The Thin Line Between: Faith & Fear Part 1

Part 1

For so long my life has been an emotional roller-coaster for what I thought was a lot of different reasons.  But during this time in my life of self-examination I have come to discover that it has all boiled down to the fight in my life with my faith vs. my fear.

At times I realize my faith can be so high and at others my fear levels peak.  This has created a somewhat bi-polar type lifestyle and attitude that has left me drained and often times very confused.  One example that comes to mind are the times that I have gone to church and heard a great word of encouragement given by the pastor.  I leave church feeling so excited about life and ready to take on any and every challenge that may come my way.  But by mid-week I am like a totally different person.  I realize that like the body that can be on a sugar-high so can my mind and my spirit.  But like all sugar highs you can and will come crashing down.  It is only with a well-balanced and nutritious  diet that you avoid these highs and lows.  

So how do I avoid these highs and lows of experiencing extreme fear and faith?  I can honestly say that I am still in search of this answer, but lately I've noticed a difference in my life.  Even recognizing that I experience these highs and lows has somewhat helped.  It's impossible to fix a problem when you don't even recognize that you have one.  So, the first step in solving this problem has been in just recognizing that I have an issue.  

The next thing I noticed is the things that trigger the highs and the lows.  I noticed that there are certain things that happen in my life consistently that gives me a high feeling and that is "expectation".  For example when someone new walks into my life promising to be this or do that I am filled with so much hope for whatever they are promising I don't even allow myself to recognize that I could get disappointed.  So when I am disappointed the disappointment is so great I am extremely low.

So, how do I avoid this?  Well, I have come to recognize that NO ONE can be my "all" or fulfill my "all" in my life.  Recognizing this or the fact that they are human and can disappoint me helps me not to be so disappointed if they do let me down.

The one thing I never want to do is lose hope. I love being and feeling hopeful.  I cannot imagine life without hope.  But I have noticed that life and certain disappointments has a way of sucking the hope right out of you.  I'm trying to find a balance these days between remaining hopeful and being cautious.  

I want to keep my faith and I don't want to allow fear to stop me from doing this.

Putting On

I thought that this picture would be a cool way to illustrate my point very well.

I think we all have those days where we don't feel our best physically and mentally and we find ourselves "putting on" a smile when we want to frown and laughing when we want to cry. The difference is when this becomes a habit.  When we find ourselves doing this everyday.  When
"putting on" becomes the norm.

I think for me I found myself doing this so much and with so many people until I really couldn't tell who was who.  Who was the real me?

The sad part is, is that it got to where I didn't even know when I was doing it.  Sometimes I actually felt like I was being myself but I really wasn't.  I lost track of my true feelings.

There were moments when I felt okay enough to share a little bit of my true self but the truth was so far beyond my own recognition.  I couldn't even recognize that I was depressed or that something was wrong.  Putting on and then feeling sad because an every day thing.  It was my life.

What happens when WRONG=RIGHT?

Depression became the normal.  When I would come home I took that Candace off and felt exhausted.  In the morning when I put that Candace on I hated it.  I hated being "happy" and smiling because of how it made me feel afterwards, but sadly I didn't know why.  I just felt like this is what I had to do to get through the day.  This was what was expected of me.

How to show the real me?  The real me.  The real me was non-existent.  She had disappeared one day without my realizing it and was replaced with this false person.  This unrealistic person.

One thing for sure is that you cannot "put on" the same clothes and wear them day after day without some wear and tear showing up.  Eventually holes appear, stains, wrinkles, they even began to smell.  The holes eventually showed what I tried to cover.  The stains and wrinkles revealed my true self.  I began to not be able to hide the real Candace anymore and that created a problem.  So when I couldn't hide myself in public anymore I just never wanted to show my face.

Openly Broken

Exert

 "I realized that I’d had my whole life to practice how to smile when I wanted to cry, laugh when I wanted to scream and just cover up my true feelings.  I realized that the face I showed the world and even myself was a facade, an imitation of what I wished I was."

Exert and my 1st "Openly Broken" Discussion

 

"I am a Black Woman.

I am Strong.

Regal.

Always Confident."

 

These were the first words that I wrote when I thought of myself before.  These words echoed in my mind.  These words represented the ghost of Candace past.  They haunted me because they no longer represented me and I began to question if they ever did.


I remember the first time it was ever suggested to me that I go see "someone".  The someone being a psychiatrist.  I was immediately offended.  I felt like that person had slapped me in the face.  To suggest that me: Candace, needed to see a psychiatrist.  That suggested so much.  That said to me that "I'm crazy" that meant that "something was wrong with me." 


I was in denial about it until I sat down to talk with a lady that same friend suggested I go see.  I detail my encounter with this lady in "Openly Broken" and needless to say I no longer feel the same way I do as I did before.


But the question I pose today is why was it so offensive to me at the time?  Why was it so far fetched in my mind to need help...mentally?  And furthermore, why did needing help create a negative list of words that stained the back of my mouth?


According to "African American Women and Depression" an article written by Nia Hamm:

"Because mental health is a taboo subject in the African-American community, Black people are less likely than other groups to even acknowledge it as a serious problem. 

African American women tend to reference emotions related to depression as “evil” or “acting out.” They cite research providing evidence of communities holding on to long legacies of secrets, lies and shame originating from slavery. 

Avoiding emotions was a survival technique, which has now become a cultural habit for African-Americans and a significant barrier to treatment for depression. As a result, Black women are more likely to deal with the shame many feel about poor mental health and depression in much of the same way by avoiding the emotional toll it takes on them.

Not only do a troubling number of African-Americans not understand depression to be a serious medical condition, but the stereotype of the strong Black woman leads many African-American women to believe that they don’t have the luxury or time to experience depression. Some even believe it is only something White people experience. 

Through the ideal of the strong Black woman, African-American women are subject not only to historically rooted racist and sexist characterizations of Black women as a group but also a matrix of unrealistic interracial expectations that construct Black women as unshakable, unassailable and naturally strong."

This was my first article on African American women and depression and it took me a couple of hours to get through it.  No, not because it was a long study filled with useless data, and undecipherable and dense information.  It was because my eyes blurred from tears.  Every sentence made sense to me.  Every word connected with me and explained apart of me.  I read and re-read this article and I often refer to it when writing to different organizations enlisting their help in the community. 

I do feel strongly that I am not the only woman that feel this way or experience this in a much greater way.  However, I do understand reasons why it may feel like its not okay  to come forward, say something or do something.  The friend I was so offended by I thank today because now I am on the road to re-discovering Candace.

I will definitely discuss this further and in more detail throughout the life of this blog.

Candace

The Purpose...

Ok. So honestly I've been avoiding writing anything on this page because honestly I am still getting used to who I am these days.  Every time I think about the Candace I use to be (happy, hopeful, fun, enjoying life--good and bad) and compare her to the Candace I am now (angry, bitter, breaks down every five minutes, crying all the time) I get so frustrated with myself.  I don't even want to deal with it.

Well that's sort of the purpose of this blog.  It is a place where I am ( and you are if you choose) force to deal with yourself and an issue called DEPRESSION. Something I've heard a lot about throughout the years.  I've probably experienced a time or two in my life but never at this magnitude.  I've been forced to look into it and found out some very interesting things.

Things like:

1. Roughly 20 million people in the United States suffer from depression every year.
2. 1 in 4 young adults will suffer an episode of depression before age 24.
3. Women are 2 times as likely to suffer from depression than men.
4. People who are depressed are more prone to illnesses like colds than non-depressed people.
5. Continuous exposure to violence, neglect, abuse, or poverty may make people who are already susceptible to depression all the more vulnerable to the illness.

And there is so much more:  There are some interesting facts when it comes to Depression and African-American Women but I will deal with that in another post.  I  will say this however:

Disclaimer

This blog will be mostly dedicated to African-American women dealing with depression.  Why? Well, first of all I am African-American.  I can't really talk about something I know nothing about.  Secondly, studies have shown that:

"Black women are among the most undertreated groups for depression in the nation, which can have serious consequences for the African-American community."

Studies have also shown that African American women are the least likely to seek treatment for various reasons one of which is religion.  But that is another topic for another day.  But we will explore all of these things on this page.

So my purpose is not to exclude one group.  Everyone! Man women boy and girl are free to discuss their dealings with depression.  But my main focus will be with African-American women for reasons I've previously discussed.

So, now that that is out of the way.  I will also say that I've realized that I cannot expect you the reader to participate honestly if I don't.  This won't be easy for me but every time I write something on here I do tend to be as honest as possible.



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DEPRESSION

On Depression

On DEPRESSIOIN…

It’s a force to be reckoned with.  It is always around me.  It’s an energy that I feel like a warm blanket.  It’s never not there even when a smile is on my face.  It lingers.  I don’t always know what it is but I always know it’s there.  It’s a voice so loud that it’s silent.  A deafening noise that screams every hurtful and mean thought I’ve ever had over and over louder and louder until that’s all I hear.  And on the rare occasion that I get a chance to hear something nice, or sweet or positive it’s Spanish.  It’s foreign.  It’s unbelievable.  It’s new. It’s fresh.  It’s a vacation.  But vacations don’t last.  That’s why they’re called vacations.  It’s a break from the norm.  That’s what positivity is to me.  It’s a vacation.  It’s not real life.  Real life is cold, tiresome, hard, frustrating.  It’s mostly losses instead of wins, its more tears and a lot less smiles.  It’s more anger.  It’s a lot of phoniness and exhausting pretending. 

That’s why I wanna sleep all day.  To dream about what life should be like.  To remember the days when I wasn’t so tired and I didn’t need a jump from some other positive energy source.  I was my own positive energy source.  I had so much positive energy I could jump start anybody.  Your battery could have been dead for ten years but ten minutes with me and you’d be back on the road.  I miss her.

I miss her energy.  I miss her life.  I miss her smile.  I miss her sincere, head all the way back, stomach hurt, almost about to pee in her clothes laugh.  It’s rare.  It’s an endangered species.

I miss me.