The good, and the bad, of losing a sibling, and the depression that came with it

How does one talk about these things? I mean, in this day and age of technology and social media, you see anyone say that we should talk about mental health and what bothers us, but it’s not that easy, it really isn’t. 

When I was asked recently by a good friend if I’d be interested in telling even some of my story, because let’s face it, there’ll always be something that you may never talk about for whatever reason, but for me, it has been a while since I opened up. 

However, this isn’t some half-baked, quick write either because, as I’ve said, it’s not easy to talk about these things at all. I’ve found that over the years, in the past, people can actually be quite vicious when they find out about whatever ‘problems’ you may have, and to me, that is why I’ve rarely spoken out, because I got used to having my past thrown in my face, used against me, whatever. 

Now, I barely ‘talk’ openly, I do however, when the occasion suits me, write things down because that is easier for me and I can control what is actually said and to whom and believe me, I’ve only fully opened up to a few people in my life. 

As I write this today would have been my younger brother, Micky, his 39th birthday and the day we lost him (November 23) was probably the hardest day of my entire life and even before I put this together, I spoke with mum, and my two sisters, Vicky and Liz, to make them aware of what I was considering doing.

Although I’d been bullied prior to my kid brothers’ passing, and have been on occasion since, nothing compares to the loss of a loved one that’s for sure. He was 22 when he died, way too young and it hurt, it still does. 

I found him that day. You see we shared a flat together over the other side of town, we fought, what siblings don’t, but he was still my brother and we’d do anything for each other. But, that day, in November 2002, will live with me forever. 

At the time I was working as a waiter in a restaurant in town, doing a split shift, so I had a few hours spare mid-afternoon; it’s safe to say I never went back. It wasn’t unusual coming home to find the television on with the sport or music channel blaring away, even to find our leather recliner in the middle of the lounge. What was unusual is that, upon first look, he wasn’t there, or in the kitchen, or the bathroom.

His bedroom door was shut though and that in itself was odd unless he had his lass over but I knew she wasn’t either so, upon opening the door, it hit me, he hit me, like a steam train, an exocet missile, a nuclear bomb, and he wasn’t asleep, he’d gone; drugs had taken my little brother, heroin to be precise. 

It was at that moment my life changed forever. I tried mouth-to-mouth as per the operators’ instruction, the paramedics tried as well but to no avail. I was told afterwards that, if I’d be half an hour earlier, we may have stood a chance. 

I’ve taken it upon myself to tell the family, telling my dad his youngest had gone was soul destroying; myself and the lads we grew up with carried his coffin the day of his funeral and that’s about all I remember from that day except it was packed, people even outside – I’ve never thanked people for that, so thank you.

Since then though, what had festered beneath the surface for years to be honest, had reared its ugly head and took over, boy did it take over. A little-known fact is that I had to stop taking anti-depressants and other pills due to becoming somewhat addicted to them, over-reliant, and taking them just for the sake of it. 

A year after my brother had passed on, in October 2003 that was when I turned to writing to help stave off depression. That in itself has given me a career of sorts but the depression still creeps in from time-to-time, tries to overwhelm me, but I’ve not let it win. 

Since then, bullying has still occasionally appeared, in a few rather unexpected places, and I’ve been told often that I can’t do things when, quite clearly, I can. 

Back in 2008, when I’d re-entered education, I recall an afternoon when, because of certain things happening personally, I broke down, literally, in front of my then tutor-now-friend, Amanda; she became something of a saviour to me and I owe her a lot. 

I’ve gone through counselling, twice actually, maybe it has helped a little bit, but it hasn’t really been for me, I’ve just got on with things the way I always have done. A lot of other things have happened that, in all honesty, I’ll not discuss for some time, and I’ve lost a lot of family members along the way including my grandfather, who was someone I looked up to a lot growing up. 

Something else that stands out in recent years, and I’ve never shown any interest or belief in the after-life etc, but a friend had been to see a medium and she told me that night that it was my brother who’d visited her, with a message for me that only I knew that not only was he happy and raving away, but he never blamed me for anything and to forget what had happened prior to his passing (that’s between us). 

Now though, it comes, and it goes, it’s something that I’ve just dealt with, you do. I’ve had spells, I’ve had one this year of truth be known, and it’s been tough. I’ve seen others go through depression as well to which I have reached out to but, knowing how difficult it is myself, I am aware as to how hard it is for people to open up, about anything. 

Now, although as mentioned depression still rears its ugly head more often than I’d like it to, I’ve carried on doing what I do the extent that the PR-game, although difficult, is now working in my favour a lot more, and I’ve had a couple of books published, two music-related, and one boxing, the latter coming out in December last year. In addition to those I am also working on my next two books so the next eighteen months alone will be very interesting indeed. 

Constantly busy with this, that, and the other, I’m already into 2020 work-wise, you can follow my progress via my Media page and my Author page,  whilst following me on Twitter. 

And that’s me, yes there’s more to the tale, but isn’t there always? A lot only a handful of people will know, and I thank them for being there for me. For those who need anyone to talk to, know that I am here for them as well, just shout!

Peter

If you would like to contact Fine and Dandi in regard to Peter’s journey, would like to get involved with Fine and Dandi or would like to share your own journey then please contact us.