My brother was a happy, curly-haired redhead as a child. He so loved to tease his older sisters. He was always joking, smiling and having fun. In his 20's he was in retail management at Wal-Mart, even being considered for assistant store manager positions.
He was funny, in his own way about money too. You'd swear he could spend a penny twice and then still end up with it back in his bank account. He was careful with money and we figured that he would probably be the most successful with business and finances.
He loved his nieces & nephews, would play with them and joke and goof around. After traveling around and seeing the country, he moved to the Atlanta, Georgia area. He was working as a store manager for one of the big drugstore chains and UPS at the same time. Not sure on the reasons, surviving on caffeine stay-awake pills, the strain of being away from family or what, but he had a nervous breakdown, of sorts.
After the police there picking him up and us not knowing, trying to find him and not being able to for some time, a compassionate social worker in the Atlanta jail system and psychiatric evaluations, it was figured out that he was paranoid schizophrenic. This meant a weird journey into dealing with mental illness in our family. My mom bore the brunt of it. My brother Tim, living at home bore a large part of it. But we all participated, helping when we could, coming to grips with the reality of it.
Having someone with mental illness in your family bears this stigma. At first, you feel it, but you realize he really does. As much as it scares people, its almost a worse ostracism than leprosy, almost as if people thought it was contagious. He struggled to not be this groggy person, he wanted normalcy, just like any sick person. For whatever reason though, it would have been more socially acceptable for him to be physically ill. He was sick. When he was on his medication, he was closer to the old Joe. When he was off it, he was afraid, angry, delusional. He was even afraid of the people who loved him the most and wanted to help him. He made decisions that we could never understand the logic behind, because there wasn't any. His mind was broken. His heart wasn't.
There were a lot of journey's during all of it. The hardest part was watching the side-effects of the medications, when he would first take them. He would be this groggy, clouded person. You could almost feel the effects with him, because asking a question, him answering would be a long deliberate process, sometimes telling he couldn't remember the question by the time the answer was done.
The cool parts were that between the ups & downs our old Joseph would show up. The one that cared about people, that wanted to be normal, that would help you at the drop of a hat. My mom really worked with the social worker and Joe to help him get his dignity back. They worked hard over the years to give him all his "me stuff" back. The things we take for granted at turning 18, whether we can handle it or not, the government says your an adult. The illness took all that away from him. The only thing he couldn't get back was medical guardianship. If my mom had given that up, it would have ended up in the hands of the courts.
He really loved the kids. I think he saw them as accepting and loving him unconditionally. He was always in the middle of them. Gently playing with them. Helping with hay rides and walks and finding new things on the farm.
He loved his family and loved God. He always wanted to help, but didn't always know how.
I watched him build an online group of friends (a guild) in World of Warcraft (an online video game) and lead them in raids and to parts of the game I'll probably never reach. I think the anonymity and lack of people knowing about his illness, helped him feel like he could do something, without being judged for it, it gave him a place of normalcy. He would be so proud show me areas of the game that he had conquered and been too. The hardest part was after they upped his medication the last time, he couldn't focus even on the details of that anymore.
Joe, I think you struggled with accepting yourself the way you were. Mental disability can be as hard to accept as physical. I don't know the pain that you lived with inside because of it. I can relate to physical pain and tell you how hard it is to accept that my body doesn't do what I want it to. We accepted you, loved you. We didn't care about all the popular stuff, whether you were climbing the ladder of success or dashing or rich. We loved you. Yes, we struggled with the realities of your illness. But we loved you. We accepted you. It didn't matter how hard it was. We accepted you.
Joe had been doing really well the past year. Responding more to his doctor and social worker, getting more involved at his church, volunteering, working on his GED, so he could go to college. He showed a lot of promise and there was hope that he was going to be able to get his own apartment, that kind of thing. He had been pouring a lot of love into his family, seemed somewhat "normal" (whatever that means) at Christmas and over the holidays.
And then he just left mom a short note. About how he couldn't handle life the way it was anymore. Where to find him. That he hoped God and her would forgive him.
And my little brother was gone.
There are so many questions. Unanswered. But we know you are now at peace, with your maker.
We are all crying. Nieces, nephews, close family, distant family, friends, friends of family.
Share Hope & a Smile! You really never know how many lives it can touch.
Suicide is never the right answer. There is hope, there is love, there are people who care.
If you are thinking of taking your own life, Please don't.
You are loved!
Call and talk to someone who cares.
