Not depressed coz somebody died. He was old, never knew him well, he was my paternal uncle, he barely cared for his own kids let alone me.
I braved my social anxiety to attend the funeral. I had an idea what it would be like, and I’m not sorry I went. I was dreading being asked what I do etc. That didn’t happen.
No, I was a part of something, accepted and my presence unconditionally valued as I am a family member and this branch of my family are very keen on family.
It was a nice short service at the crematorium, and there was no God stuff, no hymns, simple and sweet.
My successful cousin’s successful daughter read Shakespeare because my uncle liked it. My other (also successful) cousin read out some of his dad’s funny letters. They played ‘always look on the bright side of life’ from Monty Python’s Life of Brian.
Then we were all carted off to a very nice pub in a small village a few miles away.
The food was excellent, drinks were placed into my hand, I got to sit near my beloved nephew who is a total star, is at Uni and plans to become an academic. My dead cousin’s widow was friendly and chatted with me about her deceased husband. My brother (who I rarely see) was there, and mum. It was a beautiful sunny day in an idyllic country pub garden. Yes, I enjoyed myself. My cousin who lives in the States with his wife and five kids, was telling funny anecdotes that had everyone spellbound. Family photos of us all together as kids were brought out.
So why the title?
I had to come home alone as usual. All my cousins and brother have families. Seemingly all the kids are doing well. There are great-grand babies. Life in my dad’s clan is going along as it should.
Only I am alone. Bipolar depressed. Unemployed for all these many years of being marginal and mentally ill.
My son who was not planned for or wanted (originally) and has effectively no dad is not doing well (is it surprising?) and I hardly see or hear from him. He was invited, but didn’t come…he barely ever met his great-uncle. Genetically, he is another black sheep.
In the back of my mind I wonder if the next family funeral will be mine. What people will say and what music they’ll play. Suicide is never a cause for celebration.
It was surreal, to be honest. I spent the following day at home drugged up on illegally-acquired downers, sleeping off and on, groggy the rest of the time, self-destructive and reckless. In the meantime my extended family frolic at a barbecue which I was invited to but could not face going, might as well quit while I’m ahead.
Yeah. Family can really bring you down, wonderful and welcoming though they may be.
I don’t expect any compassion, or even interest, for this post. I don’t deserve any. But I thought I’d record the experience.
This morning, having miraculously slept through the night, I’m up and preparing to give the day a shot without any more mind-altering substances. I hope no one related to me will ever read this, but I have to say, it’s beyond unlikely that any of them would have cause to visit here.
I’m so sorry for being such a resounding failure. At least I’ve been successful at that, hey?
1 comment
Outside it being a cool service, you were obviously accepted there.
Being a parent is hard … no 2 ways about it … and even under good circumstances!
You know how people often say something along the lines of, “If you’re going to kill yourself anyway, why not run off and join the circus/ save the world/ etc. first?” I’ve often thought it would instead be kind of fun to stay put and just act like I am the person I always wanted to be, starting right now — and the hell with what others think. I’ll still be dead in time , plus have the benefit of seeing if different choices would have mattered.