Homebound and Friendless III: My brother is dead
August 4, 2012 9:37 AM Subscribe
How do I cope with suddenly losing the most important person in my life when I'm mentally ill and know my brother/best friend lived and died without having a chance to truly live his life?
I'm not religious, so please, don't tell me he's in a better place, that some omnipotent being had other plans for him, that there's a reason behind my brother's horrible quality of life and eventual death. That may or may not be true. Alas, my brain is not wired that way. None of that brings me any comfort.
"What do you want from us then?"
I don't know.
I'm too drained to properly ask for help or to rephrase everything that's happened recently, but the hive mind has always been helpful to me in the past. For this reason I'm going to refer you to my profile for more information regarding my brother's passing and also copy and paste a few blog entries to give you an idea where my mind is at right now.
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Guilty
Date: Jul 25, 2012
The AML may not be my fault, but Will died so suddenly and couldn't start the proper chemotherapy because of me. I put so much emphasis and importance on getting all of my impacted wisdom teeth extracted since I was 18. It was all I talked about for six years. It was because of this he took the first opportunity to have oral surgery in the same hospital that once failed to see my father was nearly dying from hyponatremia a few years ago. Shands was the only hospital his sub par insurance would allow him to go to.
It was because of the oral surgery his body was too weak and sick to start chemo.
I watched him slowly deteriorate over the next few weeks, stupidly thinking it was part of the recovery process coupled with not being on anti-anxiety medication and experiencing side-effects from his seizure and anti-depressant medication. I didn't call 911 until he seriously voiced the need to see a doctor and by then he didn't have the energy to put on a pair of jeans.
The ambulance wouldn't let me ride with him to the ER. My mother and her friend were having issues, so I didn't know who else to call for transportation. I let my brother stay in the ER for several hours, scared and alone, only to have a doctor tell him his diagnosis before I could be there to comfort him. I will never forget the sadness in his eyes, the fear in his voice, when he looked at my mother and said, "They told me I have cancer."
I stayed for as long as I could while he was in the ER, but eventually my parents had to leave because my father had work in the morning.
Will: "Do you really have to go?"
Mother: "Yes. Dad has work in the morning."
Why the f@ck didn't I fight to get there sooner? Why the f@ck didn't I fight to stay there longer? I didn't fight for my brother's life until it was too late. By then he was in the ICU. I somehow deluded myself into thinking if my stupid father could survive the ICU more than once because of his alcohol-related stunts, surely my brother could as well. I tried to keep things jovial when he was both conscious and unconscious. I pestered the nurses constantly to ensure he was getting adequate care. I even pushed for my parents to "pull the plug" a day sooner when the doctors showed us his brain scan... because I knew then that wasn't a good quality of life... because they told me in a few day's time all of his organs would gradually shut down... because I didn't want him to be in pain... because I was scared he would die alone.
I talked to my brother's shell like he was still alive from 3am until the early afternoon while he was hooked to a machine just in case part of him was still there. As his body was dying, I kept telling him, "This isn't goodbye. We'll see you soon."
I lied to him.
Our friendship was always based on honesty and trust, but I lied to him because I didn't want him to be scared. Not once did I cry in front of him. Only when they "pulled the plug" and his heart stopped beating did I cry and scream.
No, no no! I f@cking take it back! I'm so f@cking sorry, Will!
My father dragged me out of the room. But I wanted to stay. I knew soon they would burn his body and I'd never see his face again.
If I had known he was going to die anyway, I would have given him his last meal, something even a f@cking murderer on death-row has the privilege to have before their execution. He tried explaining to the nurses he already went weeks barely eating anything because of the oral surgery. He was starving. For the first time in weeks he was actually able and willing to eat solid food. But we all deprived him of that one last pleasure before his death because the nurses said he could choke on the food.
I failed him when he needed his best friend and sister the most. Of course I feel guilty.
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You never knew him and you never will...
Date: Jul 26, 2012
My whole world and reason for living has shattered into diminitive pieces, but to most people, my brother is just a statistic, a name, or at best a vague memory. How can I expect anyone else to be devastated by his passing when they really didn't know him? I think that's what hurts the most, knowing his memory will die with his mother and sister. Eventually, I'll be the only person alive who knows what the world is missing out on.
--------------
Voluntary inpatient care
Date: Aug. 03, 2012
I am considering voluntary inpatient care for an extended period of time.
I'm not an immediate threat to myself or others, but I am (albeit with some reason) wary and distrustful of people to a riduculous extent and neglecting myself of not only the basic things like showering but also much needed psychiatric and medical care, which, in the past, was something I fought tooth and nail to have as an option.
I fantasize about suicide often. Taking my own life feels like the only viable and compassionate option for myself. I can't imagine living a good quality of life, functioning on a basic level, let alone becoming a contributing member of society, especially now that I've lost the only person who understood and accepted me despite my limitations and personality defects. Even at my worst, when I could barely articulate a coherent sentence, my brother patiently waited and listened until I made sense. Not once did he make me feel stupid for having a difficult time communicating my thoughts and ideas. Never again will I have an advocate who knows what I'm thinking before I speak. Never again will I have an advocate willing to interpret to others what seems to me to sound like word salad into an actual coherent sentence. I am alone in a battle I'm too apathetic and weak to fight. I thought I was fighting, but I've managed to still let myself go into stasis. However, my body and mind continue to rot in this state.
I feel like a little sick child that needs a caregiver to medicate, feed, bathe, and clothe me at a consistent time every day or I'll die. And for what? Survival? What's the point? I have nothing to live for.
I've already squandered the two years of insurance I've ever had. Now that my brother is dead, I have less than one year to take advantage of my father's insurance before I turn 26. But I no longer care about my physical health. Again, I ask what's the point? I'm already broken and dead inside.
--------------
Monsters
Date: Aug 04, 2012
Soon I will not even be a semblance of the person he once loved. In his death I have become a colder, more abrasive monster who is able to inflict pain on stupid, self-absorbed but well-meaning people by questioning their motives and being brutally honest with little to no remorse for how my words affect them. After all, I am just being honest and standing up for myself.
Right?
I worked so hard over the years to keep the bitter and angry monster away, but slowly it is working its way back in. All that matters to the monster is voicing a truth that may not even be a truth at all. I could for all I know be too delusional and paranoid to know what's real. If that's the case, my attempts at being honest is only cruel and therefore useless.
My brother would do anything to make the hurt go away. Me? I think they need to know the truth, even and especially if it hurts.
Example...
Her: I'm sorry honey. Usually insurance don't pay for anything voluntary. It has to be a necessity. So if u feel u need to be inpatient somewhere u should talk to your psych dr and he can do a direct admit at whatever facility your insurance pays for. Does that help?
Her: What's going on?
Me: Not really. I'd rather not discuss this further with you.
Her: Ok honey
Her: Is everything ok?
Me: I suppose my answer to your question would seem to make for an interesting read or something to gossip about, but it's actually not that interesting so I will spare you the details. Besides, who really cares. I don't.
Below is my reply to someone on [redacted]. I'm too lazy and tired to explain much, so I'm going to copy and paste it here for background information.
I can definitely empathize and relate to your fear of exposure and the fear of someone using your issues as ammunition in the future. Unfortunately, in my case, that fear was validated at the worst moment in my life. I was emotionally vulnerable after my brother's death and shared too much of myself with a formerly estranged family member against my better judgment while I stayed with my aunt. I wanted to believe her when she said she valued honesty like I did, that she was actually the person she portrayed herself to be, that she wouldn't let me overstay my welcome.
She knew I feared becoming my mother, so she began to use that fear against me when I called her out on betraying my trust (long story) despite her and "her family" telling me I was not at all like my mother in the past. She knew I had ADD and had an inferiority complex about it, and still she mocked me for not being able to follow simple instructions. She knew I had Body Dysmorphic Disorder, and yet she began to point out my physical defects on a regular basis. She knew I constantly questioned my self-narrative of events and my sanity, so what does she do? She tells me I'm not trying when I actually am. She tells me that I'm wallowing in self-pity, have been sleeping on a weird schedule to avoid people (They were on a weird schedule too. I went to bed two hours after everyone else.), and how I don't want her help because I've been "oversleeping since my brother's memorial" when I actually took a nap one time in the late afternoon because of a legitimate health condition. Basically, she completely and utterly mind-f@cked me when I stayed with her in ways I can't put into words.
She really does seek information so she can sit on the porch and gossip about you to anyone willing to listen. That's why I come off so cold in the conversation above. I'm not a source of entertainment. I'm a goddamn person.
I used to be a sweet, shy, meek creature who would rather stew in her anger and pain before involving and hurting another person, even if they were the one responsible for my pain. But the monster was still there, wanting to come out. Your blog entry on 8/1/2012 is a perfect example of that I-would-rather-implode-than-to-share-these-feelin gs mentality I had prior to my brother's death.
I find myself no longer biting my tongue. My aunt asked me if my brother knew she loved him while he was on his deathbed. My response? "No." How could he know that? She was never around.
So, to answer your question: No. You are not self-absorbed. You are afraid of being hurt when you're currently in a vulnerable state of mind. It's self-preservation.
I'm not religious, so please, don't tell me he's in a better place, that some omnipotent being had other plans for him, that there's a reason behind my brother's horrible quality of life and eventual death. That may or may not be true. Alas, my brain is not wired that way. None of that brings me any comfort.
"What do you want from us then?"
I don't know.
I'm too drained to properly ask for help or to rephrase everything that's happened recently, but the hive mind has always been helpful to me in the past. For this reason I'm going to refer you to my profile for more information regarding my brother's passing and also copy and paste a few blog entries to give you an idea where my mind is at right now.
--------------
Guilty
Date: Jul 25, 2012
The AML may not be my fault, but Will died so suddenly and couldn't start the proper chemotherapy because of me. I put so much emphasis and importance on getting all of my impacted wisdom teeth extracted since I was 18. It was all I talked about for six years. It was because of this he took the first opportunity to have oral surgery in the same hospital that once failed to see my father was nearly dying from hyponatremia a few years ago. Shands was the only hospital his sub par insurance would allow him to go to.
It was because of the oral surgery his body was too weak and sick to start chemo.
I watched him slowly deteriorate over the next few weeks, stupidly thinking it was part of the recovery process coupled with not being on anti-anxiety medication and experiencing side-effects from his seizure and anti-depressant medication. I didn't call 911 until he seriously voiced the need to see a doctor and by then he didn't have the energy to put on a pair of jeans.
The ambulance wouldn't let me ride with him to the ER. My mother and her friend were having issues, so I didn't know who else to call for transportation. I let my brother stay in the ER for several hours, scared and alone, only to have a doctor tell him his diagnosis before I could be there to comfort him. I will never forget the sadness in his eyes, the fear in his voice, when he looked at my mother and said, "They told me I have cancer."
I stayed for as long as I could while he was in the ER, but eventually my parents had to leave because my father had work in the morning.
Will: "Do you really have to go?"
Mother: "Yes. Dad has work in the morning."
Why the f@ck didn't I fight to get there sooner? Why the f@ck didn't I fight to stay there longer? I didn't fight for my brother's life until it was too late. By then he was in the ICU. I somehow deluded myself into thinking if my stupid father could survive the ICU more than once because of his alcohol-related stunts, surely my brother could as well. I tried to keep things jovial when he was both conscious and unconscious. I pestered the nurses constantly to ensure he was getting adequate care. I even pushed for my parents to "pull the plug" a day sooner when the doctors showed us his brain scan... because I knew then that wasn't a good quality of life... because they told me in a few day's time all of his organs would gradually shut down... because I didn't want him to be in pain... because I was scared he would die alone.
I talked to my brother's shell like he was still alive from 3am until the early afternoon while he was hooked to a machine just in case part of him was still there. As his body was dying, I kept telling him, "This isn't goodbye. We'll see you soon."
I lied to him.
Our friendship was always based on honesty and trust, but I lied to him because I didn't want him to be scared. Not once did I cry in front of him. Only when they "pulled the plug" and his heart stopped beating did I cry and scream.
No, no no! I f@cking take it back! I'm so f@cking sorry, Will!
My father dragged me out of the room. But I wanted to stay. I knew soon they would burn his body and I'd never see his face again.
If I had known he was going to die anyway, I would have given him his last meal, something even a f@cking murderer on death-row has the privilege to have before their execution. He tried explaining to the nurses he already went weeks barely eating anything because of the oral surgery. He was starving. For the first time in weeks he was actually able and willing to eat solid food. But we all deprived him of that one last pleasure before his death because the nurses said he could choke on the food.
I failed him when he needed his best friend and sister the most. Of course I feel guilty.
--------------
You never knew him and you never will...
Date: Jul 26, 2012
My whole world and reason for living has shattered into diminitive pieces, but to most people, my brother is just a statistic, a name, or at best a vague memory. How can I expect anyone else to be devastated by his passing when they really didn't know him? I think that's what hurts the most, knowing his memory will die with his mother and sister. Eventually, I'll be the only person alive who knows what the world is missing out on.
--------------
Voluntary inpatient care
Date: Aug. 03, 2012
I am considering voluntary inpatient care for an extended period of time.
I'm not an immediate threat to myself or others, but I am (albeit with some reason) wary and distrustful of people to a riduculous extent and neglecting myself of not only the basic things like showering but also much needed psychiatric and medical care, which, in the past, was something I fought tooth and nail to have as an option.
I fantasize about suicide often. Taking my own life feels like the only viable and compassionate option for myself. I can't imagine living a good quality of life, functioning on a basic level, let alone becoming a contributing member of society, especially now that I've lost the only person who understood and accepted me despite my limitations and personality defects. Even at my worst, when I could barely articulate a coherent sentence, my brother patiently waited and listened until I made sense. Not once did he make me feel stupid for having a difficult time communicating my thoughts and ideas. Never again will I have an advocate who knows what I'm thinking before I speak. Never again will I have an advocate willing to interpret to others what seems to me to sound like word salad into an actual coherent sentence. I am alone in a battle I'm too apathetic and weak to fight. I thought I was fighting, but I've managed to still let myself go into stasis. However, my body and mind continue to rot in this state.
I feel like a little sick child that needs a caregiver to medicate, feed, bathe, and clothe me at a consistent time every day or I'll die. And for what? Survival? What's the point? I have nothing to live for.
I've already squandered the two years of insurance I've ever had. Now that my brother is dead, I have less than one year to take advantage of my father's insurance before I turn 26. But I no longer care about my physical health. Again, I ask what's the point? I'm already broken and dead inside.
--------------
Monsters
Date: Aug 04, 2012
Soon I will not even be a semblance of the person he once loved. In his death I have become a colder, more abrasive monster who is able to inflict pain on stupid, self-absorbed but well-meaning people by questioning their motives and being brutally honest with little to no remorse for how my words affect them. After all, I am just being honest and standing up for myself.
Right?
I worked so hard over the years to keep the bitter and angry monster away, but slowly it is working its way back in. All that matters to the monster is voicing a truth that may not even be a truth at all. I could for all I know be too delusional and paranoid to know what's real. If that's the case, my attempts at being honest is only cruel and therefore useless.
My brother would do anything to make the hurt go away. Me? I think they need to know the truth, even and especially if it hurts.
Example...
Her: I'm sorry honey. Usually insurance don't pay for anything voluntary. It has to be a necessity. So if u feel u need to be inpatient somewhere u should talk to your psych dr and he can do a direct admit at whatever facility your insurance pays for. Does that help?
Her: What's going on?
Me: Not really. I'd rather not discuss this further with you.
Her: Ok honey
Her: Is everything ok?
Me: I suppose my answer to your question would seem to make for an interesting read or something to gossip about, but it's actually not that interesting so I will spare you the details. Besides, who really cares. I don't.
Below is my reply to someone on [redacted]. I'm too lazy and tired to explain much, so I'm going to copy and paste it here for background information.
I can definitely empathize and relate to your fear of exposure and the fear of someone using your issues as ammunition in the future. Unfortunately, in my case, that fear was validated at the worst moment in my life. I was emotionally vulnerable after my brother's death and shared too much of myself with a formerly estranged family member against my better judgment while I stayed with my aunt. I wanted to believe her when she said she valued honesty like I did, that she was actually the person she portrayed herself to be, that she wouldn't let me overstay my welcome.
She knew I feared becoming my mother, so she began to use that fear against me when I called her out on betraying my trust (long story) despite her and "her family" telling me I was not at all like my mother in the past. She knew I had ADD and had an inferiority complex about it, and still she mocked me for not being able to follow simple instructions. She knew I had Body Dysmorphic Disorder, and yet she began to point out my physical defects on a regular basis. She knew I constantly questioned my self-narrative of events and my sanity, so what does she do? She tells me I'm not trying when I actually am. She tells me that I'm wallowing in self-pity, have been sleeping on a weird schedule to avoid people (They were on a weird schedule too. I went to bed two hours after everyone else.), and how I don't want her help because I've been "oversleeping since my brother's memorial" when I actually took a nap one time in the late afternoon because of a legitimate health condition. Basically, she completely and utterly mind-f@cked me when I stayed with her in ways I can't put into words.
She really does seek information so she can sit on the porch and gossip about you to anyone willing to listen. That's why I come off so cold in the conversation above. I'm not a source of entertainment. I'm a goddamn person.
I used to be a sweet, shy, meek creature who would rather stew in her anger and pain before involving and hurting another person, even if they were the one responsible for my pain. But the monster was still there, wanting to come out. Your blog entry on 8/1/2012 is a perfect example of that I-would-rather-implode-than-to-share-these-feelin gs mentality I had prior to my brother's death.
I find myself no longer biting my tongue. My aunt asked me if my brother knew she loved him while he was on his deathbed. My response? "No." How could he know that? She was never around.
So, to answer your question: No. You are not self-absorbed. You are afraid of being hurt when you're currently in a vulnerable state of mind. It's self-preservation.
This post was deleted for the following reason: Heya, I'm sorry you're in such a rough place right now, but this isn't really what Ask Metafilter's intended for and if you're expressing suicidal thoughts on the site you need to talk to a trained crisis person, not askme. There may be local resources here, and you are welcome to reach us at the contact form as well. -- cortex
Consider trying inpatient treatment somewhere. It might get you some distance and peace to be able to get a handle on things.
posted by dilettante at 9:47 AM on August 4, 2012 [1 favorite]
posted by dilettante at 9:47 AM on August 4, 2012 [1 favorite]
If I could call 911 and tell them to take you to the ER for a psych eval, I would. I really hope you seek help now. Please talk to a friend who will help you do this, either make the call for you or accompany you or both.
posted by treehorn+bunny at 9:58 AM on August 4, 2012
posted by treehorn+bunny at 9:58 AM on August 4, 2012
You are sad, angry and scared. I am sure that your brother would not want you to suffer, he would want you to be happy and healthy. In his memory, get yourself to a place where you can be safe and cared for while you attempt to make sense of the senseless.
Yes, this. Your brother would want you to be as happy and healthy and have as full a life as you can. Honor his memory by getting help stat. Call 911 and get to a hospital.
We're pulling for you.
posted by Rosie M. Banks at 10:00 AM on August 4, 2012
Yes, this. Your brother would want you to be as happy and healthy and have as full a life as you can. Honor his memory by getting help stat. Call 911 and get to a hospital.
We're pulling for you.
posted by Rosie M. Banks at 10:00 AM on August 4, 2012
This thread is closed to new comments.
It's not like you knew anything and then evilly plotted to screw his life up, to make him die.
You have every right to be angry, cancer is a remorseless killer. Be angry at cancer.
You are in a very dark and dangerous place right now. I'm concerned about your safety. I don't say this lightly, but I think you should check yourself in for a 3-day psych hold. You are not thinking clearly, nor are you rational. This goes beyond grief and if you are mentally ill, please be evaluated by professionals.
You are sad, angry and scared. I am sure that your brother would not want you to suffer, he would want you to be happy and healthy. In his memory, get yourself to a place where you can be safe and cared for while you attempt to make sense of the senseless.
posted by Ruthless Bunny at 9:44 AM on August 4, 2012 [1 favorite]