Grief Awareness Day, 30 August 2024.
My experience of grief is atypical. Yes, I know the grief curve is only indicative, and it’s not a smooth line for anybody, but…
For neurodivergent people, especially those with Alexithymia and Complex PTSD, it can be unrecognisable and baffling.
People wonder:
– How can I talk about such emotive subjects as losing my teenage son to suicide, without cracking?
– How did I return to work on a phased return, just two weeks after Iggy died?
– Why I am not constantly in pain?
– How I can still have fun, and be happy?
Well, I have Alexithymia, meaning I’m not in touch with my emotions or I cannot always identify them accurately. They hide under the surface, until they erupt without warning.
I also have Complex PTSD, not just from Iggy’s death – I’ve had it for a long time from various different traumas snowballing over time.
I can dissociate, sometimes involuntarily, sometimes with control.
Sometimes I feel nothing, and if that feeling persists, it makes me feel like crap. I may watch a sad TV programme (Dead to Me was my go to show, the year it happened), or drink too much alcohol, just to feel something (that’s why I quit for 6 months and only drink in moderation now).
And then, the floodgates can burst open at inopportune moments (like in the middle of a choir performance at work, when I’m walking home from yoga, even during sex).
It is not just loss, and not just missing my son; it is the sheer horror of the situation. Fearing for my younger kids, who share many of Iggy’s characteristics.
And hoping they have a better future, hoping all neurodivergent and LGBTQIA+ kids can one day be accepted and loved in this society.
Zee is now my eldest child. She was supposed to be the middle child. I’m not religious, not even slightly, but every day I pray she makes it to adulthood. She was just ten when she found her brother. As if life is not hard enough already for an intelligent autistic kid with severe combined ADHD.
Please understand you cannot guess what it is like, and what I need. For example, I need a day off work to commemorate Iggy on his birthday. I do not spend that day sitting around mourning and crying. I do something nostalgic, and I am happy when I am reminiscing about Iggy. Emotions can hit me during the following days, and I get drained and headachy, and more prone to overwhelmed meltdowns. I need more time and headspace for a few days, but it is unpredictable.
No, I am not in pain all the time, not even most of the time. Sometimes it is like Iggy never left, because having a strong visual, auditory and autobiographical memory is one of my autistic strengths. And my imagination. I can imagine Iggy is still with us, laughing at Deadpool’s antics, appreciating Klaus in the Umbrella Academy, picking up interesting rocks…
Some people tell me you can’t imagine what I have been through, what it is like. I know you mean well, but please do not try. You won’t be able to, it is unique to me. And it does not achieve anything anyway.
Instead, please help make the world a better place. Be an ally. Spread acceptance, compassion, and love. This makes a difference. The ripple effect is strong.
Thanks for listening to me, and believing me.
Ausome Charlie 