By Meshach Andres Pierre
When I was in high school, a dear friend of mine, Lisa, committed suicide. It was a shocking moment for me and my peers— one that I consider a defining point in life that affected (and changed) us all as individuals. An unexpected consequence of this tragic experience was just how confused we were about what happened to our friend. I felt deeply confused in my grief, so much so that anger brewed inside of me, directed at the very person I was mourning, and at myself. I wondered how I’d failed to see this coming, only later realising the signs I had missed and the many things I could have done to prevent it– all just a little too late. There was also a pervasive disbelief surrounding the shock of the news about Lisa; it wouldn’t register that someone I knew was capable of something like this.
Almost a decade later, I finished my final session of therapy during my time of studying in the United Kingdom. I had been doing therapy for the 5th year since my first breakdown. Now, back home in Guyana, I understand more about myself, something which has allowed me to better grasp how mental illness can affect us all at a national scale. I can only speak from my experience, however, and I thought it would be worth sharing how I have changed my perspective and understanding over the years about mental illness and therapy, especially too, as a man. The latter is important since I wish to buck the pervasive stereotype of the ‘strong’, ‘emotionless’ male figure.
In 2014 there was a lot going on in my life. I had just graduated from university with a bachelor’s degree, then immediately took on a prestigious fellowship offer to do my own independent research. I was also in a long distance relationship, among the many other worries of early adult life. Occasionally, in intense moments, I began to feel a lack of energy and motivation, like I couldn’t get up if I wanted. I could hear my heartbeat in my ear, over and over, something that distracted me from taking part in everyday life. I was less interested in things that gave me joy, and ate less.
It wasn’t on my own accord that I decided to see a therapist, but actually from encouragement by my sister and mentor. Truth be told, it still took me a while to actually speak to a therapist. I worried a lot that what I was experiencing wouldn’t be considered serious enough. I even doubted that I would be considered worthy for special care. I feared I wouldn’t be able to explain myself, or worse, be misunderstood. How is it that I could put all these complicated experiences and emotions to words in front of someone I barely even knew?
For example, the way people with mental illness were spoken about impacted my ability to seek therapy. “Crazy”, “mad”, or “psychotic” – terms I didn’t want to be associated with. When I finally consulted a therapist for help, shared my experiences, emotions and worries, it all came to a boil when I heard my diagnosis: anxiety. Immediately, I felt like my world came apart at the seams. I felt dissatisfied with myself, and thought about all the unpleasant things I’ve come to associate mental illness with because of the stigmas I had internalised from where I lived. It was a feeling of blight and tremendous unease to the point I convinced myself that I was crazy, broken and unfixable. Despite all this, I persisted with therapy to see where it would take me. Luckily, anxiety—as the beast was come to be known— didn’t give me a choice. It stole my life and my sleep and left me with very little; a shell of who I knew I was and could be.
Though it didn’t necessarily get better, little by little, I got better at coping with it. I began to understand how it worked, how it linked to events in my childhood, which, admittedly, had always been there with me. Over time, I learned not be afraid of it, but rather to accept it as a part of my life like a small quirk of my brain. Little by little, my fear of anxiety lessened, and the beast shrunk to a small creature that accompanies me in my day-to-day life. My heartbeat now only appears in my ears in moments that are most severe. However, I know what I need to do in order to deal with it when it crops up. I have been prescribed medication, and though the medication doesn’t make it go away, it helps to make it more manageable. Anxiety may never go away for some, but for me it has become familiar and even fonder. Because of this it has gotten less significant and easier to deal with—so far at least.
In my experience, a therapist doesn’t necessarily fix the problems we may have. Instead, I liken my anxiety to being inside a dark and windy fog, where I can’t see in front of me and have no idea where to go. A therapist is like someone with a lantern just ahead who encourages me to walk in a direction, shows me how to make a light of my own. A therapist shows me the little paths in front of me and urges to go down them to see which ones work, all the way encouraging and helping me understand why something works or doesn’t. A therapist started out as a terrifying prospect, but instead has been one of the more positive journeys I’ve undertaken in the past years.
Now, years later, I understand Lisa’s situation better, and how one can find oneself in the midst of a black pit and feel hopeless and helpless – and how this can lead to suicidal thoughts. Suicide isn’t something unfamiliar for Guyanese people. In fact, I would hazard a sweeping generalisation and say that just about all of us know someone who has either committed or attempted suicide— more than we, at this moment, realise. Statistically, Guyana has one off the highest per capita suicide rates in the world. When the Caribbean stereotype is a laid back, happy culture filled with music and dance, how does Guyana earn this reputation? In the Caribbean region, stereotypes of mental illness can impact the importance of seeking out therapy. We have to realise that psychological support is just as fundamental as food and shelter. Most people in the Caribbean tend to turn to drugs to alleviate their psychological problems or trauma. But what if— if we can imagine— we spent more time talking about our feelings and working them out with a close relative or a professional? I see many possibilities were this to happen more often.
A year or two ago, I came across members of a youth campaign about to speak at a school. One member brazenly declared that they were going to “talk to de children about why they gotta love life.” Vidyaratha Kissoon wrote a wonderful piece (http://gtmosquito.com/the-coil/suicide-prevention-without-empathy/) about why telling someone who doesn’t love life that they should just makes them feel worse.
It’s not that this comes from bad intentions, but the opposite – it’s great to have good intentions, but it’s also important to understand how someone feels. I have found it’s sometimes not quite possible to unless you’ve been there yourself. But it is possible to have a start at it, and that comes from not just listening, but listening well and with an open, compassionate mind. Samaritans, a UK organisation, offers free resources (https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/schools/deal/deal-resources/connecting-others/listening-skills/) on how to listen actively, and well.
I have benefited greatly in life from people who were willing to listen to me carefully, and well, in one of my tough moments. When I was going through the troughs of anxiety, I didn’t understand at all what I was experiencing, and it took others to identify it. I have also faced people who weren’t so good at listening and I am yet to forget how that made me feel: empty, lost and misunderstood. I find some ways I feel have been better expressed by others, and this one harkens to a Radiohead song (of course Radiohead, say the people who know me well), called Last Flowers that says, midway:
“And if I’m gonna talk
I just want to talk
Please don’t interrupt
Just sit back and listen
‘Cause I can’t face the evening straight
You can offer me escape
Houses move and houses speak
If you take me there you’ll get relief”
Guyana, I believe, has made positive changes since our statistic declaration. On a drive home one day, I listened to two radio announcers discuss the topic of a celebrity taking time off to focus on their mental health. One of the announcers joked that he too was feeling a bit crazy and whether he should seek treatment. The other announcer quite maturely countered that if he felt like he should see someone, that there was no shame in doing so, and that seeing someone was a brave act, and not one of weakness, encouraging the audience to do so if they needed to. It was good to hear the encouragement to seek help on public media, a discussion which I feel would not have occurred just a couple years prior.
I had an incredibly anxious moment, somewhat of a breakdown, on a bus in Guyana recently, and when I explained it’s because I was anxious, instead of the reaction I expected (confusion and scepticism), people responded with care, talking about others they knew with mental illnesses. Guyana is changing, and so is the rest of the world, with movies like Joker and campaigns like One Day in My World (https://onedayinmyworld.com/), focusing on the past ills of public mental health care and the difficulties faced by people with mental illness.
Speaking openly is hard. This article is something I have been writing in my head for years now, and I’m happy I’m comfortable enough to share. I have also found that with sharing, I’ve heard so many stories from others around me. Moments of mental illness happen to many around us. If we opened up a little and listened more, we’d all learn so much. I am happy with actually feeling wholeheartedly happy at times and having a much deeper understanding of myself. Being better is not a straightforward process but it starts with recognising that one needs help.
I am happy to also acknowledge that I am no psychologist and one shouldn’t take advice from me. If you are interested in learning more, or feel you may be in need of help, please take a gander at some of the resources I’ve linked below, and the others throughout this piece.
Thank you for listening.
Resources:
If you or someone you know is experiencing suicidal thoughts, the suicide hotline can be reached at: 223-0001, 223-0009 and 623-4444. There is also a publicly contributed list of the mental health resources available in Guyana at: https://www.facebook.com/notes/documenting-mental-health-resources-in-guyana/some-mental-health-resources-in-guyana/171658783505271/