Rwenshaun M.
Rwenshaun Miller
If you’re reading this, don’t forget to check on your strong friend (which could be in the mirror).
Have you ever told yourself that nothing was wrong with you, but deep down, you knew something was wrong? Why did you tell yourself that?
I have been at a point when I knew something was not quite right. I knew that some of the thoughts that I was having were not quite “normal.” But then again, what is normal? I would have thoughts about committing various acts on others or myself that would not be very good.
I attempted to suppress what was going on because, like many people, I felt like I was immune to those things that society deemed as “crazy”.
I was a young Black male. I knew of some people around the neighborhood that we would call “crazy,” but it was just because of their behavior and not because we really thought that they had a mental health illness. I honestly thought that mental health issues only occurred in middle to upper-class white people who could afford to go see a psychiatrist.
As a Black male, I already have multiple factors to handle: being viewed by some as unintelligent, only good at sports, and just because my skin is dark and my baggy clothes equate to illegal activity. That’s a lot of stuff to keep in mind, and for me to add another stigmatized category to my persona is like strapping an added target to my back.
I was an athletic guy with plenty of friends, and I don’t have issues with my self-esteem (I don’t think). I was going on the right path that everyone believed I should be on. I was attending college, pursuing a respectable career, and I made it out of a place that many may deem a trap.
I can’t let something like a couple of mental breakdowns set me back in the eyes of the community. If this stuff going on in my head is true, who in the hell is really going to believe what I am saying? I barely even believe it. How would I even be able to face the people who admired me up until now, with them knowing my weakness?
Outside of a physical injury from a sport, like a concussion or broken hand, I can’t display a weakness to the outside world. That is like displaying a chip in my armor that I have built to be unbreakable. A reputation of being strong, resilient, and untouchable will be tarnished if word hits the street that I have a mental illness.
It is common knowledge that Superman’s only weakness was Kryptonite. His enemies would use this for their own benefit. In my eyes was Superman, and this was my Kryptonite. I WOULD NOT LET ANYONE KNOW OF THIS WEAKNESS!
Rwenshaun M., University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
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