I lost everything in the deal. It may seem that way from one perspective if viewing my past, but it is far from the truth. In picking up the pieces for the umpteenth time, I discovered me, the whole of myself. I am coming from a natural place, a place of gratitude and love─not someone else’s definition of who I am, or even who I think I am; it is a place of true character.
My true character has been revealed by letting go of the toxic pieces and embracing the positive aspects of my true self. This is how I define success.
A Column by J. Alfreda
Success is Obtained by Letting Go of the Toxic Pieces
Our relationship has been strained at best, a really rocky road. It’s a love/hate relationship that borders on psychosis. But, in the final analysis, I am the one who knows her best. She is the closest person to me. She is me.
There was a pouring of rain on our already strained relationship. You see, I have schizophrenia, bipolar type, which onset at age 20. Many voices and much pain have infiltrated my mind over the past 35 years. I have just arrived at a place of readiness to accept this illness as mine.
You might possibly think it’s strange that it took me so long, but I have always thought of my illness as another entity, an alter-ego, an arch nemesis. I refused to see myself as a whole person. My war had an enemy though I couldn’t see that the enemy was unintentionally me. Success would start with forging my “selves” and attaining as much peace as possible.
Schizophrenia is a different realm of reality. You realize what you go through intermittently. But, when you are there, it is real. It is marked by delusions, extreme paranoia, suicidal thoughts, steep highs and lulls of depression in my case.
In the beginning, it was like having my life, mind and soul hollowed out and strewn across the four corners of the Earth in scraps, feeling like I had to travel to each site and retrieve them piece by piece in a zombie state. The disease alienates you from yourself.
Schizophrenia is a useless, evil being who can’t stand in a church for fear of bursting into flames. It is a pimp that bids actions contrary to your will, turning you inside-out. That is, until you fix it.
I walked around in this nightmarish, delusional state for 24 years before a medication was created that I would respond to and not put me in the conveyor-belt-shuffle-mode.
When I was 20, I was sure that by now I would have an engineering firm, a great home, kids, and the whole nine yards, but that hasn’t been in the plan for me. I have barely been able to take care of myself. I did manage to finish college, though on the revolving door plan; one quarter in school, the next in the hospital and so on. I changed my major from chemical engineering to journalism because after the first break, with the tranquilizers I was taking (that was all they had for schizophrenia back then), I found I could not comprehend my coursework anymore. I was in my junior year before the break.
You can imagine why I would rebel against this entity. It has undermined my every opportunity and effort to gain success, but it is a part of me and I have resolved to make myself whole.
After some soul-searching prompts, my first stop was in the gratitude market. You can’t ask the Universe for more without thanking It for what you already have. It just wouldn’t be polite. I bought a gratitude journal in which I write daily those things I am grateful for: past, present and future.
The little things that I appreciate and make me happy fascinate me the most. In my first entry I always thank God for “waking me up this morning clothed in my right mind,” a phrase my grandfather used to say in his prayers, which has taken on a new meaning for me. You can guess why.
I’ve also created a gratitude board somewhat akin to a vision board, visually celebrating all of the things that make me happy, appreciative and that I am thankful for. It has things as frivolous as vintage clothing and jewelry, as marvelous as a multi-hued sunset or a cobalt night sky, and as welcoming as family and all that it entails. It helps me to embrace the positives of my life.
Some would say I lost everything in the deal. It may seem that way from one perspective if viewing my past, but it is far from the truth. In picking up the pieces for the umpteenth time, I discovered me, the whole of myself. I am coming from a natural place, a place of gratitude and love─not someone else’s definition of who I am, or even who I think I am; it is a place of true character.
My true character has been revealed by letting go of the toxic pieces and embracing the positive aspects of my true self. This is how I define success.
The Healing Art of The Memoir
The Healing Art of The Memoir
By Ayesha
Writing My Personal Story Has Been a Cleansing Experience
I want to write about how cleansing it was for me to write a 3,000-3,500-word personal narrative. This memoir is the beginning of what I hope will become a book-length personal narrative. I like to think of the benefits that I get from writing personal narrative as “narrative therapy.”
When I write about my experiences as an African American woman living with schizophrenia, I am writing my story which began twenty years ago. I have made progress simply by sharing my story with others. As I read the first two pages of my narrative with students and alumni at Memoirfest—a memoir-reading party that Dr. Giunta, the memoir class professor, holds every May and December at her house in Teaneck, New Jersey—I was being bolder than I have ever been before.
I have written personal essays and narratives that I have shared in safe spaces, but never as part of a college-level workshop or at a gathering of students as I did at Memoirfest. I felt so good after sharing the first two pages of my memoir with everyone and getting their positive feedback. One student told me she really enjoyed my piece, which I shared with her just before she left at the end of the night. She was doing her honors thesis and, although I cannot remember her name, her comment meant a lot to me.
The first class that I shared my life experience as an African American woman with schizophrenia was English Composition II while doing research in the Guarni library for our final research paper; Dr. Alina Gharabegian was my instructor.
I had been encouraged by Dr. Hamburger to take ECI and ECII at the university level. I took the Advanced Creative Writing Workshop with him and did not do well, barely passing the course. Dr. Hamburger encouraged me to repeat ECI and ECII, which I did to improve my writing skills.
Dr. Gharabegian had assigned the class a five- to seven-page research paper on the broad topic of love. We could approach the assignment in any way we liked. In her comments on my proposal, Dr. Gharabegian suggested that I write about schizophrenia and love. I felt like someone was opening a door for me. I was surprised by her suggestion, but also thrilled. I had not yet written a paper about my personal experiences with schizophrenia during my time at New Jersey City University.
I was happy to be taking Memoir Workshop with Dr. Giunta, who taught me to avoid writing my story as a chronology or autobiography. When I nailed voice, it was like church bells were ringing at that moment, and I felt so accomplished, mature and independent. I am so glad I took Memoir Workshop and then Advanced Memoir Workshop during the spring of 2015. I graduated from NJCU in August 2015 with a BA in Creative Writing.
I am fond of NJCU because of my experience in Dr. Giunta’s class. She was an amazing, supportive, caring and sweet person as well as a great teacher. I feel such an overwhelming debt of gratitude to her. I never thought I would have such an experience with a professor or as part of a class. It had such an amazing impact on me and on my life.
Now I am back at NJCU majoring in Early Childhood Education. I feel more a part of the university's community now than when I began in the fall of 2007.
By Ayesha
Writing My Personal Story Has Been a Cleansing Experience
I want to write about how cleansing it was for me to write a 3,000-3,500-word personal narrative. This memoir is the beginning of what I hope will become a book-length personal narrative. I like to think of the benefits that I get from writing personal narrative as “narrative therapy.”
When I write about my experiences as an African American woman living with schizophrenia, I am writing my story which began twenty years ago. I have made progress simply by sharing my story with others. As I read the first two pages of my narrative with students and alumni at Memoirfest—a memoir-reading party that Dr. Giunta, the memoir class professor, holds every May and December at her house in Teaneck, New Jersey—I was being bolder than I have ever been before.
I have written personal essays and narratives that I have shared in safe spaces, but never as part of a college-level workshop or at a gathering of students as I did at Memoirfest. I felt so good after sharing the first two pages of my memoir with everyone and getting their positive feedback. One student told me she really enjoyed my piece, which I shared with her just before she left at the end of the night. She was doing her honors thesis and, although I cannot remember her name, her comment meant a lot to me.
The first class that I shared my life experience as an African American woman with schizophrenia was English Composition II while doing research in the Guarni library for our final research paper; Dr. Alina Gharabegian was my instructor.
I had been encouraged by Dr. Hamburger to take ECI and ECII at the university level. I took the Advanced Creative Writing Workshop with him and did not do well, barely passing the course. Dr. Hamburger encouraged me to repeat ECI and ECII, which I did to improve my writing skills.
Dr. Gharabegian had assigned the class a five- to seven-page research paper on the broad topic of love. We could approach the assignment in any way we liked. In her comments on my proposal, Dr. Gharabegian suggested that I write about schizophrenia and love. I felt like someone was opening a door for me. I was surprised by her suggestion, but also thrilled. I had not yet written a paper about my personal experiences with schizophrenia during my time at New Jersey City University.
I was happy to be taking Memoir Workshop with Dr. Giunta, who taught me to avoid writing my story as a chronology or autobiography. When I nailed voice, it was like church bells were ringing at that moment, and I felt so accomplished, mature and independent. I am so glad I took Memoir Workshop and then Advanced Memoir Workshop during the spring of 2015. I graduated from NJCU in August 2015 with a BA in Creative Writing.
I am fond of NJCU because of my experience in Dr. Giunta’s class. She was an amazing, supportive, caring and sweet person as well as a great teacher. I feel such an overwhelming debt of gratitude to her. I never thought I would have such an experience with a professor or as part of a class. It had such an amazing impact on me and on my life.
Now I am back at NJCU majoring in Early Childhood Education. I feel more a part of the university's community now than when I began in the fall of 2007.
Bruni in the City: Number 100 is on His Way
Bruni in the City: Number 100 is on His Way
A Column by Christina Bruni
I Fell for a Pinhead
Readers: I broke the cardinal rule of dating.
Years ago, a woman gave me a psychic reading in her apartment on the waterfront in Sheepshead Bay. She told me: “Don’t throw yourself at a guy. Remember: you’re a diamond, not a rhinestone.”
Diamond, my ass. My brilliance hasn’t attracted a guy to me.
So, my curiosity got the better of me. I threw down a challenge to T.—the guy I have pined for since 2016—and sent him a short e-mail in these exact words: “I realize you don’t like me and that’s okay.” The cardinal sin. Then:
“You keep talking about your numerous ex-girlfriends. I’m a woman with a photogenic face and skinny body and I can’t get one guy to go on one date with me. What’s your secret?”
Since he was “date bait” himself with striking good looks and a kind heart, couldn’t he spare a few alluring ideas about how I could reel a guy in? Couldn’t he tell me this as one great friend to another? I clicked send on the e-mail and shut down my computer for the night.
T. responded: “Most romances are played badly just on the surface level. Even the ones where people are happier are adolescent. Are you at the library this week? We can talk then.”
I responded to T: “Yes, I do attract guys—what a psychic called ‘turkeys.’ Like the guy with the screen name sexywomanneeded—adolescent indeed. How is a guy going to get a woman if he frames it in terms of what she can give him not what he can give her?”
Then I told T.: “I’m not going to wear a cleavage-bearing mini dress, yet apparently, that’s some guy’s sole criteria for a love match.”
Our conversation quickly sidestepped that he was the first guy I was madly and physically attracted to. He had conveniently deflected any reference to my comment that he didn’t like me.
That Sunday was the first time in my life that I ever felt like something was wrong with me. Having a diagnosis of schizophrenia doesn’t upset me and hasn’t upset me for decades. It only crushed me to know that a kind, sensitive and intelligent guy like T. didn’t like a kind and compassionate and elegant lady like me.
“Pinhead!” I wanted to tell him. “By all means go out and get another chick that will treat you like shit all over again. Get going—Number 100 is on his way to me.”
It’s over—partly because T. has moved to Austin, TX where he found a job.
T. and I were a photogenic item out in public. I was confident people thought we were a romantic item. Thus, when we appeared together I wanted to wear a tee-shirt that proclaimed: He’s Not My Boyfriend. Try Your Luck.
The ending with T. reminded me of the Donna Summer song, lyrics about the cake left out in the rain. It took so long to bake the budding romance with him and I won’t ever have this recipe again either. The cake’s been soaked. That’s all there is to it.
On some days, I still pine for a guy. On other days, I’m happy to be alone. I miss the cake frosting.
A Column by Christina Bruni
I Fell for a Pinhead
Readers: I broke the cardinal rule of dating.
Years ago, a woman gave me a psychic reading in her apartment on the waterfront in Sheepshead Bay. She told me: “Don’t throw yourself at a guy. Remember: you’re a diamond, not a rhinestone.”
Diamond, my ass. My brilliance hasn’t attracted a guy to me.
So, my curiosity got the better of me. I threw down a challenge to T.—the guy I have pined for since 2016—and sent him a short e-mail in these exact words: “I realize you don’t like me and that’s okay.” The cardinal sin. Then:
“You keep talking about your numerous ex-girlfriends. I’m a woman with a photogenic face and skinny body and I can’t get one guy to go on one date with me. What’s your secret?”
Since he was “date bait” himself with striking good looks and a kind heart, couldn’t he spare a few alluring ideas about how I could reel a guy in? Couldn’t he tell me this as one great friend to another? I clicked send on the e-mail and shut down my computer for the night.
T. responded: “Most romances are played badly just on the surface level. Even the ones where people are happier are adolescent. Are you at the library this week? We can talk then.”
I responded to T: “Yes, I do attract guys—what a psychic called ‘turkeys.’ Like the guy with the screen name sexywomanneeded—adolescent indeed. How is a guy going to get a woman if he frames it in terms of what she can give him not what he can give her?”
Then I told T.: “I’m not going to wear a cleavage-bearing mini dress, yet apparently, that’s some guy’s sole criteria for a love match.”
Our conversation quickly sidestepped that he was the first guy I was madly and physically attracted to. He had conveniently deflected any reference to my comment that he didn’t like me.
That Sunday was the first time in my life that I ever felt like something was wrong with me. Having a diagnosis of schizophrenia doesn’t upset me and hasn’t upset me for decades. It only crushed me to know that a kind, sensitive and intelligent guy like T. didn’t like a kind and compassionate and elegant lady like me.
“Pinhead!” I wanted to tell him. “By all means go out and get another chick that will treat you like shit all over again. Get going—Number 100 is on his way to me.”
It’s over—partly because T. has moved to Austin, TX where he found a job.
T. and I were a photogenic item out in public. I was confident people thought we were a romantic item. Thus, when we appeared together I wanted to wear a tee-shirt that proclaimed: He’s Not My Boyfriend. Try Your Luck.
The ending with T. reminded me of the Donna Summer song, lyrics about the cake left out in the rain. It took so long to bake the budding romance with him and I won’t ever have this recipe again either. The cake’s been soaked. That’s all there is to it.
On some days, I still pine for a guy. On other days, I’m happy to be alone. I miss the cake frosting.
How I Deal with Loneliness in the Big City
How I Deal with Loneliness in the Big City
By Ted Walner
Seek Out Some People to Be With
Coming from a family of five children, I always had people around me growing up. Even if we didn’t talk to one another, there was the security of knowing someone was always around. Life is much different in the big city. Now, I live in a studio apartment in Manhattan. I can always call someone, but it is much different than having people around you when you need them. It doesn’t bother me that much during the weekdays because I spend my time with nice people at work and then usually enjoy my “down” time. But it does hit me on weekends when I spend time on my own. Sometimes solitude sets in. I enjoy being by myself, but sometimes I feel lonely and can’t wait to be with someone. This article is going to deal with how I fill those gaps so I don’t feel so lonely. I will provide suggestions on how I do it and hopefully this will help others who experience feelings of loneliness.
A dear friend bought me a book on a set of DVDs for the holidays that I was interested in. It is amazing how this system counteracts the feelings of loneliness. You have a person narrating the book, which makes you feel like someone is talking to you. You can concentrate on this topic of interest, which stimulates you. It is much easier than the eye-strain of reading. You also learn something new.
On the weekends, I listen to the DVDs and it helps me to focus on something I find interesting. You almost feel as if you have someone in the room with you and it really helps with the feelings of loneliness. You can purchase a variety of topics on Amazon.com and they aren’t very expensive. If you’re interested in reading Hemmingway, Herman Hesse or any author, you can get these books narrated to you on a DVD. It’s a fun way to learn and has a lot of benefits.
You can make friends as well as find romance on dating websites. You have to be careful because there are some fraudulent people trying to get your money, but most of the people are simply interested in socializing. You should meet in a public place until you feel comfortable with that person. I advise that you get to know the person through texts, emails and phone calls before you meet. Once you feel comfortable, take it one step further and meet in a public place.
Not every person you meet is going to become a romantic interest. Sometimes, you make friends with people of similar interests as well. I have made three friends in the past few years on the Internet. It is possible. Not all sites charge a fee. Okcupid.com, nolongerlonely.com, mingle2.com, and pof.com all have a lot of free activities. You can pay, but you can also do a lot for free.
Nolongerlonely.com is a site for people with mental illness. I have made a friend on this site. These sites do help you find a mate and make friends although you should always be cautious. This is a definite antidote to loneliness.
There are many clubhouses one can go to. Fountain House offers a work-oriented program and you are bound to make friends with the wonderful people and staff there. They have different units, such as the Culinary Unit, the Employment Unit, the Communications Unit, and the Wellness Unit. One can decide what area they would like to join.
Baltic Street AEH, Inc. has the Resource and Wellness Center where you can socialize and get involved in group activities such as the expressive arts groups, meditation, arts and crafts, wellness and self-esteem-building groups.
Rainbow Heights is a clubhouse for the LGBTQ community that deals with mental health issues. They have film night on Thursday evenings where you can watch a current film together. These organizations also have interesting discussion groups.
At Fountain House, there is a women’s group and a LGBTQ talk group. You can discuss topics of interest in these groups and it’s a great way to socialize.
Groups provide a social outlet, a place to express yourself, and a way of meeting people. I encourage you to give them a try to combat the sadness of loneliness. They do help.
There are many things you can do in the big city to socialize on a budget. A lot of the museums have a free day. Going out to lunch is usually less expensive than dinner. You may borrow movies on DVD from the library and watch them with a friend.
I hope I have helped by offering some good suggestions to change loneliness into productive times with people. I still battle with it at times, but the activities mentioned have surely helped me. Hopefully, they will help you too.
By Ted Walner
Seek Out Some People to Be With
Coming from a family of five children, I always had people around me growing up. Even if we didn’t talk to one another, there was the security of knowing someone was always around. Life is much different in the big city. Now, I live in a studio apartment in Manhattan. I can always call someone, but it is much different than having people around you when you need them. It doesn’t bother me that much during the weekdays because I spend my time with nice people at work and then usually enjoy my “down” time. But it does hit me on weekends when I spend time on my own. Sometimes solitude sets in. I enjoy being by myself, but sometimes I feel lonely and can’t wait to be with someone. This article is going to deal with how I fill those gaps so I don’t feel so lonely. I will provide suggestions on how I do it and hopefully this will help others who experience feelings of loneliness.
A dear friend bought me a book on a set of DVDs for the holidays that I was interested in. It is amazing how this system counteracts the feelings of loneliness. You have a person narrating the book, which makes you feel like someone is talking to you. You can concentrate on this topic of interest, which stimulates you. It is much easier than the eye-strain of reading. You also learn something new.
On the weekends, I listen to the DVDs and it helps me to focus on something I find interesting. You almost feel as if you have someone in the room with you and it really helps with the feelings of loneliness. You can purchase a variety of topics on Amazon.com and they aren’t very expensive. If you’re interested in reading Hemmingway, Herman Hesse or any author, you can get these books narrated to you on a DVD. It’s a fun way to learn and has a lot of benefits.
You can make friends as well as find romance on dating websites. You have to be careful because there are some fraudulent people trying to get your money, but most of the people are simply interested in socializing. You should meet in a public place until you feel comfortable with that person. I advise that you get to know the person through texts, emails and phone calls before you meet. Once you feel comfortable, take it one step further and meet in a public place.
Not every person you meet is going to become a romantic interest. Sometimes, you make friends with people of similar interests as well. I have made three friends in the past few years on the Internet. It is possible. Not all sites charge a fee. Okcupid.com, nolongerlonely.com, mingle2.com, and pof.com all have a lot of free activities. You can pay, but you can also do a lot for free.
Nolongerlonely.com is a site for people with mental illness. I have made a friend on this site. These sites do help you find a mate and make friends although you should always be cautious. This is a definite antidote to loneliness.
There are many clubhouses one can go to. Fountain House offers a work-oriented program and you are bound to make friends with the wonderful people and staff there. They have different units, such as the Culinary Unit, the Employment Unit, the Communications Unit, and the Wellness Unit. One can decide what area they would like to join.
Baltic Street AEH, Inc. has the Resource and Wellness Center where you can socialize and get involved in group activities such as the expressive arts groups, meditation, arts and crafts, wellness and self-esteem-building groups.
Rainbow Heights is a clubhouse for the LGBTQ community that deals with mental health issues. They have film night on Thursday evenings where you can watch a current film together. These organizations also have interesting discussion groups.
At Fountain House, there is a women’s group and a LGBTQ talk group. You can discuss topics of interest in these groups and it’s a great way to socialize.
Groups provide a social outlet, a place to express yourself, and a way of meeting people. I encourage you to give them a try to combat the sadness of loneliness. They do help.
There are many things you can do in the big city to socialize on a budget. A lot of the museums have a free day. Going out to lunch is usually less expensive than dinner. You may borrow movies on DVD from the library and watch them with a friend.
I hope I have helped by offering some good suggestions to change loneliness into productive times with people. I still battle with it at times, but the activities mentioned have surely helped me. Hopefully, they will help you too.
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