Not a man, but relate. Women do tend to have more social connections (although I also lost friends after loss) but the numbness… unable to take what now seems extremely trivial seriously even more than ever… one miscarriage will do that to you, and I’ve had five
Major depression for sure. But not good for it to go on for so long. Resilience must be cultivated. Pot doesn't help, alcohol doesn't help. Both will make it worse. Perhaps the right antidepressant will help. If you can get a thorough evaluation by a psychiatrist that specializes in medication. Saved my life. Just enough to get out of the black hole and start to climb out. Life is about loss, and we need to come to terms with it. There is still great beauty, love, connection and purpose to experience. But not possible where you are. I believe you need a boost, a nudge, something to suck you out so you can start to do the work of re-entry. There are other people who love you and you owe it to them as well as yourself.
I can’t diagnose without meeting with you in person, but I am a licensed mental health professional and from what you write I would say that it sounds like major depression. I do not mean to offend you, but if there were some way for you to be able to engage with life again, I think it would be rewarding not only for you but for your family. And even a tribute to your late wife and daughter. I wish you peace.
Hi Patricia - I appreciate your care, and I can see you mean well. But I want to push back gently on your assessment of me.
I don’t have major depression, although things can be hard at times. What you’re reading on Substack is my writing - it’s intentionally raw and honest, because that’s the point of it. But it’s a narrow slice of who I am and how I’m actually doing, not a clinical portrait of my mental state.
I’m working with an excellent therapist, and both my wife and I feel confident that I’m healing and moving forward. That process doesn’t always look tidy from the outside, especially in writing that’s meant to go into the hard places.
I’m not offended by your concern. I’m doing better than the writing might suggest, and I have good people around me.
I am relieved and happy to know all this Jason, and I apologize for my presumption. Good to know that what you write is a slice of your experience and that you’re not going to “jump.” Great that you’re working with a good therapist…and that you’re healing from the most painful loss a human can endure—and some don’t. As someone once said: “ Don’t let your pain spoil your joy.” Integration is key. Peace and love to you my friend.
I really connected with this, Jason. It's been two years since I lost my amazing son Nathaniel, and I am very high functioning on the outside -- I continue to work, support my five living children. I've had excellent 1:1 grief counseling, and I'm part of a men's virtual grief group who each lost a child to suicide, I regularly try to do things to help others. I started volunteering with some suicide loss support charities.
No drinking, drugs, risky behaviors, or symptoms of serious mental or physical health issues.
But behind alll of that, I simply don't have any concept of "direction" in my life anymore. I've always had a lot of motivation and drive, I've been very confident in my own instincts. Now that all has changed.
It feels like I could've written this piece myself. Looking forward to what you're working on and how I can be involved.
What you're describing is something I think about a lot. You're not just high functioning on the outside, you're actively doing the work, the counselling, the group, the volunteering.
And yet that absence of direction, that loss of the instincts you used to trust without having to think about them is now influencing so much of your life. It's not a failure of any kind. It's just how deep this kind of loss goes.
Losing a child upends pretty much everything, including the parts of you that you built and relied on long before you lost Nathaniel.
I'm glad the piece landed, and I'm sorry it had to brother.
I'd genuinely welcome you being part of what I'm building. I sent you a DM.
Thank you for writing this. I'm not a man, but I appreciate what you wrote and can relate. I lost my best friend of 14 years, and the hardest moments are when something meaningful happens and I automatically want to tell her about it, and I can't. You talked about reaching for a connection that cannot happen. That's it. That's what leaves me feeling stranded.
Since my WIP novel is inspired by my friendship with this person, I will call her Marianna (character’s name). I met her when we were 11 years old, in sixth grade, and she was the first person to encourage me to stand up for myself. My father was an explosive, angry man, and my mother (in my memory) checked out and watched from the sidelines. It meant everything to have a person believe I deserved safety and respect. But she was always better to me than she was to herself. She struggled with opioid abuse in high school, and in our early 20s, she overdosed on Xanax (prescribed) and alcohol. She had talked about ending her life, but, before her overdose, she visited my mother. My mother worked as a florist at the time. My mother said Mari was excited to start community college soon. She said it didn’t feel like a goodbye. So, this is probably why your posts relate to me so much: no one knows if Mari’s overdose was intentional or accidental, and I honestly don’t know which one is more tragic to me. Most of the time, I hope she chose to go, because if she finally found some light and accidently overdosed, that feels so cruel. But, to find the depths of despair where you choose to leave — that is probably the cruelest. So, anyway, in revising my novel, I’m truly grieving for the first time in 11 years since her death, and I’m finding a lot of understanding from you, a stranger. Whenever I visit old journal entries and see, with an adult’s perspective, just how much I missed because I was focused on one thing or another, I’m overwhelmed with anger and self-hate and loss. So far, the best line of advice I’ve heard that helps me, is that we never really get “over it” — we learn how to carry it. That might be what happens when you revisit your elephant foot. You learn how to carry an entire elephant foot that wasn’t meant to be in contact with a living being. Yet, we do it.
Not a man, but relate. Women do tend to have more social connections (although I also lost friends after loss) but the numbness… unable to take what now seems extremely trivial seriously even more than ever… one miscarriage will do that to you, and I’ve had five
Yeah, that described how I felt for a long time. Empty and just going through the motions on the assumption I wouldn’t feel that way forever.
Major depression for sure. But not good for it to go on for so long. Resilience must be cultivated. Pot doesn't help, alcohol doesn't help. Both will make it worse. Perhaps the right antidepressant will help. If you can get a thorough evaluation by a psychiatrist that specializes in medication. Saved my life. Just enough to get out of the black hole and start to climb out. Life is about loss, and we need to come to terms with it. There is still great beauty, love, connection and purpose to experience. But not possible where you are. I believe you need a boost, a nudge, something to suck you out so you can start to do the work of re-entry. There are other people who love you and you owe it to them as well as yourself.
Hi Patricia - before I respond. I want to clarify something. Are you diagnosing me as having major depression?
I can’t diagnose without meeting with you in person, but I am a licensed mental health professional and from what you write I would say that it sounds like major depression. I do not mean to offend you, but if there were some way for you to be able to engage with life again, I think it would be rewarding not only for you but for your family. And even a tribute to your late wife and daughter. I wish you peace.
Hi Patricia - I appreciate your care, and I can see you mean well. But I want to push back gently on your assessment of me.
I don’t have major depression, although things can be hard at times. What you’re reading on Substack is my writing - it’s intentionally raw and honest, because that’s the point of it. But it’s a narrow slice of who I am and how I’m actually doing, not a clinical portrait of my mental state.
I’m working with an excellent therapist, and both my wife and I feel confident that I’m healing and moving forward. That process doesn’t always look tidy from the outside, especially in writing that’s meant to go into the hard places.
I’m not offended by your concern. I’m doing better than the writing might suggest, and I have good people around me.
I wish you only the best.
I am relieved and happy to know all this Jason, and I apologize for my presumption. Good to know that what you write is a slice of your experience and that you’re not going to “jump.” Great that you’re working with a good therapist…and that you’re healing from the most painful loss a human can endure—and some don’t. As someone once said: “ Don’t let your pain spoil your joy.” Integration is key. Peace and love to you my friend.
Loss, if approached consciously, is the greatest fuel for growth.
https://pneuma36.substack.com/p/loss-does-not-exist?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web
I agree
Wonderful. Restacking
Thank yo so much ❤️
I really connected with this, Jason. It's been two years since I lost my amazing son Nathaniel, and I am very high functioning on the outside -- I continue to work, support my five living children. I've had excellent 1:1 grief counseling, and I'm part of a men's virtual grief group who each lost a child to suicide, I regularly try to do things to help others. I started volunteering with some suicide loss support charities.
No drinking, drugs, risky behaviors, or symptoms of serious mental or physical health issues.
But behind alll of that, I simply don't have any concept of "direction" in my life anymore. I've always had a lot of motivation and drive, I've been very confident in my own instincts. Now that all has changed.
It feels like I could've written this piece myself. Looking forward to what you're working on and how I can be involved.
What you're describing is something I think about a lot. You're not just high functioning on the outside, you're actively doing the work, the counselling, the group, the volunteering.
And yet that absence of direction, that loss of the instincts you used to trust without having to think about them is now influencing so much of your life. It's not a failure of any kind. It's just how deep this kind of loss goes.
Losing a child upends pretty much everything, including the parts of you that you built and relied on long before you lost Nathaniel.
I'm glad the piece landed, and I'm sorry it had to brother.
I'd genuinely welcome you being part of what I'm building. I sent you a DM.
Thank you for writing this. I'm not a man, but I appreciate what you wrote and can relate. I lost my best friend of 14 years, and the hardest moments are when something meaningful happens and I automatically want to tell her about it, and I can't. You talked about reaching for a connection that cannot happen. That's it. That's what leaves me feeling stranded.
I'm so sorry you lost someone so close to Jennie. I have a feeling you were a wonderful friend to her, just as she so clearly was to you.
Can I ask her name and what makes her such a great friend?
Since my WIP novel is inspired by my friendship with this person, I will call her Marianna (character’s name). I met her when we were 11 years old, in sixth grade, and she was the first person to encourage me to stand up for myself. My father was an explosive, angry man, and my mother (in my memory) checked out and watched from the sidelines. It meant everything to have a person believe I deserved safety and respect. But she was always better to me than she was to herself. She struggled with opioid abuse in high school, and in our early 20s, she overdosed on Xanax (prescribed) and alcohol. She had talked about ending her life, but, before her overdose, she visited my mother. My mother worked as a florist at the time. My mother said Mari was excited to start community college soon. She said it didn’t feel like a goodbye. So, this is probably why your posts relate to me so much: no one knows if Mari’s overdose was intentional or accidental, and I honestly don’t know which one is more tragic to me. Most of the time, I hope she chose to go, because if she finally found some light and accidently overdosed, that feels so cruel. But, to find the depths of despair where you choose to leave — that is probably the cruelest. So, anyway, in revising my novel, I’m truly grieving for the first time in 11 years since her death, and I’m finding a lot of understanding from you, a stranger. Whenever I visit old journal entries and see, with an adult’s perspective, just how much I missed because I was focused on one thing or another, I’m overwhelmed with anger and self-hate and loss. So far, the best line of advice I’ve heard that helps me, is that we never really get “over it” — we learn how to carry it. That might be what happens when you revisit your elephant foot. You learn how to carry an entire elephant foot that wasn’t meant to be in contact with a living being. Yet, we do it.