The Joy of the Lord is My Strength

When a man that once told me he would be by my side through my fiercest storms

Parts his lips to tell me he is leaving
because my mental illness

Is worse than what he’d pictured

The Joy of the Lord is my strength

When I see him hold her in pictures the way he used to hold me

only this time with a smile that tells me

He’s feeling something he never felt with me

The joy of the Lord is my strength

When I sit in the pews alone before my God,

look over my shoulder and don’t see him kneeling and praying

Next to me

The joy of the Lord is my strength

Who will hold my hand when I am anxious and say a prayer before anxiety turns into a panic attack?

Who will reply to my text message in the dead of night when I’m afraid:

“I love you and I’m here”?

It is a chapter closed, but I have not lost my soul

The Lord is still the lover of my soul, and in Him I am most perfectly love.

No one can take this from me.

The joy of the Lord is my strength.

“The Joy of the Lord is your strength.” -Nehemiah 8:10

Keeping a Job with Mental Illness

The reality has been that holding on to my concept of what my life should look like, has never had the power to overrule the sovereign will of God. I know that I can trust him.

What if I am never healed from this debilitating series of mental illnesses? My response to this notion is that healing has never been limited to the removal of an ailment or the eradication of a thorn of flesh. Healing is an intimate walk with Jesus, and is a lifelong process of surrender.

When I lay alone in hospital beds wondering if endless panic attacks will cease, I surrender. When at home in the mix of a daily routine and feeling once and for all totally human, and triggers of PTSD threaten, I surrender. When despair beckons and chronic depression mixed with thoughts of suicide usher me once again into hospital doors, I surrender.

A pope once said: “Healing is the entire content of what Jesus came to do.”

I agree.

“To bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of despair.” –Isaiah 61:3

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When it Hits Too Close to Home

What do you do when the closest person in your life…the one you’ve shared countless laughs and tears with. The one you’ve gossiped about boys with and leaned on through the harshest storms of life with—the very one who knows your corks and deepest fears.. When that friend jabs a double edged iron sword into the core of the most sensitive parts of you with her bold assertions that Black Lives Matter is a simple scheme for the left to distract people from real concerns. That it is mere movement that gives these inconsiderate barbaric criminals incentive to destroy and infringe upon the right to life, liberty and property. I cannot explain my grief.

I am broken. I wonder if she knows that I am Black and that my heart aches for the same things her hearts aches for. I wonder if she knows that I care about those people who have lost their businesses and property. I care about those people who fear for their lives every day that these violent protests/riots go on. But I’m Black, and I don’t know if I can walk outside without some sort of lingering fear that I will be assaulted by a white man. Maybe killed by a white man, who will go in peace and face no justice…no sentence, because he is just that. A white man. Does she know what world we live in? Does she know that I am Black? Does she know how long my ancestors fought to be here? Does she know that there are still confederate statues standing tall on this soil reminding me that there are still ones who really don’t want me to be here. I am Black!

Does she know that I am Black.

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A chat on Racial Reconciliation:

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Dissociative Amnesia (Reader Discretion Advised)

I wanted to write a post on my experiences with Dissociative Amnesia, not because I want to broadcast in-depth details of my mental illness, but because I want to raise awareness of lesser discussed mental diagnoses. Mental illness is not always as black and white as depression or anxiety. Those are more commonly recognized diagnoses however, there are a lengthy ray of types of mental illnesses which do not receive much recognition.


Dissociative Amnesia is a defense mechanism the body develops as means of dealing with trauma. If an individual has a dissociative disorder, it’s fair to assume they also have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). We all know PTSD as an experience war veterans who are haunted by the tragedies of war are crippled by, as it was originally noted in such victims however it is not exclusive to this population. It is worth noting that war is not the only form of trauma that torments the mind, and is capable of restructuring pathways in the brain.

In general, the body responds to trauma in unusual ways. Many responses to trauma are delayed/ or subconscious. At the initial moment of impact, a person may seem “fine” because their mind/ body are numb for the sake of survival. The reality that they have experienced something their mind was not equipped to cope through often settles in later, and can be quite horrific.

The Role Of Trauma in My Life:

In my particular case, I was raised in an environment of ongoing domestic violence. My most prominent parent was my mother who was extremely mentally unstable and attempted suicide in front of all her children on numerous occasions—often threatening to kill us simultaneously. When I was fifteen, my family and I flipped over on highway I-45 in Houston, and my father was not there to protect. He was still in Denver finishing a jail sentence.

Two cars swerved and hit us and my mother’s first impulse was also to swerve in order to avoid them. She did. The SUV lost control, we spun and hit the median, and consequently, the SUV flipped over on its side. I was face up in the passenger side and my mother was on the concrete, covered in a river of blood and shattered glass. Trauma.

I did not so much as cry when it first happened. My first instinct was to be strong and save my family. I did. I figured out a way to tell kind people who stopped to help how to pull me out and directed them as best as I could about how to get my family out. I was trembling and jittery, but there were no tears. There was only fight in me.

Connecting the Dots:

Once I left off to college, and a couple of years passed allowing me to settle into who I was and adjust to being on my own, symptoms of trauma started kicking in. I cannot say that depression and anxiety began settling in, because I do believe that I lead most of my life as a functional depressive however, I became very acquainted with flashbacks and panic attacks. These flashbacks involuntarily transported me back to moments of trauma. The panic attacks featured shortness of breath, convulsions, and visual hallucinations. I had not experienced anything of this nature beforehand, and that’s the thing about PTSD.

PTSD in my life lately:

When I say lately, I mean as of the past two years, PTSD has been manifesting itself alongside symptoms of dissociative amnesia. This means that during an “episode” I forget who I am, where I am, who my friends are, and other major and very obvious facts about my life.

Why Amnesia?:

Well let’s think about the word “Dissociate”. My body does not want to be associated with Mauriel because the trauma happened to me. Dissociating and forgetting facts about who I am, really gives my mind a bit of a break from any undesirable memories that are still lurking in my subconscious. It interferes with functionality however, it is my brain’s way of protecting me.


I hope you learned a lot from today’s discussion, which was meant to increase mental health awareness. Love yourself, affirm yourself, and be open and understanding, having patience with your mind’s unique way of dealing with things.

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