In America, the topic of mental health is such a hush conversation that we should have with each other and also our children. Mental illness is something I have been familiar with for my entire life, my mother was diagnosed with Schizophrenia, and also my uncle on father’s side. I know mental illness is over looked and it is as if no one cares about people with a mental illness or they are’nt comfortable around a person with the disoder.
It seems as if the doctors only job is to issue out high doses of pharmaceutical drugs to keep the patients sleep or in somewhat of a none funtioning state. I can only tell you what I have experienced growing up with a mental ill parent. MY mother was a beautiful black woman and very strong minded as well. She was taking her medication for nurmerous years and as a child I had not a clue to the fact that she had a mental condition. I didnt find out until my early teenage years but didnt knnow it was a serious condtion that would eventually take my mother to change into a completely new person that I didn’t recognize and question why it was happening to her. As I was approcahing my 8th grade school year a big change happen in my household and my mother and father went their seprarate ways. It was devastating because my father and mother had been always been together and I didnt know anything different, after that happen my mother slowly doing odd things around the house like talking to hrself out loud and slammimg doors angryly behind her. I would be concerned and asked if she was okay and she would answer that everything is fine. But it wasnt. My mothers’ mental health continued to deteriorate after my brother had a run-in with the law and was sent away to spend the next three years of his life in only four walls. I came home from school to find out the bad news and my mother was in the bed sleep and that was unusual for her cause she was such lively woman. I knew deep down she had cried herself to sleep to deal with the pain of her only boy and favorite boy to be sent away.
She stop taking her medication and she kept talking to herself even more in little whispers or a sudden out burst. My sister and I slept in the same room and she would burst into the room in the middle of the night and ask if we were ookay, because in her mind something or someone was out to hurt us and as a teenager, we were not as patient as we should have been.
I’m only telling apart of my story to try to understand why mental illness is not being discussed in each household in America and especially the black community because of the Americas past in dealing with black people. Mental health is so important and everyone seems to not want to talk about it and try to understand it so we can adresse the issuse of depression, anxiety,stress, self mutalation.