July 27 (Trigger Warning: Suicide, Drugs, Etc)

Today would be my Uncle Tony's birthday if he didn't die when I was 11, 25 years ago.  My mom is convinced he committed suicide but the rest of my family rejects that idea.  No matter how much I can't stand her, I tend to lean toward believing my mom.  Whether that is from years of her talking to me about it, or my own view point, I am not sure.  

My relationship with my uncle was very scarce.  I have maybe two real memories of him.  One Christmas he gave me a giant St Bernard stuffed animal.  The other memory is sitting on the floor at my great grandmother's home watching The Simpsons while he studied while drinking 2 liter sodas like he had Indiana Snap and could only binge on them if he had cash... Okay, now I'm actually projecting. Anyway, I know he was around more but not much. 

From what I've gathered from stories, my uncle was the first born of four.  My grandparents split up when he was a teenager and he started getting into trouble.  Lots of drugs and drinking.  He chose to live with my grandfather who was already an addict and encouraged it onto my uncle.  He snuck him into go-go bars and let him drink whatever he wanted, so I have been told.  

My uncle was incredibly smart.  He was working toward becoming a doctor for years.  He would highlight through his textbooks and drink soda to stay awake through it.  Just like in my memory.  When I was in grad school, I did the same thing and ended up graduating at the top of my class.  To this day, I swear the soda had a big part in that.   

My uncle loved my mom.  He called her "Cookie" after she started culinary school.  He called her regularly and they were very close.  When I was born, he jumped on the bus to travel several hours to see me.  By then it was the middle of the night and visiting hours were over, but he used his charm to convince the staff to let him in to see me in the nursery and go see my mother in her hospital room. 

My mom loved her brother too.  She looked up to him throughout her youth and looked out for him once she was grown.  The only negative thing she could ever say about him is how he drover her crazy one night when he showed up at my grandmother's home drunk and kept singing "Hey Mickey" by Toni Basil over and over again.  For my mom, that's really not too bad of a complaint. 

The day my uncle died, I was at my grandparents' second home in Florida, where I grew up.  I was watching the Disney Channel and the phone rang.  My grandmother answered.  I heard a blood curdling scream I had never heard and have never heard again.  I peeked out of my room to see my grandmother on the floor of the kitchen.  The phone in pieces.  My Poppop holding her like she could shatter at any second.  In a way, she was shattering. I didn't know what was going on.  My Poppop eventually told me and my sister to stay in our room and he would check in with us later.  I remember initially thinking my grandmother must have been stung by a bee.  She was allergic and terrified of bees.  But it was much worse.  My mother was already out of town so I have no idea what her reaction was to that news.  

Throughout my life, I have often thought about what brought my uncle to that decision on that day.  Was he really bipolar and so sick that he took his life?  Did he accidentally mix the drugs in a way he never had before?  What actually happened?  

When I was 25, I was misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder.   This terrified me but I tried to make the best of it.  I went to therapy, saw my doctors, took my meds.  It wasn't until I was 33 that I found out that I actually have Complex PTSD with psychosis from family-related trauma.  My Adverse Childhood Experience (ACE) Score is 8 or 9/10 depending on the ACE quiz I am given.  The average ACE score for women in the US is 2 (https://bmcpublichealth.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12889-020-09411-z).  An ACE score of 4 or more increases a person's likelihood for mental and physical health issues (https://brainwave.org.nz/article/adverse-childhood-experiences-understanding-their-effects/#:~:text=Those%20with%20an%20ACE%20score,%2C%20drug%20abuse%2C%20and%20alcoholism.). 

Apparently a lot of people are misdiagnosed as having bipolar disorder when they actually suffer from Complex PTSD.  That is why so many people end up in the psych ward from bad reactions to antipsychotics.  Those aren't the right drugs for them.  It's frustrating because just asking a few more questions would help the doctors actually understand what the person is actually suffering from.  

Based on the ACE quiz, my uncle definitely had a score of at least 7/10.  Based on everything I know, it feels like it is possible that he also had Complex PTSD that wasn't being treated properly.  How do you grow up not to have drug issues when you are raised the way he was?  How do you not get some kind of mental health diagnosis when you suffer the way he did?  

It seems almost like a curse on my family.   The first born always becomes the scapegoat kid with "issues".  It makes me wonder about my grandfather who drank to death.  What made him turn out that way?  And his sister that committed suicide, what about her?  What stories was I never told?  

All I can really say is that it is really sad and I will not be continuing the pattern.  I chose not to have children, partly because I had to raise my sister as a kid, but also because I just don't think I can trust myself not to screw that kid over.  I don't want the curse to continue.  I won't let it, at least not through my bloodline.  

My uncle died 25 years ago.  I am almost the age he was when he died.  I refuse to go the way he did.  To save my life, I have cut out people who treated me poorly no matter how much I loved them, I moved far away from home, I go to the right types of therapy and see a psychiatrist that fully understands my condition, I married a good man, I chose not to have children, I have never had a drink in my life, I refuse to touch drugs.  

I don't think doing these things to avoid demise makes me better than my uncle.  I don't think my uncle had the same opportunities I had to learn about what the real issue was deep down.  I think the system failed him.  

I wanted to tell his story today for his birthday and to hopefully make people understand that addiction and suicide stems from things much bigger than a diagnosis.  You have to get the full story.  I am missing a lot of bits and pieces so I could be totally wrong about my take on his story, but I don't think I am. I felt like my uncle's story is especially important to tell now that certain executive orders are being put in motion to institutionalize "sick" people. 

You aren't born mentally ill or an addict.  Something happens to push you in that direction.  The stigma that these people are "crazy" has to stop and people have to start looking at their own mistakes they made to contribute to these sad stories.  They also need to look at how they ended up the way they did and make amends with the people who were innocent in all of it.  Pain is malleable.  It can be avoided and it can be mended.   Choose to avoid and mend it before it is too late for someone you love.