Happy New Month. I’ve been trying to sit down, write and have failed many times over the past couple of weeks; I’m grateful to have this time right now. 

I need this release. 

Imagine, I’m starting to be heard out there but can’t even find or make time to speak. That doesn’t even sound right. 

Am I getting cold feet? Maybe, a little bit. Perhaps, a lot.

Will I let it stop me? – FUCK, NO!!

I’ve just been honoured by LMBG, Loud Mouth Brown Girl, in the first-ever spotlight featuring girls like me – Mental Health Warriors who won’t stop talking even though no one’s listening, or so we once thought. 

Specifically, Mental Health Warriors of Colour. 

I’m a black girl with mental health issues, and I’m a mental health warrior.

We’re not supposed to exist. 

Not within our communities or even around the world. 

**I am here. Hear Me. See Me. Understand Me.**

That’s a narrative I’m trying to change, and I’m not alone in this either, which I’ll explain further but first, a little background info about me. 

I’m a recovering alcoholic, a GRATEFUL recovering alcoholic. Because I’m no stranger to the art of substitution, I’m also a recovering addict. 

When it was time for me to get help and seek treatment, it didn’t take long for it to become clear that I was a dual citizen in the recovery world.

See, not only was I struggling with the disease of addiction, mentally, I was sinking and sinking fast. 

It’s not to say I hadn’t been made aware that something was up before; I had been previously diagnosed with mild depression years ago but ignored it, no wait, I used it as an excuse… a get out of jail free card, maybe; I know I definitely used it as a justification to drink, but I neglected the diagnosis by doing absolutely nothing about it.

See where I’m from, you don’t get to say you’re missing work because you’re sad. Forget about asking for help if you’re feeling overwhelmed; no, that’s a sign of weakness in these parts. 

I ignored my mental health for years despite its rapidly deteriorating condition while another condition reared its ugly head; alcoholism. 

After hitting bottom countless times and thoroughly destroying my life, I was powerless to alcohol, and my life had become unmanageable – I went into a treatment program. 

I’m going to stop talking about my alcoholism here, for now. That’s a subject I’m still trying to decipher myself. I’m not going to short change it; it needs its own feature post or two.

After treatment, I returned to the real world; SOBER at that too. I got all my chips and tags, became very active within the community, returned to work full-time and even started dating again. I was a MIRACLE to everyone from the outside, but internally I couldn’t hang.

I was sinking again, and I couldn’t understand why; I went to my doctor, he who had initially diagnosed me with depression, which by now had seemed like eons ago to me and irrelevant to what I was going through. 

I’m not going to lie; sometimes I even thought about ending it all – I couldn’t decide if I wanted to end my feelings by starting to drink again or something even direr; end my life by not living anymore.

I was frightened, yes but what really concerned me was the feeling of hopelessness; when I have no hope, I end up in some pretty dark places – both literally and figuratively. 

I was sober and gaining back what I valued most but lost during active alcoholism. Yet, I felt useless, worthless and powerless all over again.

I never really told anyone about my time in the treatment program. I had some pretty tough conversations about many repressed and purposely buried experiences; some might even refer to them as trauma.

By the time I had completed my stay with honours (hey, there was a ceremony, a cake, a pin and everything), I had also become the new owner of 4 different mental health diagnoses. Technically, I was supposed to transfer to an intensive trauma therapy program. Still, my health benefits provider had determined it not to be a mandatory expense and declined to cover the cost. 

Taking time off from work to seek help had already affected me greatly in a financial way; I couldn’t afford to pay for it myself, and I didn’t have time to fight with them about it. I did what I always did, ignored it and went back to work. 

I’ll always have a tremendous amount of love and respect for Homewood Health Centre; they tried to accommodate; they even offered me a payment plan; I couldn’t afford it. I had to get back to work.

Homewood did something, though; I don’t know if they did it on purpose, I don’t even know if it’s a standard medical practice that I’m just not accustomed to, but it shocked and saved the hell out of me. Upon discharge, they included a very detailed summary to myself and my doctor; it’s almost ridiculous referring to it as a summary because it closely resembled a short novel, but it thoroughly explained what my issues were and what I needed.

Imagine my surprise when my doctor seemed clueless when I referred to it during my visit, months later. He had never read it; even though I saw him religiously every week since returning home from rehab, he never bothered to find out what they had recommended. Instead, he wrote me a prescription.

Looking back, do I regret it. No, I knew something was wrong, I went to a medical professional, and I followed his directions, which kicked off the start of an experimental project called Anya 2.0

I had days where I cared.

I had days where I cared too much.

I had days where I didn’t care at all.

EVERY DAY, I would start reliving memories I fought so hard to forget. 

EVERY TIME I went to my doctor, he would change or add more to the prescription.

I tried talking to him; I mean really talk to him; I even shared some of the subject matter from the past that was haunting me. His response, “bad things happen all the time, and nobody cares, so you need to just get over it.” He even added more insult to injury by telling me that I need to do better and stop coming to him with these white women’s problems as a black woman. 

PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and one of my mental illnesses), although I was still fresh from receiving this diagnosis, I knew enough to know what a trigger was “just get over it” is one for me. 

That visit only continued to get worst, so I left. I haven’t been back to see that doctor since.

I was spiralling out of control until I remembered the discharge summary (or novel) from Homewood; I used it as my resume, and once again, I sought help. 

CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) was one of the tools prescribed for my treatment plan; everywhere I went was so expensive… I bought a CBT for Dummies book, I’m pretty awesome at being adept at self-teaching myself a lot, but CBT wasn’t one of them.

I had myself placed on the waiting list of a government-funded CBT group program. I got the call and the acceptance letter. It felt like I won the lottery; in some ways, it kind of was. 

Group therapy introduced me to a new term (well, a new way of life) called coping skills.  

The first and probably the most important thing I learned was that I have no control over what has happened in the past or what will happen in the future, but I can control how I react to it. 

It sounds so simple as I’m writing it out now but trust me, it was a much-needed education for me in so many ways.  

As of today, I am nowhere near recovered, but I’m managing partly to the skills I’ve been taught to help myself and medication. 

As of today, I don’t feel hopeless; as a matter of fact, I’m full of hope, which is a powerful feeling when you haven’t had it in a long time. 

I need to make one thing very clear; throughout all, I went through to get help and some direction, I felt incredibly alone. 

Sure, I have a great support system at home, and I honestly don’t know where I would be without them, but the loneliness I felt stemmed from feeling like an outcast. 

**Why am I not strong enough?**

**Why couldn’t I be as strong as the black women who reared me?**

**Why can’t I be strong like the famous black women I looked up to?**

**Why am I this weak?**

During group one day, I remember meeting a newcomer, and without hesitation, I found myself self-consciously giving the ‘nod’ to them. Hold up!! I only do that on autopilot with… Yes, it was another BLACK PERSON. Seeing them floored me; I was confused even. Between the obligatory nod and the urge to yell out “WAKANDA FOREVER” while beating my chest, I also temporarily felt robbed of my minority status as the only black patient. That last feeling didn’t last long; if anything, it improved my therapy progress because now I truly started to feel less lonely. 

I’m on a bumpy road with tons of potholes and ditches. It is one I have to travel to survive and a journey that will last a lifetime. I also know I’m not unique because I’m not the only person like this. I’ve seen what being honest, open and willing about my addiction issues can accomplish; I need to make sure I’m open about my mental health too. I need to speak up, speak louder and never stop; I’ve seen how it can help not only me but others also.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m not alone in this. I’ve met black women like me; we do exist, I’ve even befriended some, and there are a few that I now consider my family; we’re apart of the same tribe. They’ve taught me something I never grasped from attending therapy; I’ve been looking at myself as weak for needing help; I’ve been looking at this all wrong.

When I see them, I see STRENGTH. I understand, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” because I get to witness it happening within my inner circle every day. I’m in awe. I’m honoured to be in their goddess-like presence but wait a minute; I’m also one of them, which means I can’t possibly be this lesser and weak person I keep thinking of myself as. 

I don’t have to settle with being a survivor, just surviving. 

I choose to be a warrior who fights to live.

Not only am I going to show the world how I’m focusing on my mental health and that life after trauma does exist, but I’m also going to be very LOUD about it too.

If you’d like to see the LMBG Spotlight featuring me, feel free to check it out here.