I watched Mourning Son last night. It wasn’t just a True Crime story about a woman’s death at the hands of a charming but controlling man. It was also the story of the aftermath. How loved ones are left to deal or not deal with that emptiness that is now part of their lives. Her son was 15 when she was murdered. The way he handled it may have benefited some but was at a great cost to him. He appeared to go out of his way to push the limits of his body and mind. He had a ravenous appetite for drugs, sex, and anything that put his own life in jeopardy. (This is my take on it and not a professionals) It may have started as a small itch you can’t quite reach or a weird feeling in your stomach that won’t go away. But it grows. I know this feeling well. Maybe in a different way or from different circumstances but pain is pain, grief is grief, and self loathing is self loathing.
I had my own experiences with violence and loss.
I recall my own dirty Hotel rooms watching people smoke crack or shoot up while my eyes were half closed, seeing everything from a haze of alcohol. I would wake up and often wonder where I was and what exactly had happened. Did I have to worry about an STD, pregnancy, or anything else? Where did the bruises come from and did I consent to it? And yes, one time waking up with 2 lovely tattoos I didn’t quite remember getting. It was possible because from 18 to 27 I really didn’t care either way what happened to me.
If I was still fairly sober I would let anger show through. There always came a point in the evening where I gave up and realized it’s pointless. I didn’t deserve better out of life. I still don’t think that most days. I do think I deserve to be treated as a human being. I’m not invisible and hate being treated as such. This happens often and sets off triggers I can’t control.
I become overwhelmed with the surge of feelings. This happens to the point where my head hurts. I will start stuttering and my hand tremors will become worse. I feel like throwing everything that’s in my path and destroying it. I want to self destruct. Anything to get rid of feeling this way.
I never learned to interact with people past the age of 16. My maturity level is that of a 16 year old. My sense of humor also that of a teenager. Everyone around me grew up, met their significant others, got married, had children, bought houses, and are now probably getting married for the second time.
I on the other hand have never really had a boyfriend, husband, children, lived on my own, owned or rented my own house, been on an actual date, or anything close to normal.
I have traveled some. I’ve hung out with various musicians that would be known if listed here. I’ve learned a lot about prison life in case anything happens to me. I got to visit L.A. with my bestfriend of over 30 years and hang out at The Rainbow. We actually had one of the best times ever. I wish I could convince her to go again. Maybe in a manic phase I’ll say f*ck it and book the trip myself. It might not be the same sober and older but it’s better than sitting here waiting to die.
I want to say to people who have not experienced it, a mother’s death is the most excruciating thing one can go through. When it isn’t expected or when you are lied to about it it’s even worse.
Even though my mom was 62 when she passed it was when I needed her the most. It was during this time that my Bipolar Disorder decided to really show itself. My mom had always known I was different. She would always hold me, rocking me back and forth while she sang an oldies song. She also held my face in her hands many times. She would take this time to say how much she loved me and that she thought I was beautiful. I miss her more with each day.
Everyone deals with trauma and loss in their own way. Some eat in excess, drink too much, do drugs, have sex with strangers, whatever will take the memories and pain away. I think I did everything I just listed. The important thing is to come back from it. Some of us may never come back for some reason unknown even to us. To those who do get to come back honor the people you’ve lost, show the vile assholes that have crossed our paths that our families are stronger than they will ever be. I don’t believe in forgiveness, it’s too easy. It has to be earned. Too many people want me to let things go. It’s difficult when you know the person who left you drowning in your own blood is a 7 minute car ride away enjoying a cold beer. It’s a slow process.