On mental illness

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Perhaps it is because I have been afflicted with and affected by another person’s mental illness, addiction, perhaps because I see the ignorance of people who believe Phillip Seymour Hoffman killed himself, and isn’t worthy of mourning.   Perhaps I just can no longer sit or stand by and shut my mouth to the ignorance that flourishes around the topic of mental illness.

If you have never been affected by a loved ones mental illness, addiction, alcoholism, I am more than happy for you.  I am also in disbelief of your answer.     Perhaps this attitude is because I have been privy to too much pain regarding such.    Perhaps because I work hard every single day to cope within the spectrum of my mental illness, and am tired of hearing that mental illness, addiction, alcoholism is made up of the weak, the insane, the selfish.

I wrote an article last night on this, dropped it off this morning with the editor of our local paper.   It is lengthy, it is strong, it is spoken from a point of view of both one whom has lived through the agonizing life of a loved ones addiction, alcoholism.   It is spoken, truthfully, from the lips of a person who would like to high five my middle finger to those who believe this is not a disease.   It is spoken from my heart.   I will post it in a few days, would like to first give the newspaper the opportunity to print it.

I am passionate about this topic.   As much as I don’t want to acknowledge its existence, as much as I don’t want to hear of or know the consequences of addiction, I do.  I cannot walk away from it.  I cannot live in a bubble around it.

I wish that I was passionate about something fun.  I wish that I sit down and pound out a heartfelt article, comically about aging.  I wish that I have never seen nor lived to tell the sad stories of loved ones whom have lost their lives to addiction.

I was watching television last night, listening actually, when I heard someone say something very derogatory about Mr. Hoffman.   It reminded me of when I learned the news that one of the most important people who were in my life, one whom I loved and will always loved, died at 46 of addiction, of alcoholism.  “He did this to himself, no sense mourning for him”.   FUCK YOU!   That is all I have to say to those who are so small minded, devoid of any understanding of mental illness, and feel superior to those whom admit its existence in their or a loved ones life.

Anger, rage.   How dare anyone imply that the victim of addiction is not worthy of treatment, worthy of mourning, worthy of acknowledgement?

I have been caught in the talons of addiction.   Etched in my mind, in my heart are the memories of a loved ones fateful flight with alcohol.   I was once naïve, ignorant to it’s power.  I actually once believed that if he loved me, he would stop drinking….   If only… If only it was that simple.    Neighboring memories of friends whose child, children couldn’t understand why they see daddy, but it’s not him.  Why would he not want to see me?    The innocence of a child, the heartache of a child that cannot understand what we as adult cannot as well.

I need to sign off now.  My neck is tense, my foot is pouncing and my jaw is clenched.   I need to work through this anger.  I need to walk away and hopefully calm down, remember what it was like to be so ignorant.   Ignorance is bliss…

More later.

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2 responses »

  1. Darlin, you need to join Pete Earley’s Facebook. He confronts mental disorders head on. He has a son who has one thar, untreated, will make him psychotic. Pete is an investigative journalist. I knew him in college, he dated and married my first room mate. He wrote a book about their second child’s struggle with a severe for of bipolar syndrome. He is a supporter NAMB and has spoken all over the US and several countries.

  2. I sat in my Friday night step meeting . People settled in . That quiet sleepy intimacy that comes to a good meeting when people can relax . I look across the conference and notice a 30 something year old woman quietly engaged in knitting . The tiny click click of the needle points . Reminds me of my grandmother when I was a little kid . The woman who was knitting relapsed 3 weeks ago on heroin and died . Addiction is a deadly disease that killed my friend . I miss the tap tap of her knitting needles . I hope she s knitting with my grandmother in heaven . Just my 2 cents worth . Kiss

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