Just wanted to post an inspirational prose piece I wrote maybe two-three years ago:


Pain Defeated
by kamichi jackson


We had met before, Pain and I, on more than one occasion. I’d felt him lurking in dark shadows nearby; nearly collided with him as I turned corners that appeared suddenly in my straight, narrow path; seen him staring at me from behind the eyes of ones whose spirits he’d snatched and held captive.

It wasn’t that I’d never felt his touch. Even now I nursed bruises where he’d grabbed me, scars where he’d nicked me, scrapes where he’d caused me to stumble. I wore the wounds of several battles with Pain, but I pressed on as a soldier fighting the finest fight.

And then I’d opened my eyes one morning to find Pain staring down at me from his seat at the edge of my bed. He spoke not a word, but he followed me everywhere that day, looking over my shoulder, whispering in my ear, beckoning to me whenever I turned away. By evening, he’d led me to cold, dark corners of my mind and I found myself settling comfortably there in that space, concealed from those who would guide me back to safe, warm places with the light of their love. They tried to find me but Pain told them I wasn’t with him. They called out to me but I pretended not to hear.

Still they persisted. They wouldn’t leave me there. With gentle whispers they soothed my spirit. With psalms of healing they consoled me. With fervent prayers they oiled my head. With kingdom smiles they shined blinding light into my darkness. Pain became a lesser foe.

They stretched out their hands and pulled me to my feet. Pain called my name, but I ignored him. They embraced me with arms of comfort. Pain grabbed hold of me, but I shook him off. They surrounded me with the strength of an army. Pain looked for me, but I remained hidden. Without my own negativity as its ally, Pain faced defeat and took its leave.

I still see Pain from time to time—lying in wait at a distance; peering from around treacherous corners; reflected in the eyes of those still lost in dark spaces. But I do not rely on my own strength in this struggle, for I walk in step with others who have survived and will continue to survive their battles with Pain—until it is forever defeated.

I'm Not Crazy...

...but I am suffering from Depression. It's the reason I haven't kept up with this blog. It's the reason my literary aspirations have been sidelined. And it's the reason my weight loss has stalled.

I have fallen into the deepest depression I've ever known, and I'm tired. I'm tired of crying, I'm tired of feeling physically ill, I'm tired of hiding it from others, I'm tired of trying to pretend it's not happening.

I'm so very, very tired.

When I go to bed at night, I actually pray that I don't wake up the next morning. When I do get up in the morning, I cry because I survived the night. And then I pray again to ask forgiveness for not appreciating this precious gift of Life that has been given to me. My thought process is jumbled and confused, I feel as if I'm in a fog, I'm not functioning well, I go from one emotion to the next and back again within minutes, my sleep pattern is all over the charts, I'm not able to work a 9 to 5 job, and my relationships and finances are suffering for it.

It's like this every single day and it's literally wearing my mind and body out.

It's gotten so bad that I recently decided to seek professional help. I can no longer do this on my own. I can no longer hide my anguish/pain, and I can no longer burden my family with my ever-changing moods. Self-help is fine for some people, but this writer has finally come to accept that additional assistance is required.

It's both embarrassing and humbling to admit this because of the stigma attached to mental health, especially in the black community. But I promised that this blog would be about my personal health and wellness journey, and that journey has taken a sharp left turn down this particular path, so I must follow it until it meets back up with the main road, so to speak. If my honesty about my own mental health helps even one reader with theirs, then putting myself out here like this will be worth it.

I will write as often as I can. I promise that I will try my hardest to push through the Depression as much as possible to report my progress along the way. At times, I may share some of the mental exercises my therapist gives me. In other posts, I may talk about what it feels like to be dependent upon my doctor-prescribed medication. Other times, I may include links to current news about black mental health. And every now and then, I may just post a good old-fashioned vent.

Stay with me on this journey. Tell others to come along. Talk to me, ask me questions. I will do my best to be as open about it as possible. The more we dialog about this problem in our community, the less the stigma of it.