What I’ve learned from loved ones with terminal illness and friends with alcoholism/substance abuse

It’s hard. It’s painful. Your soul aches and you can at times feel both physically, emotionally and mentally ill and drained. For me, terminal illness, alcoholism and substance abuse struggles are eerily similar. While my father had his ten year battle with Alzheimer/dementia/asphesia, several friends were battling alcoholism and substance abuse. It was a constant dismaying feeling of grieving the slow decline of the people I love most in the world while they were still alive.

It’s hard because ultimately you come to terms with the fact that there is absolutely nothing you can do to fix them. In the case of terminal illness, you can only be present. In the case of alcoholism or substance abuse, you can lecture, preach, threaten but none of it matters… it is completely up to the person and their self control… but it’s also an illness. The painful reality that they often can’t control it.

In my case, I tried to be there as much as possible. One was in so much pain they chose to take their own life. I was so angry for the choice they made. I couldn’t understand. Honestly, I still don’t understand. I don’t even want to accept it even though it’s been years but I don’t have a choice. I can only live on.

I have learned there is absolutely no real advice or solution with regards to being merely a loved one. The only thing you can do is be there for them. But sometimes for your own sanity you have to walk away. But be there as much as you can and cherish those good moments while they last.

I do know that if love were enough, they would all still be here.

Distant Love

The pandemic, the craziness of politics, the b.s. of war… it’s brought so much heartache and chaos. I’ve lost so many people that I love not related to any of it but I lost a few people I thought were friends because of it. I still pray for them and care for them. I wish them happiness but I also pray that the hatred and racism that lives inside them disappears.

What has also come to light is the Grand Canyon that has been plunged between me and the very people I love most. My introvertion doesn’t help. I’m the quiet observer who would rather listen to others rather than dominate the conversation. I avoided parties before the pandemic mostly so I’m not asked the predictable question, “Why are you so quiet?” or “What’s wrong? You don’t want to be here?” I also don’t want to make others feel uncomfortable because of my silence.

When you lose someone due to suicide and another two from addictions and alcoholism it really builds a thick wall around your heart and soul. When you lose your parents due to natural causes from the simple complex fact that it’s their time, it shatters you. When you’re trying to piece it all together and make sense of it… you really can’t. The you I’m referring to is me.

Initially I had many people checking in on me and many times I wouldn’t answer the phone, text or email. It’s dwindled quite a bit. I am grateful because now I can figure out the new normal. I’m sorry to those I didn’t respond back to. Honestly, I still most likely won’t answer the phone and may take awhile to respond to a text.

I’m okay but I won’t ever be that person I once was. I don’t allow people into my heart as easily. I’m no longer a pushover. I do hope eventually the wall that is built around my heart will come down but for now it’s firmly in place.

I have had this post sitting in my draft box for quite some time. I finally decided to release it since it seems to still apply today even after a year.

I am still healing just as many of us still are.