Tuesday, 1st March 2016
Dearest Friend,
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to put pen to paper, but all for good reason…
I’ve had a lot to think about since that night down at the bay, and how I really was suffering under a great level of despair. The fact that I thought my dead could bring me peace, shows I’m struggling emotionally.
In spite of this truth, I feel deeply ashamed of myself. How could I even be considering an easy exit, given the state and circumstances my family are in?
I wanted an escape, I know that, but ending my life would only cause more misery on the people I love.
I’m so glad my loving Aunt gave me perspective and that the thought of my sisters needing me surged through; it certainly shook me out of my deadly daze and brought me back down to Earth.
What kind of brother would I be, to leave them like that? Only a month after the court sentence and I was selfish enough to be thinking only about myself; not my poor sisters survival.
I love them so much; they haven’t a clue of the level and sincerity of my care over them. Expressing it to them, or even trying to imagine, would really bring me to tears!
As great as delving over my emotions on paper has been, and how much relief I’ve received from rationalizing my deepest feelings in words, I’ve been in need of a second opinion to support me in my issues.
I’ve been in luck, since Philo, who I live with and pay rent to here in Galway, noticed I haven’t been my usual self lately. I think she was worried I was isolating myself away in my room because one day she knocked on my bedroom door and came in to see how I was keeping.
I thought Philo was expecting the rent so I got out of bed and searched my jeans pocket for the wallet, but I soon learned that wasn’t her focus…
She sat at the edge of the bed and started up a general conversation at first. But then she was more specific.
“I thought I’d just come in to see how you were keeping… I’m a bit worried, Jay. I noticed you haven’t left your bed in a week… Is everything okay? You can always talk to me, you know, if something is bothering you.”
Time and again I was able to offload my feelings with Philo, through discussing the family situation and stress over my overall academic performance.
And Philo was a great listener and, every so often, gave me valuable advice throughout the process. In all the pressure and strain these passed months, having Philo’s support and “motherly” instincts was great relief.
There were days when I would become so overwhelmed at my course that I would leave early and think of nothing but my bed to sleep in. It’s awful to admit but I always looked forward to sleeping, where I could be taken away by pleasant dreams and not have to deal with the real pain inside me.
And, you know, despite sleeping the day away and my overall routine fucked up, it was a PEACEFUL distraction!
I was able to forget – if even just a couple of hours – I was able to drift away from the madness bottling up inside me. And now that I think about it, I guess that’s why death seemed like such a dark wish; I wanted not to bring attention to myself but to finally be at peace – body, mind and spirit.
Will I ever be able to accomplish that again?
I hope so, for I hate being like a dull cloud in a wide sky for everyone; I can see how my distance and attitude is affecting people in all sorts of depressing ways. I hate it… At the moment, I’m trying to get back some sense of control and work towards a purpose in life… Here’s me hoping!
And I guess for me to have hope at all is progress…
But getting back to my conversation with Philo – she was so concerned about me that she even advised me talking to a medical professional. Philo said she didn’t think it was fair, or practical, to fight this battle on my own.
“But I can always talk to you, a close friend or write about it to get it all of my chest,” I said; more questioning the sincerity of my words as I said it.
“Of course you can,” Philo gently agreed, “but sometimes it’s better for some people to have the support who are outside of the personal situation; it can be less bias or emotionally involved, to give you the right approach you need.”
I certainly agreed with Philo, that much I know. I guess because my issues are so deeply embedded with guilt and questioning; my feelings on everything that’s happened are so painful to brace, that I worry speaking it out loud again – reliving those vulnerable states I experience – may be too heavy, emotionally, to deal with… Writing about it isn’t so bad because this way I am able to take a stand-back approach; see it all for what it is, like an outsider looking in – having that critical approach so as not to hide from any tender touches in what’s acknowledged.
However, I took Philo’s advice on board and agreed to make an appointment with my local GP.
This was all a few weeks back, so I’ve already seen the doctor. He was a nice man, very calm and understanding – also very observant…
Apparently, he’s also trained with treating soldiers that come back from war, or recently left prison, and some of his patients may suffer with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
After I briefly rambled off whatever came into my head, words racing out of my mouth, all that I felt was necessary to mention – you word nearly think I was talking about someone else, so detached – the doctor took a moment to digest all I was telling him.
Then he said “you mean you have no support from family at all?” He looked surprised.
“Well, I have dear grandparents but I don’t like burdening them with my stuff, and I’m sure they’re fed up at this stage. I see how I’ve put a lot of stress on them.”
“Where are your two sisters at the moment; are they in foster care?”
“They’re living in Relative Care with their aunt from their father’s side of the family.”
“He isn’t your biological father?”
“Well, practically, Tony did the best he could, from his standpoint, but he was the only dad I knew... His relationship soon ended with my mother after my sisters and I went into the care system. Tony used to drink a lot and do drugs, and he would have horrible hallucinations that my mother was cheating on him and he’d beat her real bad. My mum was definitely scarred from it… She wasn’t – isn’t – perfect, but she’s still my mother and something died inside me after witnessing, with my two sisters screaming to stop, the torture and threats he inflicted on her. It was scary – Mum would run for her life a lot and take us with her. The worst part, in all this, is that she always put herself first and took him back… I don’t think either of them ever considered what this was doing to me and my sisters – it certainly took us from our innocence and made us angry with the world…
“But my biological father was never really in the picture and there is no father and son connection between us; he quickly moved on and made his own family after he and Mum carelessly made me.”
“I’m sorry,” the Doc said.
“It’s fine. Just what coin life throws at you, I suppose,” I said.
“How is your sleeping?”
“Well, this is the funny thing. I sleep just about fine; it’s the getting up and go that’s the hard part for me… Also my sleeping pattern is very lopsided; I’m more wired in the night and likely to sleep the afternoons away. Of course it bothers me, but lately sleep is all I think about and want.”
Then the doctor studied me for a moment, before gently asking, “Jay, do you ever think you may suffer from depression?”
More later,
Jay