Look Out For Impulsivity in Mental Illness

It is hard to put yourself and your struggle out in the world. For me, when I write a post that is personal, it is in the hope that my current reality will reach and help someone. It is also cathartic. So, in that vein, this post is about the struggle of impulsivity on our family.

Impulsivity is associated with a number of diagnoses, such as Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and anxiety, all of which my son has. It is like a perfect storm of impulsivity in his little body. Impulsivity is characterized as acting on a whim, with little to no forethought, or consideration of the consequences. Now imagine that you have what I like to term as an overdeveloped emotional quotient. I envision this as being heavily influenced by the constant ebb and flow of other people’s emotions and your own. For example, your friend is having a day where they really need space, some down time and don’t really want to hang out or talk. You can’t understand this temporary change of normal interaction you have with your friend. This leads you to be upset, to question whether or not this friend likes you anymore, to dissect their interaction with everyone else and casting yourself in a bad light. Since this is happening in your head, you can’t focus on your work, or your other friends, and you become angry and unable to exhibit expected or required reactions to anything else. Your entire emotional health has been upended by a perceived emotion of this friend. So, you have been influenced by your friend’s emotions and your emotions have become explosive as a result. Think of it as not only being sad by someone else’s misfortune, but devastated and you feel out of control and unable to think through the consequences of your choices. Now imagine you are a prepubescent child with this added struggle. Do you see the recipe for constant upheaval? I do, but recently I realized that this overdeveloped emotional quotient can enhance the impulsivity towards the negative.

Often, the inability to control impulses is characterized by lying in our house. The unknown consequence of truth-telling when you know it confesses wrong doing is debilitating and therefore you lie hoping no one catches it. This lying then becomes the idea that your family can’t possible love or like you because you can’t get it right. Every time you mess up even the smallest bit, your mind tells you that you are a terrible and unlovable person. This is when impulsivity may lead to harmful actions. But you don’t recognize that harmful acts mean you are physically injured.You act without thought that running into the street can lead to pain, you act without thinking that hitting yourself can be damaging, you can believe that not being around is better than being terrible. But you don’t realize that not being here is permanent. We must recognize that these thoughts and actions may be indicative of depression also. Depression is not only an immense sadness, it is sometimes the inability to process emotions and thoughts which leads to dangerous impulses. Many medications used to treat symptoms exhibited by those with ASD, ADHD, and anxiety may cause depression. You now have a diagnosis that increases lack of impulse control and are given medications that may lead to depression. Recently we had the misfortune of learning how destructive this intersection of impulsivity and depression can be. My son was incredibly upset by emotions of others at school, then struggled to make good decisions and choices, which then led to him impulsively exhibiting self harmful actions. Our response has been swift in hopes of helping him understand that even when you don’t want to harm yourself, taking actions that could lead to harm can easily turn into being harmed. That being harmed is permanent, that our lives aren’t movies or television where the hurt and damage isn’t real. He is constantly battling the emotional part of his brain trying to take over and he barely knows what that means.

I continue to learn that we have a long way to go to understand what mental illness can look like in children. There is a great need to research how we can help our children when mental illness is present with other illnesses of the brain. But, I still have to go figure out, with the professionals, how to treat this adolescent depression and keep my son safe. I fumble with the words to reassure him that emotions are a fact but our reaction to them is ever evolving and in our control. I try to help him understand that he can review his day and recognize where he might be influenced by negativity in someone else. This is a hard thing when awareness of others and self is still an emerging skill. But, he has always been a hard worker, so I am encouraged that he will put his tenacity to work here.

This Mental Health Awareness month, I hope that you are educated on how impulsivity and mental illness can coexist, that you can love and support someone who struggles with this, that you can see someone you love in here and seek help. I hope that we continue the conversation, the education, and the support so that no one is left to languish in the convergence of impulsivity and mental illness.

I Won’t Give Up

I wrote the following words earlier this week: As I listen to the discordant, high-pitched voice trample my love and concern, I dream of the day I don’t have to be my own champion. I wrote them in a fictional setting, but these sentiments follow me into my real life quit often. I thought I had gotten to a place where I wasn’t quite so invested in the behavior of my number one son. I tend to take it personally, though I know he has a number of medical diagnoses that exacerbate the severity of his behaviors, that the words he screams in anger don’t mean anything to him. Yet, I keep running to my room in tears, with my heart-broken and my body heavy with the weight of despair.

I have written in the past about my autistic son who also suffers with anxiety and oppositional defiance disorder. So, he has trouble with executive functioning skills, he has poor memory, he is terribly impulsive, and can’t stop talking to save his life. Also, like most children, he is the center of the universe and wants what he wants. Lately, he has become aggressive again. This time around he is bigger and stronger and louder. I leave rounds of aggression with him and am covered in bruises, and two minutes after he calms down enough to apologize he inevitably acts like there wasn’t a hurricane of emotional tantrum with him at the center. Right this moment, for the second time today, he is screaming about how hurt he is, how much we hate him, how we don’t listen to him, how it is basically our fault as his parents that he is screaming and kicking walls loud enough for the neighbors to be concerned. He is harming himself and breaking our hearts and I don’t know what more to do for him. Have you ever wanted to give up? I WANT TO GIVE UP, I WANT TO GIVE UP, I WANT TO GIVE UP! But I don’t. I DON’T give up. Every day I get up and do it all over again, because he is my child and I love him. But, I am not going softly into the abyss. I continue to work at getting him the best medical care and therapy I can. I am just really afraid that one day soon, the decision on how to care for him will be taken from me and my husband.

Does he understand what he is doing and uses the extreme behavior as a way to escape the things he doesn’t like and doesn’t want to do? Does he really not remember, or understand how he is hurting himself, how he is hurting those around him? I feel I no longer know what is prepubescent boy and what is ASD, or Oppositional Defiance, or Anxiety. Hell, maybe it is some nice combination of it all. That is usually how this works, right? Hardly anything dealing with the mind and body is completely autonomous and I should know that. Only, it is hard to be dispassionate and calm in the face of such anger. I know that I want him to accept and respond to help for this latest crisis, I want him to not only realize his potential but reach it too.

I am scared. I am tired. I am hurt. I will pray and continue looking for a good therapist to add to the roster. I will get up every day and do it all again.

Mental Health Awareness Month


Yes, a new month, and something else dear to my heart you should be aware of. May is Mental Health Awareness Month here in America. It has been observed since 1949, yet today the stigma of acknowledging mental illness still exists. This is especially true in marginalized communities such as Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Native and First Nations peoples, along with any person who identifies as LGBTQ+ and/or non-binary. I mean when and where does it say that only white, cisgendered people are mentally ill and open about it and the help they need. (If you need explanations of any of those terms, I suggest you research them, because that would be another, infinitely longer, post)

Now, of course, I can only speak to my personal experience as a cisgendered Black woman, and I have plenty to say on how my community has historically viewed the mentally ill. There are years of ingrained ideas of the “strong black woman” who does all, for all, without missing a beat. Let me tell you, as I am sure others could too, that stereotype does us all more harm than good. Especially those of us it supposedly portrays. Have many Black women been forced to portray strength under crushing circumstances, yes. That fact does not mean they didn’t suffer for it, that the public persona honed from sheer determination to survive didn’t mask another more vulnerable and unstable one. Often having to show the world a face that says your idea of my value is not my true worth leads to a tumultuous inside that can’t keep up the facade when no one is watching. This lived duality is continuously eating away at your mental health. There is a barrage on your psyche that over time not only breaks apart your idea of yourself, but then leads others to view you as indestructible.  Others than view you as a person who feels no pain, shows no weakness, and therefore needs no consideration. On paper, we may all be equal, but due to the history of this country it is a fallacy, one that is killing our insides just as surely as the selling of our bodies and families did 152 years ago. This history leaves us dying inside and refusing help, often until it is too late.

Does every marginalized person still feel this way, live this way. No, probably safe to say that not every person is afraid of saying they have a problem, seeking help, or of speaking out about their mental health or illness. But, enough of us are still lurking in the shadows, hiding our true selves, not seeking any help at all, that we need to stand with a collective voice and say “You are not alone, it is really okay if you need help. I will not look at you differently or treat you differently. In fact I will stand by you and help in a supportive and positive way because I want you to be healthy.”

I want us to be healthy and I want to be healthy. I stand here saying I have mental illness, I seek help, I am blessed with support. Can I help you to this place?

Classic Book Review: One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest



I enjoy going back periodically and reading books I read long ago or are considered classics of literature. Now, to be honest, I can’t remember if I ever actually read One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey before. I do remember seeing the movie adaptation with my grandmother. Spending time with my grandmother watching old movies and television shows is one of the more loved memories I have of her. I have a love of movie musicals, films from the 1930s through the 1950s, and cheesy television Westerns like The Rifleman and Big Valley; all because there was one television and she controlled what we watched and cartoons and kid specific programming only came on Saturday mornings. I know for some reading this, the concept is absolutely unbelievable. There are just so many more options for occupying our kids (for good or bad). So, when I needed a contemporary reading break, this title caught my eye.

The blurb on book read: “In this classic of the 1960s, Ken Kesey’s hero is Randle Patrick McMurphy, a boisterous, brawling, fun-loving rebel who swaggers into the world of a mental hospital and takes over. A lusty, life-affirming fighter, McMurphy rallies the other patients around him by challenging the dictatorship of Nurse Ratched. He promotes gambling in the ward, smuggles in wine and women, and openly defies the rules at every turn. But this defiance, which starts as a sport, soon develops into a grim struggle, an all-out war between two relentless opponents: Nurse Ratched, back by the full power of authority, and McMurphy, who has only his own indomitable will. What happens when Nurse Ratched uses her ultimate weapon against McMurphy provides the story’s shocking climax.”

Now, you know as much as I remembered when I picked it up. It was in many ways a shockingly realistic picture of 1960s mental health in America. This to say, there are horrible medical practises in place such as shock therapy and lobotomies which today no one would think to be a reasonable or acceptable standard of care for the mentally ill. It also includes vernacular of the day which is demeaning to black people. If these ideas are offensive, I certainly suggest not reading the book. But I caution those who dislike reading or studying historically accurate snapshots of the past, those snapshots help us see where we were wrong and how we can hopefully improve. Many also speak to the dichotomy of the big bad nurse who is there to thwart all happiness in the men she is supposed to care for and the boisterous ideal of a “real man” who doesn’t go quietly along with her domination. He blows in and looks around and seems to decide that all these shrugging, quiet men are in need of toughening up to the status quo. But to me, the real gem in this book is the narrator, he is a mixed race man of great stature who we learn early on has been here a long time and is faking at being deaf and voiceless (dumb in the book). The Chief as he is called, is part Native American (the book is not so correct in its wording) and part white and tall, but no one pays him much attention and as such he sees all. His thoughts on the rules and rulers of the medical ward are fantastical such as you might expect from the mentally ill, but they are superb examples of how our actions to assimilate and control can be viewed as a mindless machine, much in the vein of ‘Big Brother’. 

The writing is full of imagery and flows in a very conversational tone. You feel like you are sitting in on a secret being whispered and you feel a little honored to be in on it all. There are many characters peppered in the story and you will find yourself horrified, saddened, angry and probably exceedingly invested in what happens to each. This novel gives it all to you and you feel like you are there amidst the white walls and green patient uniforms.

Go checkout One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and be transported as I was. I believe you will be glad you did or you just might be a little upset, that is good too. The writing will stay with you long after the last word is read.

Drowning in Demons

I sit here in one of my most sought after situations. My kids are visiting with their grandparents. I am home alone, with time and no distractions to keep me not only from the things I need to do, but also the things I want to do. I am in the midst of completing 50,000 words during National Novel Writing Month and it is imperative that I write daily. Of course, this doesn’t always happen but the real win is to write consistently. Yet today, I am not so sure it will happen.

But I can’t take advantage of this blessing, I am stuck on my couch battling the demons in my head. Do you have demons? Have you ever been depressed, racked by anxiety, unable to get out of bed, leave your house, complete basic daily tasks to ensure your survival? I have and I have battled them alone, with professionals, with medicines, with God. All these things work in combination for me, but sometimes when I am cruising through life feeling good about myself and making plans to conquer the world, I awake to the gnawing of my demons. Nothing untoward has happened, no one has been especially mean to me, I am surrounded by love, yet the need to cry over nothing, the feeling of deep darkness overtaking my mind, the exhaustible effort it takes to be cordial to those closest to you. Have you tried to explain to a child that you love them but please don’t talk to me, don’t touch me, don’t be too loud, don’t change, be different, love me, like me, fix me because I can’t seem to do it myself? Well, let me tell you, it is hard to explain mental illness to a child who just wants you to be present. They want to help but don’t really understand that they can’t, there is no help but time, hopefully. Hopefully this time, you can pull yourself out with the techniques you have honed throughout the years. Prayerfully you won’t be forced to spend months building yourself up again. You know what I hate the most about it, I don’t know what triggered it, I just know that I am crying and I had to write this and I have pages of responsibilities I need to attend to but as much as I keep trying, I can’t, won’t be able to do it today. What many won’t understand is that I really want to, I want to be different, often. I want to have no problems getting it together, never to need medical intervention, prayer warriors, and understanding loved ones. I don’t know if they have me on a pedestal, but I keep putting myself on one where I can always accomplish the tasks with laughter and aplomb. Today, friends, I am here to tell you, I really can’t do that. I really need to let myself be and know that it is okay to take care of myself, both mentally and physically. I am not perfect, I am not even looking for perfection. I am praying for grace and mercy to continue to be extended to me so that I can extend to those in my space. To do so, I must embrace it, the gift, freely given, and know that I am, in God’s eyes, perfect as is and every dark demon determined to conquer me, may have a moment where I am struggling under the burden of depression, anxiety and fear. But I will not stay there, I will fight, with all the tools available, for myself, because I matter. And because I matter, others matter too. You matter, I pray that you can remember that as you battle throughout your day and life. We matter, take extreme care, especially when the demons come to try and tell you it isn’t worth it. You are worth it and I am worth it, so let’s go to battle.