Drugs and Medication

Psychotropic medications have their positive and negative aspects; nevertheless, I believe that each generation of psychotropic meds improves.

In the seventies, Ruby took Melarill and to this day, I am not sure how much it helped her. She still remained in bed all day laughing, crying and chain smoking. Maybe it left her without energy as she did not roam the streets like the other mentally ill folks in the neighborhood. She was our embarrassment kept behind closed doors. Over time, the medications she was prescribed changed but each one of course has its side effects that can affect the individual physically and/or mentally.

Prescribing psychotropics can be a tricky business as it affects individuals differently especially if you are prescribed more than one medication. Sometimes the mix is beneficial-i.e. decreases their symptoms and allows the consumer (patient) to function “better” even to the point of being able to fully participate in life. Other times, the consumer can have a bad reaction to the medication and/or the combination of medications prescribed. Sometimes, the consumer can end up in emergency and even to a psychiatric ward if the reaction is bad enough. This is why many consumers do not like to take their medications.

The other half of that is that sometimes the medications work so well that the consumer misleads themselves into believing that they do not need to take the medication anymore and stop. This of course can result in the consumer being hospitalized and is one of the main reasons behind repeated admittance into the psych ward. Then, there are those who self-medicate via alcohol abuse and illegal street drugs to alleviate their symptoms.

With Ruby, she was very, very thorough in taking her medications from the seventies until about the mid- 1990s. In fact, she kept a daily calendar book and would record the medications and times that she took them which is how it was easier to figure out when she stopped taking her meds. Later, I found out why.

My eldest brother had gotten addicted to crack cocaine. It was one of the worst blights to hit the African American community since the times of lynching and Jim Crow laws. It decimated families in a way that nothing had ever done before. Ruby had decided that her daily meds were an addiction akin to taking crack and stopped. That was the first time that she had been hospitalized during my adult years. The psychiatrist finally convinced my mother that her medications are an essential part of her well-being and like the diabetic who needs insulin, she needed her psychotropic meds. By this time, she was on Thorazine which left its own physiological side effects but that is another post.

That Girl that Comes to See Me

One of the other mental health issues that Ruby was diagnosed with was Dementia. Not Alzheimer’s disease but dementia nevertheless. There have been times when not even the psychiatrist could tell whether she needed more psychotropic drugs or if it was the dementia that affected her behavior.

 For example, there was a period of time when Ruby refused to acknowledge me as her daughter. She would never say my name and along with this, she refused any forms of physical affection. My mother has never been a really affectionate person to begin with but during this period it was a lot worse. She was repelled by me. No, nothing had happened at this point between us. It was just the way she felt.

 There was really no proper way to resolve her issues during this time. I definitely did not want her to be medicated with more psychotropic drugs. The dosages she was on were pretty substantial already. I chose to accept my new moniker, “that girl that comes to see me.” This didn’t stop her from sending me to the store to buy toiletries or her fast favorite foods. Was I hurt by this? Yes, but I had come to accept that even when things were ugly between us, I would still be there.

 Some would say that this was a wonderful thing to do for Ruby. But, I had to implement some type of protocol to protect my own emotional wellbeing. After all, this is not some random patient-this is “my” mother. When she would not take her medications, her behavior became particularly ugly. During these times I would: limit my visits to ten minutes; decrease the visits per week; call the board and care to ask about her condition; make sure that she had the minimum of toiletries; and lastly, screen all phone calls from her.

 Some may say, “That was cruel! She was your mother!!” I say that I did fulfill my role as her daughter.  First, she was in a safe place. Second, I kept looking for resources to help her. It is very, VERY difficult to find a psychiatrist who specializes in geriatric care but I finally did because of my job (…will explain later). I physically checked on her enough to make sure that she was not being abused or being abusive. Ruby did not want for food or clean clothing. She could no longer be trusted in a house alone. As a working adult, I used the limited options that I had but didn’t relinquish my role as a daughter. As that girl that used to go see her, I learned self-preservation of my own emotional well-being and am the better for it.

Therapy

Chil if I need to talk to someone about my troubles, I just call on the Lord.
and/or
What I need with some psychologist telling me what to do? I ain’t paying nobody to tell me something obvious.

These are some of the reasons I have heard over the years on why many African America people do not seek therapy. I’ll be the first to say that this attitude is slowly, ever so slowly changing. Now, that there are books published by African Americans about mental illnesses such as depression, there are more (usually younger adults) who acknowledge that we too, can become mentally ill.
I am diverging from the topic of Ruby a bit because this topic has been on my mind for quite some time and I wanted to blog about therapy and its role in helping individuals with their mental health issues. First, I wanted to speak on what it is NOT.

Many of us have watched t.v. shows such as Dr. Phil where the host presents individuals who are in a situation or have a mental health issue. The host usually chastises the individual depending on the situation such as situations of spousal abuse, the host quickly makes an assessment: “You need to leave” or for someone who is a drug addict: “You need to get help.”
I agree with the conclusions but not the process because everything has to be placed in context. Most shows are approximately 45-50 minutes (commercials cut into that hour slot) so we do not get to see how individuals evolve which is one of the major goals of therapy.

You cannot solve a mental health issue in 45-50 minutes and what we are watching is NOT therapy but entertainment with a slice of applied psychology. Therapy is the hard work of changing, adjusting, relearning and acceptance all of which can be difficult if not downright painful. Therapy is not the process of a therapist cosigning our perceptions about ourselves and our lives; especially if our assessments and behaviors undermine and cause harm. Our friends will say, “Uh-huh, you need to leave that alone.” Our pastors may say, “Pray about it.” Therapy challenges us with questions such as, “Why are you here and how does it benefit you?”

The Shroud…

For many years, I wore a shroud of shame about my background because it remained visible yet silent. How could I explain her behavior when I didn’t understand what was going on? Nothing that she said or did could be attributed to alcohol or substance abuse. In fact, my mother was and continues to be vehemently against the use of street drugs and drinking. Other families whose parents had a substance abuse problem had a tangible thing that they could point to: “My mother/father is a drug addict/alcoholic” to explain their episodes of madness or neglect. Mental illness however, has no obvious causes even though it can be exasperated by stressors like experiencing and/or witnessing violence, death of a loved one, loss of a job and the most important of all- being African American in American society. It is not uncommon for an individual experiencing mental illness to abuse drugs or alcohol to alleviate or reduce the symptoms.
In the recent years, there has been more published in regards to African Americans and mental illness in media articles and books. I wanted to extend the conversation about mental illness from mood disorders such as depression to those whose mental illness diagnosis is categorized as a psychosis.
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders 4th edition also known as the DSM-IV-TR is a manual used by mental health care counselors and other mental health workers to aid in the diagnosis of an individual. This text is used to diagnose both mood and psychotic disorders along with other mental health issues or abilities. Schizophrenia is categorized as one of many psychotic disorders with the following symptomology: distortions in thought content (delusions), perception (hallucinations), language and thought process (disorganized speech), and the lack of ability to self-monitor behaviors, disordered thinking, and emotional disconnection. Medication is prescribed for some disorders to either counter or balance the production of certain chemicals produced in the brain such as serotonin. In ideal instances, the medication aids in alleviating the symptoms while allowing the individual to live an active life.
NAMI (National Alliance of Mental Illness) found that Schizophrenia affects 2.5 million Americans. Although African Americans are only 12 percent of the American population, 25% have been diagnosed or treated for a mental illness with 3% diagnosed with schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder. Further research has suggested that African Americans are oftentimes diagnosed with schizophrenia when in fact they may have other mental health issues.  This disease can have overwhelming implications for those who suffer from it as well as their families. In our family, my mother’s illness was never discussed. Instead, the episodes of giggling, audio and visual hallucinations, and delusions were referred to as “spells.”
 In discussing mental health issues with various people within the African American community, there is a misconception about an individual diagnosed with a mental illness versus someone who is developmentally delayed DD (formerly referred to as mentally retarded). One of the first steps in discussing the differences is defining each term.
What seems to occur in the discussions about mental illness versus someone who is developmentally delayed is a conflation of the two terms. In a conversation that I had with a health care worker in performing research for this text, she often said, “Well you know how child-like they are…” as a response to talking about mental illness. I often have to clarify that my mother is not developmentally delayed but even this term is complicated by the dual and recent diagnosis of dementia along with the Schizophrenia. What usually happens in these conversations is that I reemphasize the difference.
“Look,” I begin to explain. “My mother is a left brain thinker. She did calculus in high school—that stuff was fun to her. She taught me to read and write and to memorize my full name and address…”
Health Care Worker: “Oh, well…people with mental retardation can do that too?”
Me: “Even high functioning developmentally delayed people cannot do that.”
In short, her illness did not impact her cognitive ability but rather her perception of the world at large. It is not impossible for an individual to be developmentally delayed and diagnosed with a mental illness; rather, a mental illness does not necessarily mean that the individual is below average intelligence.
Secondly, the cause of developmental delay is usually attributed to genetic disorders or to factors that may have contributed to the development of the embryo in-utero such as substance abuse or birth defect amongst other factors. The range of ability for those who are developmentally delayed is described in three phases from Mild to Moderate to Severe Mental retardation. Individuals diagnosed as DD if mild, can acquire academic skills up to the sixth grade, learn basic vocational skills, and may be able to live independently with minimum guidance and supervision. Those who fall within the Moderate range demonstrate less ability to acquire academic skills up to the second grade, perform self-care, and learn basic vocational skills. DD individuals who are severe require assistance with personal care, have limited ability in acquiring basic academic skills and need full-time supervision. All levels may demonstrate an inability to socially interact with their peers but not always. Still, how can I describe the differences and why is it important to understand this?
In clarifying the differences, it is not my desire to place developmentally delayed individuals or their families under a shroud of shame. Each category deserves its distinctions and may require different treatment plans. It should be said that even within the range of people diagnosed with a mental illness, there are those whose diagnosis may have affected them so much that they need daily supervision and assistance in living their lives. I wish that my mother could have had this type of help so that she could have lived a productive life. She is an intelligent woman whose life was severely impacted by paranoid schizophrenia so much so that it cut off all avenues to a full life filled with family, friends, and achievements that she could proudly claim.
During the late sixties-early seventies when my mother was officially diagnosed, few people mentioned mental illness. It was not a mainstream topic nor one that took place within the community. This was also a period when mental institutions such as Camarillo Hospital had phased out permanent institutionalization of the severely mentally ill/disabled but offered no community support in its place. Most health insurance plans did not cover long-term mental health care treatment and many current insurance plans only offer limited if any mental health treatment.
Over the years, I have met other African Americans who have/had relatives diagnosed with a psychotic disorder. Our conversations tended to be closeted and it is only recently that a public dialogue on mental health has taken place in mainstream culture. In African American culture, mental illness is viewed from a myriad of perspectives, most of which is not helpful or useful in understanding our loved ones.    
Our family coped as most other families coped during that period.

Avoiding the Man in the Mirror

In a study conducted by Mental Health America of Colorado found that African Americans are least likely to seek treatment for depression. Although the study’s focus primarily deals with depression, I found that it is likely true for a broad range of mental illnesses. These statistics reflect the beliefs that are dominant in the African American culture:

* 63% of African Americans surveyed believed that depression [mental illnesses] are a personal weakness, compared to the overall survey average of 54%.

* Only 31% of African Americans said they believed depression [mental illness] was a health problem.

* Almost two-thirds of respondents said they believe prayer and faith alone will successfully treat depression [mental illness (es)] “almost all of the time” or “some of the time.”

As a child, there had been rumors about the mother of one of my friends who was also diagnosed with a mental illness and whose pastor had performed an exorcism to rid her of the voices. I cannot verify whether this is true or not because no one who is around to talk wants to remember or, they want to forgot.

Religion is a vital component in the African American community because it has helped us survive slavery, become proponents using biblical text for the abolishment of slavery, and was integral to the Civil Rights Movement. On a personal level, it enables many individuals to survive the harshness of etching a living, personal and situational strife, and as a safe harbor.

          My mother considered herself a Christian who not only believes in being reborn but who has also made claims of meeting Christ during her psychosis. She has always held firm to the bible even though she cannot concentrate on its content. Faith can be an important component in dealing with a mental illness for the individual diagnosed and the family however, it is important not to dismiss mental health care as something less important than the care given to the physical body.

What’s God Got to do With It??

And when he was come to the other side into the country of the Gergesenes, there met him two possessed with devils, coming out of the tombs, exceeding fierce, so that no man might pass by that way.

Behold, they cried out, saying, What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God? art thou come hither to torment us before the time?

 And there was a good way off from them a herd of many swine feeding.

 So the devils besought him, saying, If thou cast us out, suffer us to go away into the herd of swine.

 And he said unto them, Go. And when they were come out, they went into the herd of swine: and, behold, the whole herd of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, and perished in the waters (Matthew 8:28-34).

When we have a family member with a mental illness where our loved one behaves in a manner that is far, far more extreme than what is acceptable, we look to negative outside forces to blame. My grandmother would sum up all trials and mishaps as “ain’t nothing but the devil.”

“I know you young people don’t believe in this, but I believe that someone worked hoodoo on   your mamma.”

“Why do you think that? I asked.

“Cause your mamma had a lot of people jealous of her. She was pretty and smart.”

Something Sweet

Sweet Moments

There were moments that were akin to a sunset painted in magenta or cold and sweet like the air of a new day. These moments passed quickly and if you blinked, it was like a dream that you almost remember. Ruby would be overcome with something that would solicit affection from nowhere. During those times, she would bestow upon me a trinity of kisses; cheek, forehead, cheek and say, “Sweet sugar baby.” I wanted to wrap myself in those moments and never peak out into the world again. I would say, “Do it again.” But, it was over in one breath. Sometimes, she would do it twice but never more. She would disappear into a menthol cloud like an apparation.

Those times left me so hungry for love and affection. I never really outgrew that hunger and it could easily be seen in the way that I conducted or lack of conducted most of my romantic relationships. I looked and still look at the interactions between my friends and their mothers wistfully knowing that I am forever locked out of forming what I see and saw as normal interactions even when Ruby was here.

As an adult, you have to own your life no matter what happened in childhood;  still… there are some things about you that are an intrinsic part of who you are like DNA. It took me over twenty years before I realized that no matter how hard I run, I can’t run away from me. More importantly, I will never find those sweet moments with anyone else.

Every once in a while I will recall these seldom and brief sessions of affection and allow myself to feel. Sometimes, I wish they never happened because their absence felt like purgatory. But whenever possible, Ruby would allow herself to show love and I realize now that I have taken these moments and squirreled them away for the dark times when I cannot see the sun.

Revisiting a Painful Past

Ruby grabbed me and my little brothers and ran to the front yard wearing nothing but her underwear. She shouted, “The aliens are coming to get us!” and the neighbors watched the spectacle.

This is what my eldest brother told me. At the time he was about 12 years old and trying his best to calm our hysterical mother and bring us all back inside. Each time incidents such as this is recalled by various family members, a detail is added that was unknown because the pain may not be fresh, but it still throbs. For instance, I never asked my brother if the police came or if he called our uncle or someone else. And as I ruminate over this particular incident, my heart breaks a little each time.

Can you imagine yourself at 12 years old and the only sane person in the house? How scared he must have been when this happened? For ten years, he had our mother to himself. How would a 3 year old, a 7 year old child now 12 who is watching his mother devolve know what to do to help her? He watched her unravel overtime. He was with her through two bad marriages. He watched Ruby evolve from a pretty woman who loved fashion, makeup, and hair into this person screaming at the top of her lungs in the front yard-in front of everyone.

My younger brothers and I were babies and our eldest brother felt responsible for us all but he didn’t know what to do. My grandmother saw it but could do nothing and my heart breaks when I picture how much Ruby’s unraveling cut my grandmother to the core. The family prayed… a lot.

Then THE worst thing that could happen to a family happened to us.

When it became apparent that Ruby could no longer care for us, the county took us away. They split us apart and had already placed my brothers with a family but that was not the end of it.

Before crack cocaine shredded what was left of the African American family, the children were taken in by relatives. Through court proceedings and tenacity, our family regained custody of us but we were still split apart. My brothers grew up in another state and I was raised mainly by our maternal grandmother. Our eldest brother suffered most of all and shuffled between various relatives because no one really wanted custody of a teenage boy.

Soul History – The Short Version

In times when people feel troubled, most turn to their families or to their church. This was probably true of most Americans across the board especially before families migrated from a rural environment to the cities in search of work. Still, those who migrated to the cities remained within a community that shared a common culture. One example of this can be seen from the film Lakawana Blues where the main character, Rachel ‘Nanny’ Crosby’s boarding house was central to seeking safety and solace within the African American community prior to integration. Many African Americans do not see the utility of mental health and therefore dismiss it as another means for “white people to get paid.” As a result of this attitude, psychologist or other mental health care professionals are not only an aberration within the context of community, they are also unwelcomed and viewed with suspicion. What is the origin of this suspicion?

Prior to the beginning of psychology in the U.S., enslaved Africans who attempted escape were diagnosed with Drapetomania. Dr. Samuel A. Cartwright, a general medical practitioner suggested treatment for slaves who refused to accept their fate should  be to  have the devil whipped out of them as a “preventive measure” and treatment.  Cartwright also believed that enslaved Africans who were treated humanely became too familiar with their masters and as a result, expected some level of equality. Although liberty and justice may be a part of the American Constitution, these same ideas when conceived by African Americans would take on other connotations equating black anger with madness.

 Scholar Jonathan M. Metzl’s book, The Protest Psychosis:How Schizophrenia Became a Black Disease describes a period during the Civil Rights era where African American men who participated in the civil rights protests were forcibly hospitalized at Ionia State Hospital in Michigan. Their anger and participation in sit-ins, protests and other forms of civil disobedience classified them as criminally insane. All of these “patients” were diagnosed with schizophrenia.

The history above is not the only reason why African Americans are reluctant to seek help and while most people do not know about this history, the implicit messages have been passed down from one generation to the next: Do not trust doctors especially psychiatrist and psychologist.

In Need of Help

I was asked this weekend, how do you get your loved one help when it is apparent that they are not mentally healthy? This is one of the most difficult topics to cover in mental health because in many states you cannot have a loved one committed unless a.) s/he is a danger to himself; b.) is a danger to others; c.) both a and b.

In the case of Ruby’s first time in a mental health hospital, it was her sister that helped to get her admitted. My mother had taken off with me to St. Louis and at that time we had relatives there. They called my aunt in Arkansas and said, “Something’s not right with Ruby.” She brought my mother and I back to her home and it was there that she was diagnosed. I cannot tell if my mother fought vigorously against being hospitalized or not but that is when she first received help.

One of the hardest tasks to accomplish is getting a loved one help; especially if they are in the 50+ age range and have certain beliefs about doctors in general. I grew up watching people surgically remove their own corns using a razor and rubbing alcohol. This was the norm. Now, when I reflect on those times, I want to scream, “You have medical insurance! Go see a damm doctor ‘fore you kill yourself!!”

Before I go further, I will remind my readers that I do not work in the field of mental health (MH). Nevertheless, my experience in the mental health field is connected to my mother’s diagnoses and dealing with the ins and outs of the MH system.

So to respond to my friend’s question above, I would say try to get that loved one to a medical doctor if they are not in immediate danger. Also, tell the doctor about what has been happening in your home. There are physical health conditions that can manifest in the form of marked changes in behavior to where the person is deteriorating mentally.

Also, seek outside support. One of the major tools that helped me get better care for Ruby and for myself was the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). This organization is located in many cities and states. I listened to other people who were having a similar experience with their loved ones and I learned how to effectively interact with my mother when she was symptomatic. One suggestion I will make is, DO NOT ARGUE WITH YOUR LOVED ONE when s/he is symptomatic. Mental illness turns any logical argument or response to your loved one’s accusations into a never ending cycle. During these periods, Ruby accused me of being in collusion with (everyone) and to her, I was everything but a child of God, let alone her daughter.