By Anthony Payton, Common Ground Initiative

Back home in New York, you can ride the subway two inches away from people struggling with severe mental health issues. Ride the train long enough, and you’d likely see someone urinating or defecating in the stairwells. Some of those people would walk the dangerous tracks, flirting with death by electrocution or being struck by a train. You’d see the homeless people asleep, with pungent body odor, sometimes talking to themselves. And the levels of violence vary. After some time, any New Yorker would tell you that they’ve become accustomed to and even indifferent to a mental health system that seems to be failing and social workers who are overwhelmed. 

When I was 14, my friends and I would chalk it up to those people being “crazy.” None of us were qualified to diagnose mental health struggles, but we were familiar with terms like schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders. Although I now know that mental health issues affect everyone, back then, those people didn't look like me, and I associated those types with the Jeffrey Dahmers of the world. 

In my world, we thought mental health only meant extreme circumstances like these, and there wasn’t any talk about depression, anxiety, or mental wellness. In my neighborhood, the primarily Black folks would scoff at the idea of mental health evaluations and assistance. We have a life expectancy of maybe 24 years, childhood friends are trying to murder each other, and the drug lords are flaunting true economic stability. So spare me your advice about mental health. 

Then, I didn’t realize that Black people are more likely than whites to experience emotional distress. Black people living in poverty, like I was, are at double the risk of serious psychological distress. The barriers to treatment, like not having health insurance, mean that even people of color who are willing to ask for help can’t always access it.  

However, as a Black male, opening up about your struggles can also mean facing ridicule. I've seen what happens when Black men show vulnerability. Tyrese, Will Smith, and Kanye West all cried or showed deep distress on television in one way. In return, they were blasted, ridiculed, and had memes made out of them. 

Looking back, I can see how my mental health was affected by my life circumstances. In my darkest moments, I had to remember that there were valleys and peaks in life. And if I happened to be in the valley, I reminded myself that a peak would surely come. The situation was temporary, and things would improve.

Besides, I loved to laugh and crack jokes and was confident that my sense of humor would help me through those dire times. I beat the drum to that tune for nearly seven years, and it was my mantra and positive self-talk. I’ve done this plenty of times; I had it all figured out.

From gun violence, prison riots, and helping to thwart suicide attempts in prison, I skated through my post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) gleefully, oblivious to its true, long-lasting impact. Prison can make a person apathetic, amongst other things, and I’m just learning that apathy can also signify a mental health struggle. 

I was diagnosed with PTSD in 2015, although I’m sure I had it at least 20 years prior. Maybe PTSD is the reason I still vape periodically. Perhaps that’s why I sometimes isolate and sit with my back to the walls, needing to see what’s coming at me even in the most family-friendly restaurants. Ask any military vet or anyone else who has been through trauma; I’m sure the stories are similar at every level. 

I’m fortunate. I don’t hear voices or think about harming myself or others. 

It’s not easy to count the people who struggle in silence with what feels like insurmountable internal strife, only to be brushed off by close ones who sometimes don’t give the best advice. In addition, we can’t forget the youth whose mental health struggles have reached new levels during the COVID quarantines and homeschooling. We expected these precious children to bounce back from isolation and go against the need and instinct to socialize.

Peer Support

Any of my readers understand that I’m all for people with lived experience assisting those in need. A peer support specialist is someone who uses their lived experiences to help those who may be struggling with similar problems. That commonality and authenticity can form stronger bonds with people struggling with everything from mental health issues to substance abuse, post-incarceration, and different types of trauma. This is an approach the mental health community has embraced, relying on people in recovery from mental illnesses to support others with more active challenges. 

"Peers are an asset for establishments right now, especially in mental health and substance use disorder treatment facilities,” said Bret Smith, lead peer specialist for The Mental Health Center of Greater Manchester (MHCGM).  “We are specialists in building connections and trust with those in need through lived experience."

Randy Stevens is a peer support specialist who has faced his own adversities, including childhood trauma, incarceration, and substance abuse. Nowadays, his training and life experience make him an effective peer counselor who understands the power of seeking professional help. 

Randy says that when someone is at a point in their life where they feel lost, hopeless, and alone, seeking professional help can be life-changing. Reaching out for help is not easy, and when you do, you can find people who are able and willing to help you gain control of your life. For Randy, it wasn’t until he stopped trying to do it alone and asked for help that things began to change. You can see some of Randy’s powerful story here, courtesy of MHCGM. 

If we had to construct and engineer a perfect world, I’m almost certain that understanding and empathy would be in the toolbox. 

Paul Dann is the executive director for NFI North, a nonprofit that serves people with mental health concerns. He says that we're quick to talk about our recent surgery or a physical ailment but are reticent to talk openly about our mental health. Let's expand how we think about mental health, stop compartmentalizing our psychological self from our physical self, and work to create a community where people feel supported as a whole person, Dann says. 

Nowadays, I’m almost done with the vape, and I can eat with my back to the door without being too uncomfortable. And although I’m not in formal therapy yet, I’m blessed to be surrounded by mental health professionals with whom I can speak to. And that’s fine. 

Communities of color shouldn’t feel ashamed of seeking help and assistance for depression, anxiety, or thoughts of suicide. We must move away from those stereotypes that have shaped our thinking regarding mental health. Yes, we are strong and resilient people who have survived countless atrocities and injustices. However, it doesn’t mean that we should suffer in silence with issues that we may deem not as important–like sadness or anxiety. 

We need to check those emotions and feelings and be able to unload with a professional. Even more so, we need to raise the next generation similarly.   

I want my daughter to see my healthy reactions to stressful situations so she can learn to do the same. I want her to see those good habits and be empathetic to others going through a host of problems. 

Be kind to people because you never know. 

You just never know.   

Anthony Payton is an award-winning columnist based in Manchester. He can be reached at Anthony.Payton@collaborativenh.org These stories are part of The Common Ground Initiative which aims to highlight the diversity of our communities with stories of people the average Granite Stater might not get to see or meet, clarify misconceptions and find the threads that bind us all together as one New Hampshire community.  They are being shared with partners in The Granite State News Collaborative. For more information visit collaborativenh.org.