Breaking Down, Breaking Through
I was thirteen years-old the first time I knew I wanted to die.
(TW: Article contains suicidal ideation and references to childhood sexual abuse)
My father dropped me off at home, my mother’s house, after spending the day with me on an obligatory trip to the movies and grabbing a quick meal. I wanted to prolong returning home; home was hell on Earth for an overweight, fast-developing teenaged girl living in The Bronx. My mother’s female partner was abusing me — emotionally, physically, and sexually. No one knew but us, but surely people sensed something was wrong with me, right? At least I hope so.
I didn’t want to live anymore. If this was life was to be, I was done with it. Every effort made to shrink away and hide from the world failed. Every attempt at deflecting attention from myself was made in vain. This was my fate, I learned. “God” abandoned me, my mother couldn’t possibly love me, and I couldn’t see beyond the most disgusting face I’ve ever seen in my life.
Obviously, I didn’t go through with it, but I remember the despair, the hopelessness, and the absence of vivacity that I imagined others had within them.
I was an avid diarist then, and in my recent move, I found some of my old journals from that time. There were so many songs that I’d completely forgotten I’d written; blocking out painful memories has been one of my brain’s greatest functions, I suppose. I’m not sure why I took to writing songs about my pain, but I have always experienced deep connections to Black women whose songs of painful trials, tears trapped in their souls, and pressing endurance dominated the airwaves. I know, now, that not only did they inspire me to pen my own lyrical sorrow, they also helped me heal and they kept me alive. I wasn’t alone; someone else knew what it meant to be in perpetual pain.
When are Black women allowed to be vulnerably open and express to others that we are suffering without the risk of people downplaying the intensity of our pain or dismissing us completely? When are we allowed to label our struggles as psychiatric disabilities without people chastising us for not following close enough to God or buying into “White people’s nonsense”? Rarely are we given space, as a Black woman, to say “I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t see two feet in front of me. There are voices telling me things. I don’t want to be here anymore.” No one wants to hear that we might be in a psychological state that weakens us or renders us unable to serve them; we must be strong at all times and no one wants to hear otherwise.
But when Black women sing, we seem to be given permission to perform pain for others to consume. People demand that Black women singers emote suffering and go so far as to call it their “best” music. Happiness and joy don’t sell as well as suffering and crawling our ways up seemingly insurmountable hills. No, people are incredibly entertained by Black women’s suffering to the point of wishing ill upon us to see what the output will be.
One example is the Queen of Hip-Hop Soul herself, Mary J. Blige. Whenever it gets out that she is having personal struggles, be it with substance abuse, depression, or relationship drama, we immediately go to anticipating her next album because we know it’s going to be a great one. Joyful, elated Blige? No love. Check the album sales. The audience simply isn’t here for smiles and heart eyes and the hyper-consumption of the pain of artists like Blige has, ironically, created a space for Black women to openly express their brokenness, instability, and lose our tenuous grasps on reality.
I want to look at some examples of how Black women have opened us or exemplified psychosis in their music — depression, anxiety, schizoaffective traits, PTSD, and more. It’s important to acknowledge that Black women aren’t always the strong mules society demands we be; we’re actually human beings. Write that down.
“Drunk” — Tweet
Broke and alone
Nowhere to go
And loneliness is hurting me so[…]
By the time I finish this drink
I’ll roll the last of the grass, yea hey
Cause I’d rather feel pumped
Than to drown in my tears
In this hauntingly anguished song, Tweet appears to be spiraling down into a dark pit of depression and is self-medicating via alcohol and marijuana. She reflects on her loneliness and pain, and her decision to get drunk and go for a drive which results in her getting into a car accident and dying. Because of cultural stigma around depression and anxiety, many Black women do not seek and receive adequate mental health care and support and too often rely on harmful coping mechanisms. Many of us drink excessively, smoke nicotine and/or marijuana or more “illicit” drugs, become dependent upon pain meds, and develop eating disorders due to excessive emotional eating. The honesty of this song gripped me from first listen and it’s a go-to when I feel myself losing touch.
“Shotgun” — Valerie June
Cause you know I love you baby
And if I can’t have you nobody can
Late last night they laid you in your lonesome grave
And don’t you know tonight they lay me beside you
Man cheats on woman. Woman finds out. Woman kills him. Woman kills herself and has her body buried next to his. In this song, June assumes the role of a woman who has snapped and committed what appears to be a crime of intense passion: murder-suicide. What I love about June is that she is a Black country singer of the Appalachian folk tradition, and she challenges our assumptions about Black female singer-songwriters.
“Makes Me Wanna Holler” — Meshell Ndegeocello
But my mother
She was vindictive in her own fashion
So she passed down to me her traits
Like that of her brown eyes and her dark hair
She passed down to me
Her sadness
In this song, one of the most gripping and prolific artists of our time recounts the suffering of her mother and how the pain has been passed down to her. We listen and connect with the impact of generational trauma and see how psychological distress can also be passed down.
“Pretty Hurts” — Beyoncé
Ain’t no doctor or therapeutic that can take the pain away
The pain’s inside
And nobody frees you from your body
It’s the soul that needs surgery
It’s my soul that needs surgery
Plastic smiles and denial can only take you so far
And you break when the paper signs you in the dark
You left a shattered mirror
And the shards of a beautiful girl
Beyoncé opens up about the difficulties of maintaining a perfect image in an industry that can be so demanding of women. Known for her up-tempo dance tracks and girl power anthems, she opens up about her own struggles with being an icon who isn’t always given the space to be less-than-perfect.
“Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” — Nina Simone
If I seem edgy
I want you to know
I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems
And I get more than my share
But that’s one thing I never mean to do
I’ve always turned to this song when I know that my psychiatric disabilities have caused me to act towards those I love in less than favorable ways. It helps me communicate my battle and make clear that I can’t always control my outward projection. She helped me find words to express that I’m not always “OK” and that it’s human to not be. Black women should be afforded more space to not be “OK” and I realized that we have to fight even for that.
“Hear My Call” — Jill Scott
Lost here in the dark
I can’t see my foot to take a step,
What is happening?
Oh, this hurts so bad. I can hardly breathe.
I just want to leave so…
Scott’s articulation of the depression one can experience post-heartbreak is soul-wrenching. This song is a plea to God to heal her because she can’t bear living with the pain anymore. She expresses the suicidal ideation too many of us are ashamed to admit experiencing after love nearly breaks us because we don’t want to seem “weak” over something so fickle as Love. But this is real, and for those who live with depression, something like a breakup can be the catalyst for drastic actions. She catches herself and turns to a source upon which she knows she can rely — her faith in God.
“Therapy” — Mary J. Blige
I don’t wanna be around me
And I don’t blame you if you blocking all my calls
Been no ups since I been sleeping soundly
Most nights I lie awake between two and four
Work is stressing me out
And after all this time
It’s still never enough
If there is one thing we lovers of modern R&B know, it’s Mary J. Blige’s pain. What’s unique about this song is that she speaks directly about relying on therapy to help her manage the symptoms of her depression and help her get through her dark times. It’s optimistic in that she has found a solution that can help her avoid having to spend too much time wallowing in bitterness and manage her interactions with those closest to her.
“Cranes In The Sky” — Solange Knowles
I tried to drink it away
I tried to put one in the air
I tried to dance it away
I tried to change it with my hair
I ran my credit card bill up
Thought a new dress would make it better
I tried to work it away
But that just made me even sadder
Knowles opens up about internal conflicts and attempts to resolve them through various vices (sex, drugs, alcohol). In 2013, Knowles canceled the European leg of her tour saying she was prioritizing her mental and physical health which sparked rumors that she was having a mental breakdown. While no such diagnosis has been confirmed, she has opened up on her Instagram account and in interviews about anxiety, stress, and the pressures of being a mother and multiple business-owner.
“A Capella (Something’s Missing)” — Brandy
I’m feeling such a vacancy, I don’t feel whole
Wish I could put my finger on it but I don’t know what it is
I looked in every place I could seek
Tried to find the missing part of me[…]
I’m in the dark room in a bad position
I’m looking for the light to restore my vision (vision)
’Cause I’m walking blind, I keep falling down, I can’t find my way
I can’t explain this feeling
One of my all-time favorite singers ever, Brandy has had her share of trauma throughout her career. From intense stage fright which has had an adverse effect on her entire career to perpetrating vehicular manslaughter, the powerhouse singer with perfect pitch has grown more emotionally mature with each album she’s released. On the aptly titled, Human, Brandy opens up about her depression and anxiety which she only hinted at on Afrodisiac. On a personal note, this song has gotten me through one of the roughest periods in my life and I am so grateful for her and others who can so beautifully articulate what can only be described as a mass of confusion.
We know how frequently we turn to music for comfort and healing; we rely on our favorite artists to feed our souls by exposing their own. We crave the catharsis and these are but a handful of the artists who, over time, have consistently laid bare the threads of their anguish, revealed their mental health struggles, and given us permission to acknowledge and own our right to be…human.
I made you a playlist on TIDAL of these songs (omission: Ndegeocello). Enjoy.
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