I think it’s interesting that I haven’t written a dedicated blog about my brother’s suicide on Okami & Co. I guess I made an effort to keep this mental health journey about me, and not let it gravitate toward my dead brother’s mental health that got the best of him. I think that’s hard: to pull my feelings away after being told that “he is why you’re depressed.” I guess it made me feel like I wasn’t my own person, even in my depression, I still fell under his shadow. A shadow he no longer casted but for some reason seemed inescapable.
Trigger warning: Suicide
So I’m going to make a vow to myself to make sure my mental health journey remains about me and to not let it seem like it revolves around my brother after this blog.
13 years is long enough.
Two angels in this photo
TLDR: In July of 2007, shortly after my 17 year old brother graduated high school, he hung himself at a playground I used to play at with my friends. The night before that, he ran away from home. Before he ran away from home, he told me to tell everyone he was sorry. I tried to run after him, but the MP told me to go back inside and that they would go find my brother. The found him too late. This had a major impact on my mental health.
I don’t think I was the same after that. I was angry at the world, and some days I still am. I get frustrated with myself when I think about walking back inside rather than going after him. I get scared when I wake up from the recurring nightmare of running down a dimly lit street toward the General’s house and to our bus stop just to watch him get away or even looking for help before that. I get frustrated blaming my parents: my mom for not being there, and my dad for “not trying hard enough to look” as my 15-year-old self would have claimed. (I know you tried Dad.)
But mostly I get mad at myself for letting myself spiral so out of control and not ask for help sooner. My emotions were so raw as I grew up. I didn’t know how to channel my anger or my grief. I lashed out. I started smoking (an awful habit that I did on and off). I pushed a lot of people away, which I still do. I don’t find ways to connect to people, because I feel like no one will take the time to understand why I am the way I am. I was lucky enough to have people who encouraged me that things would eventually get better, but I didn’t see it at the time. I was too frustrated with everyone. Even more when the one person who reminded me of my brother took his life 3 years later, leaving me on my own.
And now I’m doing therapy to figure out how to retrain my body to react to these emotions that I feel when I think of these memories. My body doesn’t react to the word suicide well. My heart rate and respiratory rate increases. I get dizzy. I feel faint. Every time. I worry excessively when I hear a friend is feeling some type of way toward suicidal thoughts, and my initial reaction is to shower them in extreme love and non-judgmental support (in getting better, obviously.) I get irritated when I hear colleagues say patients are “crazy” or “pshycho” because they’ve been admitted for suicidal ideation. Instead of trying to help them, they reinforce the stigma that surrounds mental health.
And you assholes all wonder why no one in the Army wants to get help. Because you’re all assholes, and if you read this and you get triggered, then yes b*tch, I’m talking about you.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this. I thought I could navigate this blog well, but I’m becoming distracted.
Right, my brother. He died when he was 17. He was supposed to be a dad, but his girlfriend ‘changed her mind’. He just graduated high school and I guess he had aspirations to join the air force, or maybe go to culinary school. (Did I try to live vicariously through him? Maybe.) There are some things about my brother that I remember vividly, there are other things that I don’t. I miss my brother, but sometimes I get angry at him for making living so hard.
I feel like his death set the precedence for my teenage and young adult life. I would be lying if I said that it didn’t cause my family to distance themselves from each other. I still feel very distant from my family. Although, my baby brother and I are reconnecting and re-establishing our relationship and it makes me happy to see him grow into a healthy young man. And I hope he continues to grow like that. I’m happy that he found someone that will be his rock through the good and the bad. (Thank you Janine.)
My thoughts are still all over the place…
My brother. I guess therapy must be working, because I feel like I’ve let go of so much emotional weight. My brother. I no longer want to live shadowed by your past existence. I don’t want to continue dedicating things in my life to you; I am now reclaiming my accomplishments and my victories as my own person. I wanted to live in your “legacy” but I’ve outgrown the need to live for you, because I want to live for myself. I want to live for my child and my husband. And if anyone has an issue with me moving on from you, then keep to yourself, because it’s going to happen anyways.
Public Service Announcement: I am looking forward to growing out of my grief, and if you want to stay in it or you want to try and pull me back into it or are looking to make me feel guilty and call me selfish then please, go kindly fuck yourself. thank you.
My tattoo on my ankle is the signature in this photo
My brother. I’ll always remember you. I’ll remember the small and very brief life lessons you taught me. Like how I should expect Maverick to bother me at night and ask me if his outfit is okay for his first day of school. Or that I can only experience pain from other people if I let them hurt me. I’ll remember your goofy smile. I’ll imagine you dancing every time I hear My Boo Google Play. I’ll remember how annoying you were. I’ll remember that you were the dumb Ferrer and I was the smart Ferrer since we had the same classes when I was in MIDDLE SCHOOL. I’ll remember letting you copy my homework, wow that’s sad.
I’ll remember you, and every July 15th and October 5th, I’ll celebrate you. But I think it’s time for me to let you go and let myself live. For me.
I love you. Rest well,
Jak