My 13 yr old's walking review of "13 Reasons Why"

My daughter and I walked to school together today. We talked about the show 13 Reasons Why. She said she viewed it as a TV show not representative of real mental health issues that lead to suicide. She said she watched the interviews with the directors (producers?) who said that their intended goal was to raise awareness about suicide. She said she thought they failed at it but she still liked the show. She also said that none of us are perfect, so we all have the potential for hurting people without realizing it but they shouldn't then make a video about it for revenge.

She's 13, uses the word bogus a lot but has critical thinking skills to understand fact from fiction. I don't think we should ban TV,music or movies but our kids do need a few things from us so that they are informed. I think we should be talking to kids about mental health and how to reach out to ask for help if they need it (sidebar: We should also fight to ensure mental health services are publicly funded and not only accessible to middle class families). We should also remind them of their personal power so survive and that they should fight back at life, even when it's shitty. I'm not victim blaming those that lose their lives to suicide, the rates are going up in the US and are concerning. Instead I'm saying we should destigmatize seeking mental health treatment and we should teach children (and the adults in their lives) the symptoms so that they learn how to respond. I also think resiliency has to be fostered--our children need adults affirming their worth but they also simply need to know they are worthy. These should be a normal part of our daily conversations--at home, in schools, in youth organizations, and in faith communities.
Hi I shared my suicide attempt during our walk. I shared my bouts with depression stemming from my trauma history. I shared that I went to therapy. I told her that I was happy I woke up from the overdose and I was happy to still be here. She listened and asked questions but kept a fast walking pace because she was meeting up with her friends--I did say she was 13, right? I wanted to kiss her on the forehead when she turned left to head towards school and I turned right to head towards the train but then I knew that would be bogus of me.

In Memory and Momentum of Karyn Washington

A couple of days ago I learned that a 22 year old black woman named Karyn Washington had ended her young life. I didn’t know Karyn, or her presence on social media, although I am truly impressed by what I am beginning to learn about her life and work. Last night as I was reading about her work with “For Black Girls” and #DarkSkinRedLip project, I discovered she attended the same undergraduate institution that I did, Morgan State University in Baltimore, Maryland. She seemed like someone I would have been friends with when I was a student there.

 This realization, this connection was triggering for me and serves as the impetus for this blog. You see, I was a 22 year old student at Morgan State in 1993. I arrived at Morgan State’s steps a severely damaged person, having survived a childhood of sexual, physical and psychological abuse at the hands of my father and physical, and emotional abuse as well as neglect at the hands of my mother who knew of his crimes but chose to keep him in our home. I too, tried to end my life at some point when I was younger because the pain was too great to bear but my spirit was stronger than the pills in that moment and I woke up. I took to hanging in the streets and to engaging in risky behaviors to survive my home reality. These behaviors were not without consequence, I also had to survive slut shaming from my peers as well as opportunistic guys taking sexual advantage of my vulnerability and desire to simply be loved. The letter of acceptance from Morgan was the only one that came my senior year. It was my escape hatch. My haven. My safe space. My reboot/Monique 2.0. But when I arrived to O’Connell Hall in 1989, I was damaged, traumatized, and in great need of repair. How is it that I am still here and Karyn is not?

I am haunted by this question.

What went right for me and went so very wrong for my sister? This question is not about some “strong black woman” victim blaming stance but more about which systems failed her. It is a structural question that I am confronting. She and her beautiful red lips deserves to be here with me. with us. Karyn’s untimely death has also forced me to accept that I am indeed here. Still here. This may at first appear narcissistic to state that her death has inspired me to document the beautiful ugliness that is life but I would argue instead that this moment right here is about the interconnectedness of our lives. The travesty of Karyn’s death has forced me, black woman surviving, to speak. I have been at the crossroads, I have decided that this life was not worth living. I’ve acted on it once. Why did I wake up? I do not have the answers as to why Karyn is no longer with us. She will be missed deeply. But I am awakened by her infectious spirit and it is now running through my veins.

I must—we MUST survive. live. together.

 Many folks have told me I should document a black girl’s survival. my survival. I have shied away from such a venture because I have feared that documenting my pains—past and present would render me exposed unto myself and I would not be able to put myself back together again to function day to day. But sista, mother, warrior, Audre Lorde has already reminded me that my silence will not protect me. And so this blog begins, acknowledging my/our intertwined histories of pain and joy and charting the journey forward. I shall testify here in this space. I’m not sure what will come but it is time that I speak. This blog is for Karyn Washington. This blog is brown and black girls. This blog is for me. I’m (we are) still here. I (we) need to bear witness to life. to claw at it. to fight it back. to dance with it. to claim it. RIP, brown girl. We carry your torch with the brightest of red lips.