Grief truly sucks.             

Grief truly sucks when dealing with cancer deaths.

Grief truly sucks when dealing with mental illness.

If mental illness is truly an illness why not start treating it as such. Provide the free health care and follow up as needed. Hire practitioners who are dealing with it themselves, who are empathic, and truly want to help those in their care. Not practitioners who are striving to meet their academic hours or just collecting a paycheck because they can. 

My friend from high school committed suicide in October, in New Orleans, Louisiana. He died in a place far from his birthplace in Queens NY.

I met Steve in high school. An alternative high school in Long Island City, Queens which no longer exists. He strode into our theater class, nervous and with his sidekick Manny. They were Roosevelt Island boys and we didn’t know what to make of them. Were they rich, stuck up? One was white, the other Hispanic. They projected a world where money existed and yes, they were picked on at first but when their unique artistic oddities were discovered we knew, they were one of us.

My relationship with Steve often reminded me of an old married couple who stuck together because where else were they going to go. We argued playfully and I loved his hugs. He was incredibly affectionate and felt emotions deeply. Yes. He projected his male bravado well and although Sylvester Stallone was his idol, he was not afraid to feel. He along with Aimee, another friend, and myself formed a posse of love, hope, anger and whatever teenage angst was in the works. We hung out late until daylight beckoned, smoked drugs, heavily smoked cigarettes and drank alcohol like a dog thirsty from a romp in the summer heat. We were teenagers from a single mother, a sickly mother and mother and father who existed in another realm homes.

He was my friend. 

I’ve watched him cry, scream and curse at the gods. He watched me do the same except cursing at the gods.

Depression, Anxiety and Alcohol

Depression is dark and moody and there are levels to its impact on a delicate, empathic soul. Depression can be light, easily brushed away with a change in environment. It can be constricting and paralyzing, rendering one helpless and lying on the couch wrapped in a crocheted blanket. When it leaves one helpless, alcohol helps to aid in normality. Actually, it numbs. 

But why not take medication if you feel so down?

Oh yeah.

Anti-Depressant medication is the full-frontal cocktail. You start off playing the cocktail game. Switching back and forth between meds, gaining weight, losing weight, having fits of unhinged crying and at times sitting and staring at the boob tube. Once you reach the med that works it should be nirvana-but it is not. 

I once had a dual diagnosis: Alcohol and Depression.

Throw in guilt and it gets better.

I went to an out-patient rehab which thankfully my COBRA insurance covered. It was grueling and only dealt with the alcohol abuse but it worked for a time. I also met another rehabber who dealt with severe drug addiction-no problem with alcohol. We maintain contact on FB.

The medical bill was over $10,000, which did not include individual counseling, monthly psychiatrist. COBRA saved me, my dear friend had no insurance. 

After two years, alcohol can be problematic and my primary care physician treats my depression. Thankfully with the start of training the latter will go into deep remission. 

Steven’s two brothers committed suicide. He rarely talked about it. His sister was broken when he took his life as it likely opened up old scars. 

My high school friend hung himself. We argued on FB a year ago over his living in a depressed neighbourhood in Detroit. At the time I did not know he was homeless, possibly spent time in jail and was an addict. We stopped communicating. His move to New Orleans was a fresh start, to get back the old Steven, full of drive and dreams. Unfortunately, New Orleans was his last stop in his battle with demons. 

I learned of his passing two weeks before my Thanksgiving Retreat at Trinity. My happy place deep in nature and spirituality helped me to process his death. This was my second visit to Cornwall along with mom’s ashes.

I am also obsessed with the animals at the farm. Being around them brings peace and acceptance for myself. A self, society has a hard time dealing with as I don’t fit into the black, old woman box. Society does not have time to look at the nuances and I’m full of them.

Steven is finally at peace.