My mental health has been relatively unstable throughout my adolescent years, especially now as I approach graduation and have become increasingly aware of the reality of the world. Bad situations have turned into worse situations and negative emotions have turned into unbearable feelings that have left me feeling hopeless and sometimes even suicidal. Societal labels and social issues that are constantly in the forefront of our communities oftentimes make a small splinter feel like a giant metal spike.
My outlook of the world varies quite a bit, however, it mainly remains dark and unpleasant. This is in part because depression causes me to look at the world through a narrow and shallow lens that is veiled by the ghosts of mental illness. But it is also attributed to my experiences and the blatant reality of our imperfect world. Mental health can be influenced by a large variety of factors, from environment, experience, and even genetics. However, for me, the boxes that I am forced into constantly have an unavoidable consequence on my mental health. My identity as a queer Black woman has significantly contributed to how I view myself, the world, and my ability to overcome.
There is a lot of chaos and hate in the world, and consequentially, being queer, Black, and female all lead to their fair share of societal 'othering', discrimination, and hate. It's not enough that I struggle with my mental health on its own, these other factors that often alienate me and add more weight for me to carry. My identity is constantly being picked apart and criticized in the media and my personal life. Whether they are all in conjunction with each other, or separately, there is always something or someone that is putting my identity under question or vilifying it. From hearing gay slurs in the hallways of my school to watching the impacts of a systemic racism effect my community to witnessing the rampant misogyny in modern American society has undoubtedly had a negative impact on my psyche.
A lot of the time, feeling confined to a box isolates me from others. I often times feel alone and avoid sharing my feelings and experiences with others who I feel won't be able to understand me. Over time, I have gotten better at expressing myself, but there will always be a fear that I won't be understood, or that my concerns won't be taken seriously. I carry the weight of my identity on my back, which comes with feeling like I have to be strong all the time and resilient to the challenges the world throws at me. But I've learned that connecting with others who had similar experiences can help make this personal journey a little bit easier. As a result I have started communities at my schools like the Black Student Union and an Anti-Slur campaign to bring people together who can relate to one another.
When there is a constant beating over the head with labels like "bisexual", "Black", "female", anything and everything that is remotely related to those things can become a part of you. For me, this ranges from Black Lives Matter movements, to 'Don't Say Gay' bills, to even anti-choice legislature. These problems culminate and become overwhelming because each of these things can affect my everyday life. Oftentimes the additional mental baggage that "othered" groups carry is dismissed and unaccounted for when studying the affects and causes of mental illness. This dismissal makes it very difficult to come to a personal understanding that my experiences aren't unimportant. But I've come to realize There are thousands and millions of people like me out there who struggle with similar things.
Being Black is constantly being reminded that you and your people are constantly behind. That even if you manage to rise above stereotypes and obstacles that your peers will still believe that you don't deserve to be successful. Being a woman is to be under constant attack for your body and your choices. Being queer is to watch while your local and state legislators make life a living hell for you and your community to feel safe in your schools and public spaces. The assaults on our lives and minds are seemingly unending.
Women like me often carry the brunt of discrimination in the United States, and it is quite apparent. Black women make up less than 16% of the female population in America, yet account for the highest maternal mortality rate. Biases in medicine, economic disparities, and lack of adequate access to healthcare all contribute to this phenomenon. This daunting statistic is precisely the reason why I want to pursue a career in obstetrics and gynecology. Black women's bodies have been abused and misused for hundreds of years, and unfortunately it hasn't stopped. Black women in the United States die at three to five times higher rates than white women during childbirth, yet, nothing is being done to combat this blatant disparity. With more Black women working healthcare, we can change the experiences of Black women in hospitals, and we can change outcomes.
Even though it certainly isn't ideal for me to constantly be in a state of despair and loathing, it has somewhat given me some motivation to create a better world for people who come after me. I don't want future Black people, queer people, and women to have to carry the same mental loads that others and I have had to. I want to contribute to a world where Black women can feel as safe and as heard in hospital rooms as everyone else. I want to contribute to an environment where queer children and adults don't have to worry about the government passing legislation that invalidates their way of life. I want to contribute to a world where women of all colors, shapes, and sizes have the ability to choose for themselves and be what they want to be.