December 12, 1998 – July 14, 2015
Two years after unearthing the cold truth that there was something more than “Just being a teenager” wrong, eight months of constant worry and wonder, therapist and meetings, two months after an official diagnosis, seven months after his sixteenth birthday and countless hours of time spent in pain -it is over.
For him, at least.
After riding the rollercoaster and walking the tightrope of trying to find help, and wanting to believe that he was ok -it has all come to an end. An end that no one but he wanted. In a way that no one but himself wanted.
Countless well meaning people have told me numbers of well meaning things in the past. The fool proof plan of it all, the reason it is, why he was the way he was and of course, how to fix him. As if he were a broken toy that just needed new batteries. As if somehow I hadn’t thought of the glaringly obvious notion that there might be something causing him to think this way. As if.
I feel like I have been in this spot enough to know, like being here should seem familiar. Like I should have all the answers to all the questions, and should be schooled enough to know if this is ‘normal.’ But instead I am left feeling absolutely nothing.
Which is perhaps the worst feeling of them all.
Knowing that someone who has been such a major part of your life for so long -is gone, is one thing. Understanding it is a completely different ball game.
I don’t know if its ok. I don’t know if it will ever be ok. I don’t even know if that will be ok.
It may have been what he wanted, to finally put an end to the endless running inside his mind, it may have been his way of finally getting a release after all these years. But with his release comes a wave of confusion. It uproots the entire base of life, and sends you into a tailspin of trying to grasp reality, while having nothing to hold onto.
I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. That there wasn’t enough that could be done to help.