Slipping into Darkness: My Experience with Mental Illness

By H. Virginia Johnson F.D.

My story will start in 2000.

Im a funeral director by profession, and I was employed with a prominent funeral home in San Francisco, for several years. I had a nice home, money, nice vehicle, and all the trimmings. I worked very hard for the position that I had with a funeral home in San Francisco.

The year was especially hard for me as the owner, Mrs. Williams, had lung cancer and did not have long to live. We had grown to love each other, and she took me as a daughter as she did not have any children, and no one in their family was interested in the business. Mrs. Williams trusted me to supervise her business. She always said to me that when she turned sixty-five, I would take over the business.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984542519

H. Virginia Johnson F.D.

H. Virginia Johnson was born in the Southeastern part of Pennsylvania. She lived with her Mother and her Aunt, Hazel M. Leslie until her Mother relocated to New York to Seek employment and left her in the care of her Sister. She was educated within the Philadelphia school system and lived with her Aunt until she passed away in the Summer of 1968. H. Virginia relocated to the Brownsville section of Brooklyn, New York to live with her Parents, Patricia A. Farley and John F. Farley. After a few years the family moved to Queens, New York. She continued her studies within the New York City school system and is a 1976 graduate of Midwood High School. After graduation she returned to Pennsylvania to live with her Aunt Ida and her Husband Robert (Bunny) Brooks. She attended Cheyney University majoring in Psychology and Law. She is a 1980 graduate of the American Academy McAlllisters Institute of Funeral Service. She holds a Funeral Directors License in the great state of New York and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. She is a member of The Order of The Eastern Star, State of New York. Her Father passed away in April of 2017. She currently lives with her Mother in New York.

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Copyright © 2018 by H. VIRGINIA JOHNSON, F.D.

ISBN:                  Softcover                        978-1-9845-4252-6

                            eBook                             978-1-9845-4251-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 07/24/2018

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Free at Last

Moving On

Home at Last

Here We Go Again!

Lockdown

New Jersey, Here I Come

The Night I Wanted to Die

The Cat Died

Fire!

Another Institution

This Is Just the Beginning

No Turning Back Now

Same Old Routine

Discharge

Thank God, The Nightmare Is Over

First, I would like to give praise, honor, and thanks to God for protecting and watching over me and my family during one of the most difficult times in my life.

I dedicate this book to my parents, Patricia A. Farley and the late John F. Farley, who endured the trip to hell with me; however, through it all they showed me unconditional love and support.

There is something I want my readers to understand about mental illness. In the past and, even to a degree, in present day, dealings with and talking about mental illness is a taboo subject. There are a lot of people that don’t want or know how to deal with it. Years ago and possibly to this day, families have this (crazy) family member that they keep locked away in a room in their house because they are ashamed of them. They don’t want to discuss it with others and even in present day, to a degree, the same thing may go on.

I have a condition called bipolar disorder1, which is a chemical imbalance of the brain; however, by taking the proper medication, most can lead a normal life.

By not taking the medicine, I was doing major harm to myself and major stress to those around me. I’ve been in and out of hospitals since 2002. I did not take my illness seriously because I did not stay in the hospitals for a long period of time—a week here, two weeks there. When I was discharged from the hospitals, I was not used to taking medication, and I would forget to take it and the cycle would start all over again. I pray that this book will help those who suffer from mental illness and those around them. The first time I was admitted into a hospital, I had a persistent and false mental conception of facts as they related to myself. I remember my parents admitting me to what is called emergency psych. This is a unit that is designed to evaluate you to see if you can go home or if you have to be admitted. Once I realized that I was being admitted, I went off the deep end. I did not hurt anyone or myself; however, I acted like a deranged person: Let me out of here! I don’t belong here! Who do you think you are? Let me the fuck out of here! I have shit to do. I screamed this over and over again until I got tired of hearing it. Later Pop told me that there was a man in the hall and he said, I don’t know about the rest of them, but she (talking about me) belongs here." My parents sat in the hallway looking sad. I too was sad for the only thing I wanted to do was go home. Little did I know at the time that I was slowly but surely slipping into darkness.

My story begins in San Francisco in the year 2000. I am a funeral director by profession, holding a license in San Francisco and the great state of New Jersey. I was the supervisor of a multimillion-dollar funeral home in the area; however, after ten years I was looking for a change. After having a meeting with the owner and expressing my feelings, plus giving my notice, I said that it was time for me to move on. She did not want me to go; however, I thanked her for the opportunities that she gave me, but it had to be this way. I was told if I ever needed anything to just call. I said I would stay in contact.

Acknowledgments

I would like to take this opportunity to express my heartfelt thanks to the following individuals who supported me when I was at one of the lowest moments of my life:

Aunt Ida (Auntie Mom) Faison

Cousin Jacqueline Tolliver

Cousin Robin Elam

Thelma Green

Uncle Franklin Johnson

Aunt Lil Johnson

Aunt Minnie Buggie-Baxter

Aunt Wydenia Perry

Deidera Davis, who believed in my dream of this book and pushed me. Love you, sis!

Sonya O. Campbell, my hero!

Elema Long

And to my readers, for those with mental illness, prayfully, you will take heed to my story. To others, I pray that you get a better understanding.

Free at Last

In the same year, Linda, who is a friend of Mom’s, and myself threw a retirement party for my mom as she was retiring from her job after thirty years on September 30. I sent her what money she needed, or shall I say my half, and she took care of the rest. The event was held at a catering hall in New Jersey. Everything went smoothly: My father and I rented a stretch limo for the occasion. Family members from New Jersey, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and San Francisco attended. Mom really enjoyed herself as coworkers and friends were in attendance. All in all, fun was had by everyone!

Moving On

In 2001, Ellen, a friend of mine from church, informed me she knew a funeral director that owned a funeral home who might be interested in hiring me. Ellen spoke to her, and when I returned from a church retreat, I gave her a call. I had an interview with Robin, the owner, and was hired on the spot. Things went well for a short while; however, I started having panic attacks on the way to work. I would break out in sweats, my hands would shake, and my heart would start to beat too fast. At the time, I didn’t know what the problem was. I went to my doctor, who informed me that I was under a lot of stress. I was not performing to my full potential. It was in mutual agreement between Robin and myself that I stop working there. I still had my second job at a facility that was for mentally and physically challenged individuals not far from the funeral home where I worked. My auntie mom spoke to the aunt of a funeral director who owned a funeral home in San Francisco named Daryl Richardson. We had a breakfast interview in 2001 in a restaurant at Fishermen’s Wharf. Again I was hired on the spot. Daryl and his wife, Toni, welcomed me with open arms. I was employed with his firm for one year and slowly started to get sick again. I didn’t know what the problem was; however, I knew something was not right.

Daryl’s father died in the winter of 2002. We were busy, and I informed Daryl that I would attend the funeral as soon as I finished the business that had to be taken care of. The night that we were to leave, I was supposed to meet a staff member and a friend of Daryl’s at the funeral home and drive to the service together. I left the funeral home at 9:00 PM to go home and pack an overnight bag. I arrived home and got my things together; however, I was not ready when they paged me as to why I was not at the funeral home, so they went on without me. I left my home about 1:00 AM and started driving; however, I did not know where I was going. Before I left my home, my mother was on the phone with my cousin, Maxine (who lived with me), and told me not to go. I told them that I promised Daryl that I would attend the funeral service and had to go. While driving, I got disorientated and did not know where I was. I drove all night and all day. I ended up in Southern California and did not know where I was. I pulled into someone’s driveway and tried to get my thoughts together. A lady came outside and, of course, wanted to know why I was in her driveway. I told her I was from San Francisco and was lost. I gave her the phone number of my auntie mom and asked her to tell her I was all right. I was just lost. I had my cell phone with me; however, the charger to the cigarette lighter was not charging the phone and I only had two bars left and I was trying to conserve the battery.

The lady was nice enough to call one of her neighbors to escort me to the highway that would take me back to San Francisco. During the drive, I lost track of him and again began driving about aimlessly. I knew I was in trouble when I drove to a gas station and they couldn’t tell me how to get to San Francisco. I had my cell phone off. Little did I know that I had a lot of phone calls from auntie mom and Daryl asking me to please call them as soon as I got their messages. I was tired and I just wanted to lie down. I checked into a motel, still not knowing where I was at. All I wanted to do was rest and try to figure out how I was going to get home. I tried to sleep and when that did not work, I took a hot bath and changed my clothes. I placed my dirty clothes neatly in the corner of the bathroom and left. I drove until I came to a rest stop and that is when I found out that I was in Southern California again! I don’t remember how long I drove around. I came upon a gas station and pulled in to fill the gas tank. I noticed at the pump beside me was a car that was exactly like my friend Marsha’s car. When I finished pumping the gas, I sat in my SUV and waited to see who would come out of the store and get in that vehicle. A woman came out and got in the car. I followed her to her home. To this day I don’t know why I did that. I drove to her driveway and she went in her house. Her husband