My mom is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from bipolar disorder. Throughout my life she physically, mentally, and emotionally abused me. One day she’d be laughing, chatting, and telling me how much she loved me. Then the next day, she'd snap. She would curse me out, call me names, and fight me. My mom has done and said some of the most unimaginable things to me. For a while, I actually feared being around her because her illnesses caused her to be extremely erratic and unpredictable. The impressions she left on me as a child are truly some of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Growing up, it wasn't out of the ordinary for my mom to put her hands on me or for her to say crazy things that made you question her sanity. I just knew to tread lightly around her. I'll never forget the first time I experienced one of my mother's episodes. It was my birthday, December 12, 2010, and I had just turned 8. Later that night, after I had finished getting ready for bed, she stormed into my room and beat me senseless. She dragged me out of the room by my hair, constantly punching me and yelling, “I know it's you, he told me it was you!” She never gave me the chance to get up or even speak to defend myself and ask what she was talking about. She just kept beating me and shouting “You and your brother want to kill me, I won't let you kill me.” When she was finally done she locked me outside. I was dizzy, confused, and my face was bloody. Though I still managed to walk a block to my grandmother’s house up the street and we called the police. After this incident, my grandmother petitioned the court for full custody, because obviously my mom wasn’t mentally stable enough to take care of me. She also pressed charges on my mother for child abuse/ endangerment, but my mother never received any jail time, only six months' probation and a fine. As years went on my mom continually harassed my grandma and me. She would come to the house to curse us out and claim that we were against her and that we wanted to set her up. She would fight us, sometimes with weapons. Mind you, my grandmother was already a sick woman, so this was only causing more issues for her. My grandmother often explained to me that my mom was always “troubled”, even as a child. Particularly that she would always hear voices talking to her and see things that weren’t there. My grandmother said she would also do weird stuff, like talk to herself in the mirror, as if she were two different people. However, my grandma never sought treatment for my mother due to mental health being so heavily stigmatized in our community. Like many other black people, my grandmother believed mental health didn't exist. To her, it was “a mind thing”, something that could be controlled, when that wasn't the case. As much as my mom tormented us, I know my grandma didn’t want her daughter to end up completely losing herself, so one day I finally convinced her to urge my mom to seek help. We took her to visit a psychiatrist and he ended up diagnosing my mother with Paranoid Schizophrenia and Bipolar disorder. Now, she's on the appropriate medication. My trauma and experiences surrounding mental health have largely shaped my goals of becoming a Journalist. I want to use my writing skills to bring awareness to many issues and destigmatize the false narratives we hold about mental health in our community. Several people don't seek treatment due to the stigma and are still suffering/ fighting their mental battles daily. Moreover, they fail to speak up because they don't want to be labeled “crazy” or seen as if something is wrong with them. I want to be the person who breaks this generational ideology and encourages those struggling with mental health issues to seek the professional help they need. Moreover, mental health has shaped my relationships by making me a more empathetic and understanding person. As someone who has witnessed the serious toll mental health conditions can take on someone’s mind, I take people more seriously when they express that something is wrong with them. Likewise, I let them know that their feelings are valid and that there are several programs and treatments available to help with navigating what they’re going through. The more we start validating mental health in society, the less we’ll have to deal with the negative outcomes of it when left untreated! Lastly, my understanding of the world is more intimate. With all the things I’ve had to endure, it’s led me to build an intimate connection with the world, making me feel more sympathetic and humane towards others. I feel as if we need to work harder to support each other, even through struggles and hard times, so that we may keep progressing together as a society.

Cariloop's-Caregiver Scholarship

Imagine being 10, just spending quality time with your grandmother. We’re laughing, chatting, washing each other’s hair, you know, doing what girls do. As you stroke the comb through, clump after clump of her hair falls to your feet. I could see the hurt in her face. Apparently, she had known for quite a while about her diagnosis, but only then did she finally tell me what was happening. With tears running down her face, she said to me, “Baby, they said I got stage three Breast Cancer.” My heart dropped to my stomach. My grandma, my heart, my world, the only person who stepped up to play the role of a parent in my life, was on the verge of losing hers. From 2012 to 2020, my grandmother battled cancer 3 times. In the beginning, my grandmother was undergoing around 6 to 8 cycles of Chemotherapy a week. There were days when she could barely move, her bones would ache, and her body would become weak. It also didn’t help that before all of this, her body had been fighting Multiple Sclerosis for the past ten years. With these health issues combined, it caused episodes where her muscles would give out, and she would collapse, black out, and forget what had happened leading up to it. There were two instances where she broke her arm and femur bone in the process. After six months, her tumor shrank, and she went into remission for 4 years. After the four years had passed, cancer came back again, and even though it was rough, she beat it. However, the third time hit her the hardest. When it came back this time, it was in both breasts, and the doctor decided a double mastectomy was the best solution to avoid it from coming back ever again. At this point in our lives, I decided to step up and take on the role of her caregiver. My grandmother single-handedly raised, provided, and cared for me, and a lot of the time, she struggled. So it was time I grew up and did the same. For the years to come, I balanced school work and life at home. After a school day, I’d change her mediport drainage, clean her wounds, bathe her, administer her medications/ injection shot, and then tend to housework. I sought employment, but even through our struggles, my grandmother refused to put the pressure of work on me at such a young age; she insisted I focused on schooling and my academic future. Due to no income, we survived on government assistance, depending on her social security check and food stamps to make ends meet. Even though I had an unfortunate home life, I stuck it out, maintained a strong social life, and graduated with a 4.0 average. After her double mastectomy, cancer never returned, but my grandmother came out of that battle a broken woman. She often expressed to me how she felt deformed, disfigured, and “less of a woman” because she had no breasts. Cancer stripped her confidence. This experience taught me that you always stick by, love, support, and encourage those who did it for you. I aided my grandmother through her journey with cancer, and at the end of it all, I let her know that she is the bravest and strongest person I’ve ever known. I let her know that her scars and her chest are just battle wounds. I assured her that it's her survival that makes her one of the greatest women, among many others, to walk this earth.