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theopaquemind · 3 years

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Grief in all its Glory

Written: 10/08/2020

Posted 5/01/2021 - 4 years since Brandon’s passing.

Content warning: death, suicide, grief, drugs, addiction, swearing.

I recently came across a website for Australians to speak openly about grief. It was startling. Not what was said on it. But the fact that a website like that now existed. I’d never seen anything so open and frank before. What should be startling is that humans still live in this discomfort of talking about certain sadness's, bereavements, pains and anguish. The most inevitable experience is still faux pas - we all die, but talking about it is not altogether acceptable. Along the journey of life, there are other sadness’s and struggles which, once brewed in scalding waters of unsavoury conversation, now seep in tepid tolerance. For the most part, I refer to this broadly as ‘mental illness’, and while its garnered greater awareness, it is still riddled with stigma and misunderstanding. Similarly, discussions around addiction are typically soaked in the self-aggrandising dogma that this only happens to the lower echelons of society; those plagued by weaknesses that led to their inevitable misfortune. And then the doozy of ‘grief’ – talking about it makes many people uneasy; people hold an expectation that you transcend these melancholy confines in a swift enough fashion that you don’t leave them feeling uncomfortable. Yet, grief is unfortunately something every adult will likely experience at some point. Another scandalous topic is that of suicide, despite it sadly becoming an increasingly more and more common way of dying. Then there is the matter of suicide survivors – the one’s who must continue their life with a chasm formed by the absence and loss. Grief with the awareness that someone chose to die is something very staggering.

One of the things that I find most difficult when talking about mental health is that I am in part supporting a system that I do not have faith in. You can tell people that help is out there, but when it comes down to it, the mental health care system in Australia is wildly ineffective (globally, I daresay, and infinitely worse in many locations; however my experience is significantly with Australia so I’ll refrain from speaking too broadly). Worse, it can be even more detrimental than the ills that plague the human mind.

It is hard trying to get help when you need it. It is harder getting the right help. It is a battle. It is a challenge and sometimes it feels like the world is working against you. That's probably because it is, albeit not always intentionally. This is what happened to my brother, to my family, to me.

I should note that he was a very private person, with a strong distaste for the narcissistic realms of social media. I wholeheartedly acknowledge that I am possibly doing something so deeply against his wishes by speaking openly about him and the situation, but to be blunt, he lost the privilege of secrecy. Others too, may not agree with how I elect to narrate this, but from my perspective, you can’t grow awareness and fuel prevention without the discourse.

I understand that this is in part a unique occurrence that I will expand on, but because of this experience I was exposed to a great deal more stories of a similar nature where the health care system let people down. However, this isn’t an ‘all hope is lost’ memoir. To the contrary.

I have…had an older brother. His name was Brandon. He took his life at the age that I am while writing this - 29. Brandon saw mental health specialists. He did try to get better, although arguably not nearly hard enough. In fact, when I cleared out his room after his passing, I dug through the referrals and prescriptions. There was a blister pack of antidepressants. Without the other appropriate tools to recover, or at least to find a semblance of stability, anti-depressants can only do so much. By this point he had very evidently given up on these little dosages of ‘here-this-will-help-but-may-also-increase-your-risk-of-suicidal-ideation.’ Only one pill was missing. The anti-depressant was not in his toxicology report, although the post-mortem showed many, many other drugs. In clearing his room, I later read his journaling scrawls that he had found drugs that numbed his pain more effectively than anti-depressants. Some of these are ones that Brandon got hooked on due to an overzealous general practitioner. And then another general practitioner. His addiction began with prescription opioids and graduated with drugs acquired from the dark web including heroin and fentanyl, amongst other things. My family and I only found out about this after his passing.

TOXICOLOGY:

Codeine (free)

Codeine-6-glucuronide

Diazepam

Fentanyl

Mirtazapine

Morphine (free)

Morphine-3-glucuronide

Morphine-6-glucuronide

Nordiazepam

Oxazepam

Paracetamol

Pholcodine

Quetiapine

Temazepam

Tramadol

This part isn't altogether unique. We take suppressants to deal with pain…to deal with life. A hard day at work - have a drink. Can't sleep - have a vali. Can't survive the never-ending and all-encompassing pain - take it all.

The opioid problem in the US is significant and garners a fair amount of attention. It exists here in Australia, too. That is why legislation came into effect to further regulate practitioners from prescribing them. This took place about a year after Brandon’s death. This blanket restriction isn’t an entirely curative solution. There are those that genuinely need these medications for chronic pain who now must jump through hoops to get their treatment. There are those who still have the wherewithal to find a source, even if through illegal means (queue Brandon). This form of paternalistic legislation does not solve the problem at its root – why there is a mental health epidemic; where is society failing that the individual solution appears to be a sturdy dose of numbing or a leap of faith into the dark abyss. Opioids work in a manner of escalation. A dosage that was once satisfying does less and less. So, you need more and more. Price can also become a factor, so you salvage heavier shit for a lower cost.

Brandon wound up in hospital only a few days prior to taking his life. He had collapsed in my father’s kitchen. My dad thought he was losing him right then and there. An ambulance came and he was rushed to hospital. He had 'accidentally' taken too much tramadol. During this incident, the ambulance respondents commented in front of my younger brother on the visible track marks on Brandon's arms. Brandon was released from hospital the following day. Simple as that. My father didn't know that the foreboding premonition of losing Brandon would be the stark reality a few short days later as he tried to perform CPR on his eldest son.

The ambulance workers that saw Brandon's track marks would not have consciously made the choice to neglect a person who clearly needed help. But somehow, he fell through the cracks of a less than fastidious system. In some ways, learning about Brandon's history with prescription drugs was more difficult than his actual suicide. Learning how he had been failed was, and is, harder to come to terms with than the fact that he recognised he had been let down. The thing that came as a shock to Brandon's friends (and subsequently me) was that he did not die of an overdose. He did not take his life in that way. That is something I have battled with. He made a very different sort of deliberate effort in how he left us which I may never understand. That’s suicide though – you often don’t understand and are left wondering so many things.

We won't ever know if the tramadol overdose was intentional or not, but it was explained to me by my older brother as an 'oopsy-daisy' in an email. I was overseas at that time. Ironically, I took one tramadol tablet for my flight back and found the experience horrible and was sluggish for days after. The same day that I had recovered from my singular adventure with tramadol my brother made that irreversible choice.

I was at the pub with friends when Brandon made that fateful choice to dive into that dark void. I had missed calls on my phone from my mother. I called back and didn’t receive an answer. I later found out my younger brother and mother were debating just driving straight to me in order to not have to tell me over the phone. It was my younger brother's birthday that day and I had presumed they were contacting about that. I texted back that I was currently out and tried calling again. ‘Brandon hung himself’, my mum said. I dropped to my knees on the outskirts of the bar and wailed, ‘no’. In a daze I went back to my friends, grabbed my bag mumbling that my brother had killed himself. A friend walked me home. My mother and brother arrived some period of time after. I still don't understand how my mother was capable of driving. She drove us to my dad's house where the suicide had occurred. We weren't permitted near that section of the house and the police referred to it as a 'crime scene'. We sat outside the house as a family, coming in and out of tears and shock.

At one point I had to go to the bathroom and went up around the other side of the house – the side that wasn’t deemed part of the crime scene. Through the glass I saw my brother lying on the cold stone floor with a neck brace on and a sheet pulled midway up his chest. I went to the bathroom and vomited. I stared at my face with mascara smeared everywhere and recognised that while I looked so distraught, that was possibly the most peaceful I'd seen my brother in a long, long time. I took some breaths and went back to my family. I have never really been able to leave my family since that point. I will have panic attacks if I can't reach one of them, thinking that something bad has happened. That is part of the PTSD of losing a loved one in a shocking way.

On my family's healing journey, we attended suicide survivor groups. At these I heard other tales of the health care system having failed them and/or their loved ones. One that stuck with me the most was a suicide in the middle of a hospital ward while under 24/7 suicide watch. On my personal healing journey, I've had several problematic run-ins with the health care system. To name a few:

I had a psychologist tell me that Brandon's choice to take his life in the family home was a sign that he blamed the family. Guilt is such a huge thing that follows a suicide. Psych 101 is alleviating that form of mental anguish for suicide survivors. That mental health practitioner failed at the first hurdle. Despite me having the knowledge that you cannot blame yourself, having someone - who is meant to understand the human mind, with all the complexities of grief and guilt – tell you that you are blamed is a pretty heavy cross to bear. I had found Brandon's parting note. It was on stained paper, written a long while ago. On it he said that he was sorry, but the pain was too much. A psychologist I had sat in a room with for all of 15 minutes told me that he blamed us. A sister riddled with guilt that she didn't save her brother. Brandon said a lot of things, but Brandon did not outright blame us. Still, in most ways, he did not say enough.

Sitting in anger about Brandon's introduction to prescription opioids, I had a different psychologist tell me that I shouldn't make noise because it would cause me more distress, that people can't change and the system won't change so it's best I change my view on things. That was her response to most things. No inclination to think that holding someone accountable for some of Brandon's struggles would have offered me enormous relief. One of his original GPs died two weeks prior to writing this. I honestly felt a sense of liberation but also a sense of loss, primarily because I never got to lambast them. Only last week did I learn that the best avenue would have been to make a complaint via the Health Care Complaints Commission so that this GP would not make the same grave errors. That would have potentially changed a person and a segment of the system, as well as maybe saving others from addiction. But in a system where health care providers would prefer you don't 'rock the boat' it's better you just sit quietly in your grief.

I have struggled with this loss. I wasn't close with Brandon anymore. We had a dysfunctional relationship and I had honestly largely tried ridding my life of him. Subsequently, as mentioned, I felt overwhelmed with guilt. I myself turned to ways to numb this feeling. I drank too much and partied more. I made reckless choices, acted rashly, behaved erratically. A psychiatrist put me onto medication to help me deal with these stages of grief. This is now a medication that I have been unable to get off because of the withdrawal side-effects. The mental health industry prefers a quick-fix solution such as medication. It appears as though they are making effective progress. Brandon's pain was 'effectively' dulled by opioids. My grief was 'effectively' subdued with medication rather than giving me the tools to process the grief and miss my brother in whatever way I needed to. I’ve learned the hard way, but the greatest remedy for some of the most common forms of mental illness doesn’t come in the form of a pill. It is habitually changing the way you think, how you perceive yourself, how you see the world. There are tools and techniques you can learn to make these changes, and these are not measured in milligrams or dosage frequencies. They do not have side effects. Tell a depressed person that one of the potential side effects of their anti-depressant is to experience depression and see how much hope you give that down-trodden soul.

Grief is a peculiar thing. It can come in waves. It can come in so many ways. But something I can definitively say is that you can be stronger than the grief and you can be strong enough to survive, whether the system lapses or not. I am testimony to that.

To mental health generally, in the end, only you can make the best decisions for yourself. That choice is yours. Yes, addiction can make that a whole lot harder, and the crutch can create a cyclic pattern in a self-fulfilling prophecy of defeat. A lot of external factors can impact your choices and make it more challenging to make the right decisions. But you’ve been through harder things. To climb out of those dark places is entirely within you. Sometimes you don’t have great footing to help get you out, be it the health care system, employment strife, financial burden, or friends letting you down. But it doesn’t mean that the required strength isn’t still inside of you. YOU have that strength. YOU have all that within you. You need to see that power in all its glory and grace, and you will see that your situation can, and will change. The first step to that change is what you decide to do.

Yes, I am placing blame on the shoulders of some others besides Brandon, while in a contradictory fashion saying you make your own choices. That’s another thing about grief – you want to assign blame somewhere. So, for clarity, Brandon made his choice and might have made it irrespective of the system. But our broken system sure as hell got him there prematurely, not even seeing 30.

I have shared this because I absolutely know that it is hard. That it is not always easy to get help. That the system is fucked. But that is not enough reason to give up. I sit here in my anger and sadness that the system let both my brother and me down countless times. But it is still not enough reason to give up. You can always be stronger and will get back up. Each. And. Every. Fucking. Time. Some people have said to me that it’s impossible to get better, that they can’t be fixed, that they can’t find help that works. There are many different ways of getting help, and if the ‘traditional’ mechanisms of speaking to a shrink doesn’t float your boat then it doesn’t mean all hope is lost. On the contrary – you’ve found one approach that doesn’t aid you and the process of elimination on your mental health journey should be valued. Knowing what doesn’t help can sincerely lead you to learning what does help.

I have also shared this because this is just a small portion of what losing someone to suicide does. This is the honest truth of what grief looks like. I recognise and admit that I have struggled so much with it. As I said, Brandon and I weren’t even close anymore. This is the pain that I feel from losing a dysfunctional sibling relationship. Do not think that you won’t leave people in agonising pain, no matter your relationship with them.

A further reason why I’ve written this is what I alluded to at the start – these are topics that people don’t like to talk about or hear about. But this is reality. These conversations are fucking triggering and upsetting. Hell, it’s taken a god damn lot of strength for me to write this. However, the more we elect to not talk about what’s wrong with the world, these social maladies will continue under the cloak of secrecy, the guise of accepting the status quo, and within the nonchalant notion that we can’t change things.

The final reason for why I’ve shared this is for my own personal growth and to voice some anger and dissatisfaction. I am so tired of the way the world operates. The abuse of power. The legitimisation of harmful actions in the name of greed. You don’t need to spend $490 (not an exaggeration, this is an actual amount) for 45 minutes at a psychiatrist’ office to ‘get better’. Being told that costly drugs are your only cure isn’t the singular answer. Not banking your hope for a tranquil mind on external sources should be a part of psych 101. It’s a hard fucking slog, and I get to say this from my ivory tower of white privilege. Likewise, my older brother won’t fit the stereotyped bullshit of a lowly sort destined for failure who succumbed to addiction. He wasn’t deprived of finances and destitute; he was extremely intelligent and had potential beyond belief. The ineptitude of the mental health system might fail us privileged ones, but the collateral damage is far greater than just us. Quite often those who are struggling the most do not have the financial stability to even contemplate these forms of ‘solutions’. It is a mental health system supported by greed and the foundations of neoliberalism. If we are forced to adhere to this approach – that the onus is always on the individual to better their personal situation – then use this to your advantage. Say fuck the system, I’ve got this with or without you. I am a strong human and I will carry myself through.

There are some ugly things being put on full display because of Covid19. But there are also some good things that you can't lose sight of. We might feel alone, either physically or mentally, but I promise you that you are not. Please get in touch if you need to talk and I will be there. Sometimes even a stranger can extend a kindness to you that you so desperately needed. This is a huge part of why I always say to be there for the people in your life. There is something so significant that loved ones can provide. Although, this is just the icing on the cake of what a gift your life is. You don’t need this affirmation and support from others because you’ve bloody well got this on your own. Albeit, it sure does help having someone care, so don’t forget that part when you’re given the opportunity to be kind to someone else. We are all part of a thriving organism called society that breathes and glistens on the basis of human connection and the human experience. It reaffirms that we are not alone. You are not alone, even when you feel as though you are.

That voice calling for calm or a cessation to the pain isn’t asking for the dark abyss; it’s asking you to stand up and fight the battle worth fighting. Your life is worth fighting for, even against an invisible enemy.

#mentalheathawareness #mental health #addiction #suicide #mental heath support #lovelife #suicide awarenes #suicide prevention

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