Mrs.D + 3

It’s about 2am and I’m listening to the not-so-soothing sounds of a 2 month old scream and cry trying desperately to fight his sleep. My poor husband is trying every trick he can to make our little guy finally succumb to slumber, but unfortunately it’s not working. Looks like it’s mommy to the rescue. As I cradle his small frame in my arms in this moment of madness, I ironically stumble upon a moment of silence within a couple minutes as his eyes begin to get heavier and heavier. Before  he drifts off, I catch one last glimpse in his eyes and there I have it – a mommy moment. A mommy moment is that moment where you’re just like “Damn, I gave birth to this child.” It’s my metaphoric pat on the back. I can’t believe there was a point in my life where I never wanted a husband or kids. Now I could never imagine my life without them, even with all of our mental illnesses.

My name is Andrea. I am 25 years old, I’m a black female and I was diagnosed with PTSD and Bipolar Disorder when I was 16 years old. According to the NIMH (National Institute of Mental Health) Bipolar Disorder is also known as manic-depressive illness that is a brain disorder that causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to carry out day-to-day tasks. PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is when you feel stressed or frightened when you don’t necessarily need to be. That “fight-or-flight” response when you’re in danger that is meant to protect you has actually been changed or damaged. For example, my family and I went to Chick-fil-A to enjoy a little lunch and let my 7 year old play in the play area a bit. As we were in the middle of our meal, a man in a black coat entered the restaurant. He was no threat at all. Just a man coming in to order some lunch. But in my mind the man was standing around too long. He was fidgeting in his pockets a little too much. I felt he wasn’t there to order food, but instead to cause us harm, so the “fight or flight” response kicked in. I was anxious and tense and began to scramble to get our belongings together. My husband looked at me with confusion as I explained that we had to leave because that man in line was standing there a little too long and up to something so we had to go. I hurriedly packed our things and we headed out the door. And what happened after we left that Chick-fil-A? Hell, the man probably got his meal and went home. See how crazy that was? That is really only a small glimpse into what that is like for me. To add to that, I just had a baby two months ago. With the joy of having my amazing son, came the agony that I had to face in PPD [Postpartum Depression]. I’m sure at this point in the paragraph you’re probably wondering how the hell I’m not locked up in an institute or something. Well, with all my problems that I face, I have surprisingly managed to keep it together in some form or fashion. Largely because I help the other men in my life with their conditions too.

 

My husband, my hero, my best friend – Joshua. I couldn’t imagine a life without him, but I have to honestly say it is often a challenge because of what he has to deal with on the daily. He is 25 years old and has been diagnosed with PTSD, bipolar disorder, ADHD, and psychosis. Our medicine cabinet looks like a pharmacy filled with his medications. As a veteran of the Marine Corps, I know the recent transition into civilian life has been an added struggle for him too. As hard as he tries to just maintain, I can tell that sometimes it’s just too much. All I can do is be there and try my best to understand what it’s like to be in his shoes, but that is easier said than done sometimes.

Finally, the boy who changed me completely – my son Russell. He has the biggest heart and the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. I swear that kid doesn’t meet a stranger. Often times we’ll be out at the grocery store and across the aisle I hear a high pitched voice screaming “Hi Russell!” and some little girl or boy from his school is waving furiously trying to get his attention. In true cool guy fashion he simply replies, “hi” then continues to play whatever game it is on his tablet. That kid is cooler than a ceiling fan on high. The best thing that I admire about my little ray of sunshine is that to him his autism doesn’t seem to be an obstacle at all. He was diagnosed when he was 2 years old. At first, I did not understand nor accept that. I felt as if doctors these days are quick to diagnose kids with just about anything when they don’t fit the mold of the typical child. He has a personality all of his own that I have always loved. But as I watched him grow, I knew the diagnosis was correct. He has some social impairments – he lacks eye contact, he responds in unusual ways when trying to express anger or distress. With occupational therapy and speech he has really come a long way. I am proud of him as a mother should be, but I can’t say I am not worried for what the future holds for him. Not because of him, but because others may take advantage of his good heart and he not really understand what’s going on.

I can’t lie, I have somewhat of an underlying fear that Khari, our newborn, may have to deal with the challenges of mental health issues, but on the other hand I am just enjoying his presence. This child was a blessing in so many ways. He was truly my rainbow after the loss of our son Elijah on September 18, 2014. Even though I think exhaustion is now a part of my personality, I couldn’t be happier to have this guy here. We shall see what the future holds for him.

There are several reasons for this blog. One is because I need an outlet for myself. I am not on any medication for my mental conditions. I chose not to go that route which is a blessing and a curse. I don’t have the luxury of letting science straighten me out, so I have to keep myself sane the old fashion way – be open and honest and express my feelings. The most important reason for this blog is to create an open area for talk about mental illness, especially in the black community. Black culture doesn’t make it easy to talk about mental illness. I feel like my people have to be so strong that mental illness is sometimes looked at as a sign of weakness. If it wasn’t for my mom’s urging, I probably would have never sought counseling for my problems and who knows where that could have landed me. For those who read this, mental illness is not a weakness and asking for help when you recognize you have a problem is about one of the strongest things you can do. For anyone dealing with mental illness, you aren’t alone. If you don’t have anyone else, you always have Mrs. D + 3.

Peace