Alex's Journey Through Loss

There's one most important thing I learned throughout my 39 years of life, it is compartmentalization. All of my traumas neatly boxed up tightly in their place. It took many years to cultivate these memory boxes. It wasn’t always neat and tidy.

Up till my 30’s I struggled to keep it all together. A defining moment in my journey was when a grief counsellor once told me it was not depression that I suffered from but grief. Western society doesn't allow us to mourn for our lost love ones or except it as a valid mental health issue. It makes people feel uncomfortable to talk about loss and to witness a person in mourning. Society wants us to keep on our masks and continue living how is deemed appropriate.

The moment I heard the love of my life was going to die I completely lost all control of all my senses. I began wailing and hitting the floor, all around me faded. Even though I was surrounded by his loved ones in that hospital waiting room I was alone in that moment. Snapped into reality when the nurse asked me to leave, because my emotions where upsetting everyone. Before leaving I was given a sedative to calm me down. For the next couple years I became dependant on substances, unable to cope with my emotions from such a painful tragic loss.

I was never given the tools to get through grief in a healthy way. I needed these tools the most in the first 15 years of my life. During this time I suffered the loss of my parent’s unhealthy marriage and became victim of mental, physical and sexual abuse. My first thought of suicide was when I was 13 years old.

Around 10 years of age I experienced death for the first time. My mom came downstairs to tuck me in for the night and told me my Uncle died of pneumonia far away in Europe. The only sign of emotion that I noticed was her sniffle and received a hug. I remembered him well, our families were close before the divorce, but that was the only conversation we had about my uncle’s death until I was an adult. When the day came for his funeral we were not allowed to go, because funerals were no place for children.

In the 7th grade a boy I dated died in a plane crash with his step dad. The last thing I ever said to him in a fit of anger was “I hate you”. I remember being so overwhelmed, going through the motions but not ever truly feeling. In the grand scheme I didn’t know him long, but we were connected and I was traumatised from his sudden death. I felt like all the adults in my life wanted me to get over it. Because I didn’t know him for that long there should be a limit to my sadness. I bottled it up and turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until a year later I finally leaned into the guilt along with pain of that tragic loss. I never truly forgave myself until I did some deep healing work when I turned 30.

Around one year after the plane crash a young man of 16, whom I was seeing at the time killed himself. Just like that. I talked to him the night before. He said call him when I wake up… I can’t remember much from that time, things got really dark. My struggle with suicide became intense. I do remember the school offering counselling to those who needed it and I’m sure there was an assembly, but it was too late by then. I had already developed a way of coping. Pushing my feelings down deep and mask with self-medicating. Those who influenced me made me feel like I wasn’t valid in my grief. Apparently a couple months were long enough to be upset.

The last form of grief I felt in my teens was when I had an abortion… I was 16. This time was extremely complicated, I tried to not care and push the feelings deep like I always do, but all of it compounded was too heavy. Depression was now a way of life for me. I felt like the world wasn’t excepting my emotions for this life I chose against. There was so much drama and mixed feelings with my decision. I did not want to see a therapist who was Christian and the family I lived with felt he should be a man of faith. This made me closed off to the idea all together, once again never truly processing.

At age 17, I finally broke free of my unhealthy upbringing and moved out on my own. There was a time of quiet for me to start reflecting.
In my mid 20’s my brother whom I was very close with went missing. Not long after my Yiayia died tragically. I naturally fell into a deep depression. My marriage fell apart and my small children weren’t getting the care they deserved. My husband wanted me to just get over it and move on. I could not do that, I didn’t even know how. We divorced and I repeated old habits, never grieving for the loss of my marriage and my family.

Shortly after I fell in love with my soulmate, he could handle my grief, finally someone who could support me. Unfortunately he was tragically killed a few years later. I did find comfort with my Papou because he was someone who could understand such sadness. But he too had to leave and joined my Yaiya about a year later. I felt so alone… drowning in such deep sorrow thought I would never resurface again…

I did though it just took time and a lot of work. I had to confront my losses. I had to FEEL, and get sober in order to do that. I also had to give myself permission to grieve the way I needed to and found the right people to help guide me.
It’s been over 10 years since I lost Jay and my brother Peter, I still feel the pain raw and strong, but now only when I allow myself to tap into that box. It no longer consumes me.

No one can tell you how to grieve; it is a process and important that you go through it. It does not make you weak to feel emotional pain instead makes you stronger.