May 18, 2010 @ 8:30 am
State of Mind
National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), Topeka, KS (27)
When I was young, mental illness was a condition I don’t really think anyone addressed. Other than the Hollywood depictions as seen in movies such as, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or Girl, Interrupted, where patients were screaming crazily, and pretending to be bushes rather than trees, I really wasn’t aware of what these diseases entailed, but I knew there was no possible way that the movies had perfected the true representation of these real-life characters. Upon the suggestion of a friend, I decided to work with NAMI to learn more about these conditions, as well as the people affected by them. I would be accomplishing this great “Purpose” by assisting with the creation of the Kansas NAMI Walk celebration.
We met at the venue quite early, and before I barely had a chance to park, I was unloading bottled water to place at the various stopping points along the 2 mile course. Then, as I looked to my right, driving up beside me was what, you ask…oh yes, a golf cart. Now, I was in no way a stranger to the benefits of these small modes of transportation, as many a day, I peered out my bedroom window, and saw a sea of these fine pieces of machinery toolin’ around in my backyard. On them were golfers who inevitably were trying to locate the ball that shattered yet another one of the windows in my playhouse. Anyhow, the closest I ever got to one was when I set up shop in the form of a lemonade stand nearly every golf tournament from ages six to ten (oh yeah, fresh lemons, sugar, maybe we threw in some cookies here and there-the whole nine yards). But then, finally, one evening, with my mom and friend, Meredith in tow, we rented one of the carts to play a few holes of golf. Completely unconcerned with making par, we maneuvered around, dodging trees, backing over course hole markers having way too much fun…just like Thelma, Thelma and Louise.
You can imagine my excitement upon learning I would be co-captain in the golf cart as I placed signage, along with Captain Jim, around the trail where participants would be walking. Each sign was to be positioned exactly twelve seconds after the previous posting (No foolin’ around people). So, with Jim’s watch in hand, I loaded in, and with a tug of my new NAMI hat, off we went. As we moved in twelve second intervals, after shouting “Stop,” Jim would hop out, drive the stakes into the ground (careful not to interrupt the strict regulations), and we’d quickly continue on our journey. With our having to cover two miles of land in golf cart speed no doubt, we had a fair amount of time to get to know one another. To be quite honest though, I mostly just listened. I’m finding myself listening more than ever in the past. Meeting the different people and understanding their cultures, I’m learning that everyone has a story; stories of adventure…some leading to the Swiss Alps, others to the local hamburger joints…stories of sadness…where confused whimpers and barks of fear go unanswered and when piles of wood remain heaped outside homes…and stories of victory…when children look back only to see the shadow of their past, full of thermometers, needles and MRIs. These stories, on what lives are based, are those of people who simply want to share their details.
So, I listened about the life he lead before he realized he was ill. His timid smile thickened as he spoke about his travels with his band and his work as a mechanic as a young boy. I also learned about his present life, and how he was able to move through the days regardless of his condition. Attempting college, he was now on his way to receiving his master’s degree. We spoke about his passion for art, and the distraction, the comfort, and the freedom of expression it provides. The paint, the photos, the sketches and the clay allow for an infinite number of creative possibilities. A person can actualize their greatest imaginations as oils form rainbows with pots of gold, and pencils draw forests full of mystery, swinging trees, and ponds for skipping rocks. His love for artistic ability was incredibly apparent. And finally, it was then that I realized we’d carted through our course, and very soon, this show would begin.
With a massive tent welcoming participants, blue and yellow tables were covered with treats and beverages, as colored stars dripped from the piping above (Thanks Tionna for all your help 
). I arranged the decorations while the scrunchi-wearin‘ clown mastered the art of balloon animals, and the face painters organized colors and brushes. Mingling with the crowd, people had begun to arrive and after a short assembly, the walk would begin.
With balloons hovering above them, a family of four stood at the starting line. A striking, young woman held the hand of her pig-tailed daughter who was wearing tiny glasses that magnified her sweet little eyes. Her son, no more than six or seven stood nearby along with his two younger siblings who rocked back and forth in their double stroller, wearing pink shoes that almost matched their auburn colored hair. This woman, along with her family, had raised well over $10,000 to contribute to the organization. Just recently, due to the lack of knowledge and the stigmas surrounding those affected by a mental illness, her husband had taken his own life, leaving behind one of the most beautiful families I think I’d ever seen. Carrying her daughter with one arm, as she cut the ribbon with the other, I wondered what could have made this man feel as though he wasn’t different…that the help he was receiving was just simply providing an easier way of living. I wondered…what could have made him want to stay. It was then that I truly realized that in order to change the way we view mental illness, we must disregard the negative connotations associated with these diseases, and focus on the individual needs of these people.
The ribbon had been cut, and off we went. Side by side, Gracie, my new walking buddy, and I showed the crowd what was what as our legs moved quickly, never tiring as we focused on the end inevitably near. With bagpipes cheerin’ us on (I know, I was totally surprised too, but it was super soothing), we were bound and determined to meet this goal, and that we did. As we rounded on the final corner, we heard the drumline in the distance. Approaching the finish line, we jumped with excitement. Since 7 a.m., we’d unloaded, we’d decorated, we’d talked and we’d walked. What can I say, overall, it was a job well done.
Later, I watched as bristles colored spaceships on faces, balloons became three-tiered hats, and yogurt parfaits, muffins and fruit encouraged support, friendship, and the sense of unity we often feel with those who’ve experienced our pain, and can relate to our challenges. I met a woman today named Cindy. Her daughter is suffering from extreme Obsessive-compulsive disorder, and Cindy was volunteering in hopes of understanding the disease as well as possibly viewing it from a different perspective. For her daughter’s particular case, the disorder is aggravated by Cindy as well as Cindy’s youngest daughter. As she explained the turmoil that has been her life in past months, her chin began to quiver, and though I could in no way relate to her pain, the connection we made at that very moment was something I will never forget. I’m not sure exactly how it was able to happen. Maybe it was because I was the only one there, maybe it was because at that time her heart was so confused that talking to someone she didn’t know seemed incredibly easy. I can’t pinpoint the reason, but I do know that only minutes later, we were both smiling, we were both laughing, and things were already better.
NAMI is a grassroots organization that focuses on educating the masses about mental illness, providing resources and encouraging the necessary treatments for those affected. Having a mental illness can most certainly be a devastating reality, but the people I met here weren’t wallowing in a diagnosis, but were working to exist in this world as any other individual I’ve met along this journey. I understand that challenges will frequently present themselves. For some, these will be major, but for others, with the right treatment, they can live incredibly typical lives. For all however, we must yearn to provide a world free from judgement and fear, and one that promotes acceptance and compassion.
On an ending note, the word “normal” has continued to present itself over and over as I’ve written this post. I think about the word and how simple it is, and yet the tremendous amount of hate it often exudes. It seems as though, for those who in any way relate to a different way of understanding, follow a different path in life, or just are in general, “different” in comparison to the “norm” that our society has dictated, during the course of their journeys, frequently they’re met with disappointment, even anger by the people who can‘t understand their ways. This saddens me, but in no way dampens my spirits. So…To those of you who defy the prison that is normalcy…who march to the beat of a different drummer, pianist, banjo-picker, and guitarist…who not only think outside the box, but create their own with polka dots, patterns, beading and embroidery…who challenge the traditions that crave to be changed…I salute you for embracing your individuality, I cherish you for making life worthwhile, and I join you until the end of my days. And for those of you who fight to keep us silent and unseen, I warn you, there are far more of us then there are of you…
