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Journaling

To Help Me Forget For A Little While…

I had a whole article written before I decided to scrap it and be completely transparent. In that one, I was talking about how I, the great mental health blogger that I am (I’m kidding), keeps calm during a time like this. I had bullet points on the basic things that people do like cook or take intermittent naps. I was going to make it seem like I was automatically processing everything correctly and in a healthy manner. I was going to make it seem like I had all the answers. As much as I would love to be the knower-of-all…I’m not…I’m human just like all of you. I ponder things religiously, and sometimes even after I’ve given every brain cell I have to try and connect how things operate, I still don’t understand. On top of quarantine and living through a pandemic, there have been some looming thoughts in my head. My Grandmother passed away about a month ago, and every time I think of her I begin to cry…I’m tearing up a little now that I mention it. My summer class just ended, my internship, something that I’m very grateful for, is relatively demanding, and I’m trying to write more content on this blog. Then, if that isn’t enough, take a look at the news! If you’re black or a person of color, hearing and seeing the stories of your people being slaughtered in the streets can psychologically distress the strongest person. At one point, Twitter was in a frenzy; exposing countless rapists and abusers around the country. Thoughts of my own attack flooded back to the corners of my brain like a dam. I relived that anger, that hopelessness, and that sense of sudden numbness. I remembered the people who told me it was my fault. Hearing someone say that an act you’ve never asked for is your identity strikes you like a freshly sharpened dagger…I don’t know how else to explain it. I’ve had crying spells where it felt like they would never stop; where my eyes would swell like a bee sting and wither like a drought. It was a lot, and I had to take a break from it all. 

I’m guilty when it comes to using my productivity as a means of feeling valuable. I also try to ignore any mental pain or fatigue that I feel because I think being perceived as strong is better than being stable. Today, I laid in bed, typed this, and watched Netflix, and I actually felt good about it. Usually, I would engage in some tender-loving self care for about thirty minutes, and then go right back to doing some type of assignment. If I tried to practice self care, I would immediately counteract it. I would surround myself with the countless messages swirling through the media that my life was not welcome and I have no place anywhere. As much as I am proud of people of all shades, cultures, religions, sexual orientations, genders, and so on coming together…it’s draining that we as a collective are still doing this. Black people and people of color deserve to be respected. Marginalized groups deserve to be loved. We deserve to live a long and healthy life. We don’t deserve this bloodshed. We don’t deserve to live in fear. I’m exhausted. I’ve had a headache for the last two days, and you can tell I’m stressed by the slew of pimples that have accumulated on my cheeks. My brain felt like it was swelling; I felt nothingness one minute and then every emotion known to man the next. I was going insane…staring at the wall and letting my thoughts run rampant insane. Enough was enough, I had to do something in order to regain and maintain some type of sanity. So…this is what I did. 

I started a new day and set my intentions. As crazy as the previous day might have been, this is a new one, and there is always a chance that this day will be better. First, I always give thanks to God and the universe that I am able to see this day. There are so many loved ones who didn’t, and I am grateful that my journey is to be continued. I am a firm believer in manifestation and prayer, and I honestly think that these two things have really saved me in terms of my mental health. The pen is mightier than a sword, but combining the power with a strong voice… you’re unstoppable. I am slacking on writing down my manifestations, so I need to get back into the swing of things. Sometimes just waking up and stating how you want your day to go will make you feel that much better. To piggyback off of giving thanks for waking up in the morning, I pray for the things that I would love to take place in my life, like me and my family being protected against evil forces sent to kill, steal, and destroy and achieving every goal that has been set. Then, I thank God for everything that has happened; that it happened, that I learned from it, and that I made it through. If I write down my prayers and manifestations, I always read them out loud. Never say negative thoughts aloud, or at least try not to. It’s normal for negative thoughts to come about, but don’t speak them or write them down. When you speak or write out negative thoughts, it is almost like you are decreeing them into existence.

I took deep breaths and tried to meditate…it is harder than it looks. As people, we are quite shallow breathers. As we mature into adulthood, we change the way we breathe. As infants and children, we all breathe deeper. We took big, extensive, belly moving breaths, and now we more so breathe with our chest. Try it; take a breath in through your nose for ten seconds, and then breathe out for ten out seconds through your mouth. I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot lighter. Your heart rate increases a little when you take a breath in, and slows down once you breathe out. When it comes to meditating, I have always had difficulty. I’ll roll my yoga mat out, get down, hit my criss-cross applesauce position, close my eyes, clench my thumb and pointer fingers together, and try to focus on one thought peacefully. I last probably for a good thirty seconds…I wish I was kidding. One thing I feel I need to work on is focusing on my breathing; remaining still and reminding myself that whatever I have to do will get done once my meditation session is over. Maybe one day I’ll be able to get past the minute mark. According to the Massachusetts General Hospital, breathing, mindfulness, and meditation changes brain regions that are associated with memory, empathy, stress, and sense of self like the brain’s gray matter. When I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, sometimes the simplest thing to do is to take a deep breath.

I drink water and eat fruits and vegetables. Water is my favorite beverage. It is the elixir of life. The fact that there are people around the world who don’t have access to water while there are people who freaking swim in it for a living is ridiculous to me. For those who have the privilege of having clean drinking water…don’t take it for granted and donate to give others the opportunity to have the same access. The National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine states that an adequate amount of water intake per day is between 11.5 cups and 15.5 cups. I have a gallon jug that I keep beside my bed. I try to drink half of it every day, and I’ve been keeping up with it. Water lubricates your joints and muscles. It helps cushion the brain and spinal cord…those are pretty important parts of your body. It helps eliminate waste, helps you stay energized, promotes healthier skin…the list goes on and on. Adding more fruits and vegetables to your diet can lower blood pressure, reduce the risk of heart disease, prevent some cancers, give you a beneficial dose of vitamins and minerals, and so many more factors. I know when given the opportunity to chow down on a donut versus a stalk of celery, it can be hard to choose the healthier option. It’s okay to indulge in some Krispy Kreme from time to time, but believe me, you will feel much better after gnawing on an apple. I’ve been eating a lot of peaches lately, as well as tomatoes, cucumbers, and baby carrots. When I’m craving a bowl of chips, I try to replace that with a mix of all three vegetables.

I pay a visit to my seven year old self. The reason I go back to my seven year old self is because that was the age when I started feeling insecure. Seven year old me was when I started to kind of lose the confidence I had. It took a few years to gain it back, and I know that little me would be beaming with joy. She would be proud of the things that I’ve accomplished. At the age of seven, I would give anything for my hair to be straight. All the other girls seemed to have their hair that way, and I wanted to be like them. My hair was straightened every four weeks until I was about eighteen years old. I was chubby, with a name no one pronounced right, glasses, and a gap in between my buck two front teeth. My two year anniversary of my big chop was last week, and I am currently rocking a growing fro. I would have never thought that I would be comfortable with my curls and coils. When I was younger, I wanted to be skinny and at least be the same height as my Dad, who stands at 5’9. I am six inches below that, and I’m about a size ten…well, during quarantine, I really have no idea what the hell I am. As shocked as she would be, she would be proud that I am happy with who I am. If I was able to speak with her, well, I wouldn’t speak at first. I would embrace her; the road that is ahead is treacherous, but beautiful at the same time. She learns so much about who she is, the flaws that she has and the things that she needs to exemplify and praise. She wouldn’t cry once being held because she thought tears were a sign of weakness, but I would, because I know it showcases quite a bit of strength to do so. I would tell her that I love her, despite that person telling her that no one didn’t. I would tell her to love herself more…and then more than that, and then more than that. I’d ask her how she’s feeling right now and maybe give her some advice on how to resolve it. I would tell her that being quirky and weird is what makes her special, and that she is not alone in the unique way that she thinks. What would you tell your younger self?

I fell back in love with things I used to enjoy doing. I’ve taken some of this time to just explore. I began to play the viola again. I played in a conservatory in high school. As I held the instrument in one hand and the bow in the other, I almost felt whole. I played The Swan, the 13th movement of Camille Saint-Saens Carnival of the Animals. It is one of the prettiest pieces of music I think I’ve ever heard. When I listen to it, I envision myself in Paris…he is a French composer you know. As stupid as they may have sounded, I wrote songs and poems. I have a piano right across from my bed, and when I get an idea in my head, I’ll move my chair in front of my keyboard and just let my creative juices pour out onto the keys. For a lot of you creative folk, it may be hard right now to create. It was for me too, and I kind of pressured myself to make something that I deemed as worthy enough. Sometimes you find your best work within a dry spell, and I just created…whether it was good or bad. The act of writing poems or music was more so supposed to be therapeutic, and it was. Whether it made sense or not, I just wrote about what I felt. Art is such a good form of therapy, whether it be singing, dancing, drawing…anything. It made me realize that I want to incorporate more of those talents into my daily routine. If that made me feel better then, I’m hoping it will do so from day to day. 

Fine…I will include intermittent naps in here. Napping is one of my favorite past times. A nap has become an integral part of my daily routine, my only flaw is that a thirty minute nap will turn into a five hour snooze. Sleeping is crucial for your physical health. It rejuvenates you. It heals and repairs your heart and blood vessels. It can help improve concentration and productivity and help your immune system. In my case, sometimes I don’t know what to do, and I stress myself out trying to come up with an answer for whatever I’m going through. Sometimes the only thing I can do is take a nap, rest on it, and save the mental effort for another time. I got out of my house. Just sitting outside on my porch letting the sun hit my face can be the therapy I need. I watch the trees sway back and forth as they waltz with the leaves. The fresh air reinvigorates my senses, and I picture myself in different scenes of nature. I was on a beach in California. I watched the snow fall in the Poconos. I rode bikes down the streets of Toledo…I was there. I go to my happy places, whether they be close by like my Grandma’s room, or somewhere on the other side of the world like the time I made paella in Barcelona. I appreciated the things that nature does for us; offers us sunlight, nourishes our plants and crops, gives us shade and oxygen…I am so grateful for these scenes.

Don’t batter and abuse yourself; pushing your brain to the brink of insanity. No matter what, your mental health is important. When your mental health is in the right place, your body follows suit. We all thank you for your continuous fight in trying to end racism and white supremacy. We all thank you for working hard and making moves in your career. We all thank you for risking your life to help others. We all thank you for being here another day, but sometimes those days can be too much. It’s okay to take a break. It’s okay to feel joy during this time. You need to remember the good things that life can offer, and we want you to be here when these good things finally come about.

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Facts and Opinions

How Power Is Abused: The Stanford Prison Experiment

“Not all cops are bad.” I think I’ve seen this comment underneath every Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter post calling out the police for their mistreatment of black people. While some may see it as a reminder that there are actually allies on the force, I kind of see it as a way to deter the conversation that we are really trying to focus on; the unjust treatment of black people within the African Diaspora. Once you contribute to a system that was founded on corruption and continuously uses barbaric and brutal force to enforce the law, which too many times results in death…yeah, hate to tell you, but it’s kind of hard to distinguish a so called good cop from the roster of officers that are deemed unfit to serve. A profession that was put in place to ensure the well being of their citizens isn’t doing such a great job, huh? I see peaceful protests in countless cities turn into a potential bloodbath when the police begin to grow agitated. Tear gas is being thrown at the people with no justice, and in turn, resulting in a lack of peace. Rubber bullets are ricocheting off of people’s body parts, leaving scars and bruises as a reminder of the side of history they were on. The people, the ones that are labeled as these dangerous animalistic delinquents, are fighting back against the system that tells society that black people are replaceable and expendable. What do the police expect? Disturb the peace…and you’ll get what you’re asking for. Having your authority challenged doesn’t feel too good, does it officers? You’re not as invincible as you think. You’re no better than anybody else. A badge is not a personality trait, but beating a young woman with a baton when her only weapon is a piece of cardboard is; says a lot about yourself. What are they so afraid of? Is your quota really that important? Do you need more money for your donut fund? Okay, now I’m getting off topic, but honestly! You know exerting an inexplicable amount of force upon an unarmed person, or any person for that matter, is wrong. You know battering and bruising people until their choking on their own blood and spitting out teeth is wrong. You obviously know that murder is wrong…yet, you do it anyways, and are filmed doing it…and you don’t care! I want to strangle the people that insist that this isn’t a race issue. There were predominantly white people protesting the rules put in place on what you can and cannot do during COVID-19 a few weeks ago. A pandemic was being protested! What did you think you all would do…scare the virus away? “Oh, you want a haircut. Well I’m so sorry young white man, let me just magically disappear and stop infecting people. You won.” You’re smart, you already know why nothing happened to them during their protests…you know.

Anyways, it always made me wonder why the police think they are so much better than everyone else; black people to be more specific. The black cops within police precincts probably think that these white cops are their brothers, but little do they know how they really feel about them. Or even worse! They know that their counterparts think little of them, and they play bystander, or think they are superior because of the position of power that they have. Hmmm…position of power, let’s think about this for a second. It makes sense, right? Black people and other minorities don’t have much say, hence the events that are taking place currently. Due to that, cops take advantage of the so called power they have over minorities. The law enforcement privilege is one thing, but if you’re white on top of that, that’s two privileges in one. When placed in this position, your true colors begin to bleed through. Those whose voices are muffled, what will you do exemplify them? So many officers abuse the power that they have, why? Why do people tend to misuse what is given to them?

The Stanford Prison Experiment was a six day long social psychology experiment that began August 14, 1971, and ended…well, six days later on August 20, 1971. The experiment was led by Stanford University Professor Philip Zimbardo. Zimbardo had an idea to examine and expose the source of abusive behavior in the prison system. He converted a basement within the Stanford University psychology building into a mock prison and put out an advertisement asking for volunteers to participate in his plan. Around 75 people responded. These people were then examined through personality testing and diagnostic interviews, and through a careful process of elimination, 24 young men were chosen. These men were considered the most mentally sane and stable…if only they knew what they were getting themselves into. Eventually, a few dropped out of the experiment before it started, leaving 21 participants to be assigned guard or prisoner roles at random. There were ten prisoners, and eleven guards in total. Let the experiment begin. The men assigned as prisoners were hit with a rude awakening on the first day of the experiment. They were forced out of their houses, arrested, taken to an actual police station, fingerprinted, and charged. Blindfolds were put over their eyes as they were transported like cattle to the mock prison Zimbardo and his team designed. They were stripped naked, hosed down, had their personal belongings taken from then, and were locked away in their makeshift cells. They were dressed in prison uniforms, having chains wrapped around their ankles, and only referred to as a number and not their names. Imagine how dehumanizing that is…you’re not Brett, or Ashley, or Imani…you’re Number 34, 56, and 8. Guards however were treated like kings compared to the prisoners. They were given nice, ironed out, clean khaki clothes to wear, and were supplied with whistles, hand cuffs, and billy clubs. They slid sunglasses over their eyes so they would come of even more cold and distant; you can’t look them directly in the eye. Dave Eshelman, one of the guards in the experiment years later in an interview stated that it was like a mask; allowing a person to behave in ways that you wouldn’t if your identity was more apparent. Although no physical violence was allowed, the guards could do whatever they saw fit to the prisoners in terms of punishment.

As soon as the experiment begins, the guards had no problem assimilating into their new roles. They were targeting and harassing the prisoners, taunting them and waking them up out of their sleep; blowing whistles in their ears and screaming obscenities from the top of their lungs. Sounds familiar right? Where have we heard and or seen that before? Anyways, this traumatized the prisoners, and soon they began to mold into the roles that were placed upon them too…but that didn’t last long. They took the rules of the prison quite seriously in the beginning. Some of them even turned their backs on some of the other prisoners if they seemed like they weren’t following instruction. Because the guards had the power to do so, they made the prisoners their own personal puppets. They would give them these asinine tasks to do like marching in place or jumping jacks just because. The power imbalance was apparent, and the guards made no effort to make it even. Let’s compare this to the countless police brutality incidents that we have seen in our communities and on social media, as well as the cases that have not been exposed. These police officer know that no matter what they do, they will be protected, especially if they are white. So what if they abuse their power, no one is going to do anything, right? Well…so they think.

By the second day, the prisoners were already tired of being seen and treated like they weren’t human beings. They rebelled! They ripped off the numbers on their uniforms and pushed their beds against the door, locking themselves in. They were fed up after a day, think about being fed up after 400 years. The guards were stunned by the revolts, so they brought in back up to restrain the cranky prisoners. The guards then started retaliating. They unleashed chilling carbon dioxide of their fire extinguishers, breaking into the prisoners’ cells. They stripped them naked, tormented them, and removed their beds. The most rebellious prisoners was placed in solitary confinement to try and disrupt their solidarity. Some of the more obedient prisoners were granted special privileges, well, as special as special can get in prison. They were able to eat special meals, while the rest of the inmates didn’t even get a chance to eat; they lost that right. The prisoners solely relied on the guards for everything, and the more dependent the inmates became, the more the guards abused their privilege.

Prisoner 8612 was the first person to suffer a mental breakdown, demanding to be freed from the experiment. Eshelman stated that he didn’t think that him and the rest of the guards had that type of authority to make others react in a way like Prisoner 8612; he thought they were faking it or weak. Moving into the third and fourth day, things began to escalate even more. Guards would make prisoners clean toilets with their bare hands. They would mercilessly taunt them, degrade them in front of one another, it was very unusual; the punishments even grew sexual. Through the minds of the guards, they knew that many men had some insecurities when it came to sex, so they wanted to play on those fears. More prisoners began to break down as the experiment progressed; the next victim being Prisoner 819. After breaking down, crying uncontrollably and going into hysterics, the other prisoners were instructed to chant about how bad of a prisoner he was and how because of his actions, everyone else had to suffer. Prisoner 819 could hear all of this, and when psychologists tried to get him to leave he refused because he didn’t want to be labeled as a worse prisoner than he already was considered. Philip Zimbardo had enough, and he could see that the other participants did too. A two week long experiment turned into six days. The guards removed their khakis, their sunglasses, and returned their billy clubs, while the prisoners were able to be human again.

The experiment wasn’t just a means of torture, it was a lesson. Zimbardo in an interview stated that him and his psychologists begged the question of what happens when you take seemingly normal people and put them in a negative place. Does the goodness of humanity overcome the bad place, or does the bad situation influence the people and their thinking? We as human beings can be fickle. When people are given a position of authority, they act in a way that they normally wouldn’t. Why? Because they can! What were the underprivileged going to do? What could they do? In America, black people and people of color are seen just like these prisoners. They aren’t treated like people, but instead of referring to them as a number, they are their skin color, their features, their socioeconomic status, and so many other factors that shouldn’t evoke judgement. The justice system dehumanizes them as soon as they look at them. They aren’t friends, family members, neighbors, teachers, students, mentors, athletes…they’re criminals, thugs, nuisances, and targets. The guards worked together to psychologically humiliate the prisoners because they all had the same privilege, and they didn’t want the prisoners deviating from their role. Those cops do the same thing. When they see others with their uniforms and their badges, they immediately follow a code; they have the upper hand. Zimbardo, acting somewhat as the prison warden, could have stopped the experiment at any given time, but he watched the turmoil go on for six days…he allowed the guards to abuse the prisoners. In a way, Zimbardo was somewhat like the government. We are being treated like degenerates by people with higher authority, and the government is just watching. When the prisoners lashed out and fought back against the experiment and Zimbardo, he let them leave. That’s what we are doing now…we are trying to leave. We are trying to leave a system that was founded on racism and white supremacy. We are trying to leave oppression. We are trying to leave police brutality. We are trying to leave it behind; leave it behind and never return to it. We are trying to leave black women and men dying before their time because they were doing something as innocent as walking down the street at the wrong place at the wrong time…behind. We’ve got to make our voices heard, if not by physically opening up our mouths and speaking, by donating, by signing petitions, by being supportive, by listening, voting people out who perpetuate the system…by being apart of something greater. Opening up my news feed and seeing people coming together, no matter what race, religion, or gender is inspiring; it’s what we need to progress. If we keep going…who knows? We may actually get a chance to see justice prevail.

Sources-

https://www.simplypsychology.org/zimbardo.html

Shout out to @cowgrlmami for the idea behind this article

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