Ya'll want a mental health case. Here's one for the books, and maybe I can explain why Trump is so personal to me.
5 years ago I got a call from my mother.
"you're older brother has suicided, wrap your head around that."
I couldn't. Still can't and yet am forced to. She knows how cerebral I am, she understood the best way to get through to me immediately. She and I had just, a few months prior, admitted him to rehabilitation clinic for alcoholism as he was about to lose his job and his Wife. "One of the best in the state, many celebrities have had successful treatments here". He went through it. Kept his marriage intact as well as his job...somehow.
Months later he is attacked in his own home, has a giant gash (6 inches or so) on his forearm. Says they were waiting for him when he got home from his dog walk. (suspicious, because he was within eyesight of a elementary school in a very safe neighborhood historically). Obviously we all take him for his word. We didn't know.
Mig August, apparently amist another home invasion, he scrawls TRUMP and ISIS and other stuff (honestly, I never got the photos and have only been able to rely on first person accounts) into his kitchen cabinets. 22 shells littering the floor. He made his way, clothed and ready for work that day, halfway down his basement stairs (where the door to his vehicle was) before turning his 22 rifle on himself halfway down. Technically, cause of death was him falling to the hard concrete basement floor and his now fragile skull fragmenting upon impact.
The kicker here, is that he did stop drinking alcohol. He just moved to Robutussin. DXM. Dextromethorphan. Hid it from his wife and everyone else. She found numerous bottles hidden around the house afterwards. That and his his toxicology came back showing extreme levels of DXM.
My older brother was an awesome human being. Always looking to bring joy into others lives. He and his wife were my first choice for Godfather of my son, as i knew they would make awesome parents. Except she couldn't have kids. He strived to make everybody smile around him, and he hated conflict. Yet as a rock solid unit of muscle who could press more than i ever weighed (considerable if your curious) he could handle most any outward physical conflicts. Just never his own inner ones.
The medical examiner said the gash on his arm was self inflicted, in his professional opinion. So did the second opinion.
My last words with him were an argument trying to convince him how much of a scoundrel and crook this man he seemed to idolize was, that I've seen that type before and they only truly care about themselves. Didn't matter. Hillary and Bill and Obama were obviously so much worse. Google it he said.... Google what specifically? "oh you'll know when you find it". I couldn't present anything to convince him otherwise. He was sold, hook line and sinker.
He wasn't even on this plane of existence when he did it. He had convinced us all he had been criminalized. That he was the victim and had been attacked in his own home. Half my family still believes it despite any evidence to the contrary, or maybe they just don't care that much. They've all moved on. I still feel broken. I couldn't help him with his core issues. Unidentifiable as he made them seem.
His birthday is coming up in a couple weeks. Not that I ever really stop thinking about him, or one of the last conversations we had.
"When you were playing. you were #88. Couldn't ever keep that number in my head for some reason if I didn't think of it as 4 Oh.s all next to each other."
Yeah. Im going through some shit. And I might disappear for the next month cause when im sober i'll be mortified i let myself post this. Maybe drunk me needs to get some shit out.
5 years ago I got a call from my mother.
"you're older brother has suicided, wrap your head around that."
I couldn't. Still can't and yet am forced to. She knows how cerebral I am, she understood the best way to get through to me immediately. She and I had just, a few months prior, admitted him to rehabilitation clinic for alcoholism as he was about to lose his job and his Wife. "One of the best in the state, many celebrities have had successful treatments here". He went through it. Kept his marriage intact as well as his job...somehow.
Months later he is attacked in his own home, has a giant gash (6 inches or so) on his forearm. Says they were waiting for him when he got home from his dog walk. (suspicious, because he was within eyesight of a elementary school in a very safe neighborhood historically). Obviously we all take him for his word. We didn't know.
Mig August, apparently amist another home invasion, he scrawls TRUMP and ISIS and other stuff (honestly, I never got the photos and have only been able to rely on first person accounts) into his kitchen cabinets. 22 shells littering the floor. He made his way, clothed and ready for work that day, halfway down his basement stairs (where the door to his vehicle was) before turning his 22 rifle on himself halfway down. Technically, cause of death was him falling to the hard concrete basement floor and his now fragile skull fragmenting upon impact.
The kicker here, is that he did stop drinking alcohol. He just moved to Robutussin. DXM. Dextromethorphan. Hid it from his wife and everyone else. She found numerous bottles hidden around the house afterwards. That and his his toxicology came back showing extreme levels of DXM.
My older brother was an awesome human being. Always looking to bring joy into others lives. He and his wife were my first choice for Godfather of my son, as i knew they would make awesome parents. Except she couldn't have kids. He strived to make everybody smile around him, and he hated conflict. Yet as a rock solid unit of muscle who could press more than i ever weighed (considerable if your curious) he could handle most any outward physical conflicts. Just never his own inner ones.
The medical examiner said the gash on his arm was self inflicted, in his professional opinion. So did the second opinion.
My last words with him were an argument trying to convince him how much of a scoundrel and crook this man he seemed to idolize was, that I've seen that type before and they only truly care about themselves. Didn't matter. Hillary and Bill and Obama were obviously so much worse. Google it he said.... Google what specifically? "oh you'll know when you find it". I couldn't present anything to convince him otherwise. He was sold, hook line and sinker.
He wasn't even on this plane of existence when he did it. He had convinced us all he had been criminalized. That he was the victim and had been attacked in his own home. Half my family still believes it despite any evidence to the contrary, or maybe they just don't care that much. They've all moved on. I still feel broken. I couldn't help him with his core issues. Unidentifiable as he made them seem.
His birthday is coming up in a couple weeks. Not that I ever really stop thinking about him, or one of the last conversations we had.
"When you were playing. you were #88. Couldn't ever keep that number in my head for some reason if I didn't think of it as 4 Oh.s all next to each other."
Yeah. Im going through some shit. And I might disappear for the next month cause when im sober i'll be mortified i let myself post this. Maybe drunk me needs to get some shit out.
