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Given Up On Life Overwhelmed by Grief
Mental Health | Last Active: Jan 22 1:00pm | Replies (18)Comment receiving replies
Your story has so much of my story intertwined throughout it. My son was diagnosed with Schizophrenia 20 years ago. He was found dead in his apartment over a year ago. I did everything I could think of to help myself during his illness, and now to manage the grief from his death. A story like mine and yours that cover many years cannot be told in a few paragraphs. I know that you and others in this group have experienced similar experiences, and we are all traumatized from the experience.
While my son was sick, I continued my personal and professional life, as well as I could. I regularly saw a psychologist and psychiatrist that helped save my life through their continued support as my son declined year by year.
There is no one road to healing oneself, but finding something you love can help. Ten years ago I walked into the music building of a local community college, and heard the sounds of music flowing out from all the rooms. I started to cry; the music touched my heart in a way that matched the feeling that I had for my son. It's a long story to where I am now, but learning to play the piano and sing in my 60's helped me in so many ways. Music soothed my tormented brain, and the students and teachers helped me connect my brain, and heart together.
It's been a long time since that first music lesson, and I don't know what might help you, but there is something out there for you. I hope that you will stay right where you are, and look a little harder. In my experience, what will help you may be close by waiting for you to find it. Thank you for writing your story. You helped me today.
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I sung avocationally as a lyric soprano in my 30s, with an orchestra in front of me. My voice teacher was a Master Teacher and one of the first woman conductors, some of her students were at the Met. I clearly remember hitting high D# with no effort at all. I used to have dreams of singing, it was such a glorious experience. I'm glad you found music and that it's been able to help you transcend the horror even for just a few minutes at a time.
I've done so many things in my lifetime that there really are no more roads to travel, literally or virtually. If there were something that could change what's happening in, and to, my mind I would intuitively know it. I've tried them all, world travel, learning to ride, volunteer work, engaging others, nothing helped me. I've literally given up.
People tell me to write a book, because I'm already a published author in fiction and poetry (my chapbook won an award in 2000). But honestly, who wants to read this? And what do I have to teach anyone? How to survive the worst day of your life? I wish I hadn't. My daughter adored me and left me a beautiful letter which has helped me to keep alive to be honest, but sometimes I wish she had come home and shot me first. In fact, I wish that every day. Should I write THAT book? And self publishing is an absurd waste of time and money. I published a novel in 2006 and just the search for a literary agent or publisher is daunting to the point where I really have no motivation for it. No one wants to read my life story, it's a tale of survival and struggle and the only reason I didn't end up dead somewhere in Manhattan where I grew up is because I was literally given everything: beauty, great intelligence, keen intuition, a psychic ability, glowing health, courage, strength, determination, hope, and a joyful connection to other living things, and more than that. It's as if "someone" knew what I would be facing and sent me into the battlefield of life fully equipped. Remarkable, really, but ultimately my downfall because I can't defeat it, I can't circumvent it, I can't put an end to this and I really want to.
People tell me to do this, or that; advice is constantly flowing if I tell any part of this story, there's no end to it. I understand people are trying to help but it honestly doesn't help. I've done more than most women, seen more, achieved more, and certainly lost more. There's nothing left to try. It's become obvious that this mental torment is with me until my last moment and I'm going to end my life missing my daughter. And I no longer believe that we'll "meet again", I think death is final, the end. The very thing that gave me such courage and strength, the tenacity to keep going because there was a "purpose", and there is a "creator", is gone, and it's not coming back.