Mental Health and Grief

The Last of the Firsts

Mindee JorgensenLeave a comment

Surviving the year after losing the love of my life.

 

 In 3 days it will be the 1 year anniversary of losing my love Manny. It still doesn’t feel real at times. I know part of me is still in shock. This past year is somewhat of a blur. How did I make it this far? A year of counting the days, weeks and months go by.

  It was also a full year of painful firsts. My first Valentines Day without Manny, which was also the day he was cremated. My first 4th of July without him. July 6th was his first heavenly birthday, which we celebrated with a BBQ in his honor. 

 The 1st Halloween without Manny was a bittersweet one; it was also my last Holiday with Elvis. My friend Heidi and I took Elvis trick-or-treating in his stroller. He wasn’t his usual excited self and slept most of the time. Shortly after I had to make the painful decision to put Elvis to sleep peacefully at home. A decision I wasn’t supposed to make alone. 

Elvis lived a full 10 months after Manny passed. This year is a blur but I know those 10 months were focused on loving and caring for Elvis as a single senior dog mom. It was not an easy task, but one that kept me occupied and gave me focus. It forced me out of bed on the hard days, and out into the sun. I took Elvis on park adventures, hikes, and strolls. I made sure his last days were filled with love and adventures.

 Then it was the 1st Thanksgiving without Manny, and the 1st holiday without Elvis. I spent it with Manny’s family, just like I have in years past. I am blessed to still be a part of his family, but it was a hard holiday for us all.

 My first birthday without Manny was November 30th. Manny always went out of his way to make me feel special on my birthday. I missed him so much this day. My birthday last year was the last time I saw his band live, and the last time we played together on stage. 

 Despite the emotions my birthday brought up, it was a wonderful day thanks to my many friends. I seriously could not have made it through this year without the support of my friends. One thing this tragedy has shown me is how many genuine friends I have in my life, and how much they love me.

I traveled to spend Christmas with my family at my sisters house. It helped to be out of LA spending time with my adorable nephews. It was a nice distraction, although I still felt the heartache of his absence.

 I flew back on New Years Eve, and made it back to my apartment at 11pm. I thought I would be alright. That I would be tired from traveling all day (I was) and would just unpack and snuggle with the cats. About 10 minutes to midnight, a huge wave of panic hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t want the year to end. It felt like it was putting more distance between me and the time when Manny was alive. I wen’t from saying “Manny passed away this year” to “Manny passed away last year” in the blink of an eye. There was also a touch of survivors guilt, that I lived to see 2024 and he didn’t. 

  We always spent NYE together. More recently, we would spend each NYE at home, and watch our neighborhood go crazy with fireworks at midnight. The sound of the fireworks celebrating the new year was like a punch in the gut that night. At least the fireworks drowned out the sound of my tears.

 The only first left is the first anniversary of his passing. I can’t believe the resiliency it took to survive this year of painful firsts. I don’t think I am strong, I hate when people tell me that. I did what I had to to survive this painful loss, I had no choice. 

 There will be a memorial show for Manny on the anniversary of his passing, January 6th, at The Old Town Pub. His band The Richard Ramirez Beatdown will be playing with Altair on bass, and I will be joining them for a song. We are doing a Dangerously Sleazy song or two as well.

 I appreciate everyone who has been keeping his memory alive this year, and please continue to as the years go by. I know I can never forget him.

The Last Popsicle

Mindee JorgensenLeave a comment

January 5th 2023 Manny walked down to the corner store to grab a beer as he did on so many nights, and came back with popsicles for us. He knows I love sweets and would often surprise me with treats. He ate his popsicle, but I wasn’t hungry and decided to save mine for the next day.

That next day turned out to be one of the worsts days of my life. I was in shock, panicked, distressed, traumatized and heartbroken. My love was gone. I left with Manny’s family to his grandma’s house where Elvis and I stayed, stopping back only to feed the cats. All the while that popsicle was sitting in the freezer.

A week later I returned to the apartment to spend the night in my bed, shower in my shower, and see if staying in the apartment was something I was ready to handle. It still felt comfortable, safe, and like home, but with a big piece missing. My own bed was soothing, despite the immense amount of tears falling on my pillow. I slept on Manny’s side of the bed because the pain of rolling over to him not being where he should be was unbearable.

Aside from sleeping, I had someone with me almost non-stop those first weeks. A rotation of close and caring friends that I am forever grateful for. They forced me to eat, cried with me, fed my pets and took out the trash. I could barely do the most simple of tasks. I was completely helpless and in survival mode, but without the drive to survive.

In my fridge sat the popsicle. The last treat Manny bought for me. A lot of people say they can’t imagine what it is like. Try to picture everything surrounding the person you love and share your life with is over in an instant without warning. No chance to say one more thing, give one more hug and kiss, or look forward to the future together. No more memories to be made, what you had is all you get. You frantically try to collect and store all the memories before they fade, as an excruciating reverse countdown starts. He was alive just yesterday…one week ago…2 weeks…one month…3 months…

That first month I could barely eat any food, let alone a popsicle. The second month it was a reminder of the sweet little things he would do for me. The third month it was some of the only food left in our kitchen that he had purchased. The popsicle “expires” in 2024, although there already seems to be a bit of ice forming on it. It was the final little gift from my love, but I can’t save it forever. People say things like “he would want you to be happy…” Well, I think that he probably would want me to eat the popsicle.

So, somewhere during this unexpected journey of sorrow I decided on a date to eat the popsicle. July 6th 2023. It is both his birthday, and exactly 6 months since his passing. Another milestone in the reverse countdown of grief.

This was when we went to Medieval Times for his Birthday.

The time is almost here. That date is less than a week away and the popsicle is waiting for me. I wonder if anyone else has ever been so emotional over a popsicle? The last few days I have been crying over it. Should I wait longer to eat it? Will I even be able to do it? It feels like a piece of him that is still here will be going away.

This is something I never would have imagined before being faced with this. Attaching enormous emotions and meaning to the smallest things. Saving socks and tooth brushes. Not cleaning that spot on the window that has his handprint on it. Not washing his pillows or the last shirt he wore. Not being able to throw away his shrimp ramen noodles, even though I hate shrimp.

It doesn’t get better with time, it gets different. Life is evolving around my grief but when a wave hits it stings as much as the first day. I am still able to enjoy the things that have always brought me joy- drumming, nature, hiking, music, friends, animals. Somedays I don’t cry at all. Most days I just have one little swell of tears. Somedays my plans are held hostage by the weeping. Today has been one of those days. It was because I looked in the freezer and saw that popsicle, a reminder that the 6 month mark is almost here.

Discussing our relationship. A clip from Dangerously Sleazy being interviewed on “Talking Neat,” a show where we tried fancy whiskeys during the interview. Watch the Full Interview on Youtube.

Maybe I am Overly Sensitive but…

Mindee Jorgensen2 Comments

Not even sure what to call this post. I try to not be too emotional on social media, try not to share too much of the heavy stuff. Obviously, losing Manny has been one of the most painful experiences of my life. I acknowledge the pain and sadness, but mostly try to share positive and uplifting memories. There is no denying though that this has been a tornado of emotions beyond just grief and sadness. I thought I would blog about them, some of these harder emotions and waves/phases of grief. That way if you really want to hear about it, you have to come here and I am not forcing this heaviness upon you in your social media feed.

So, for now I want to start with something that I guess you would say really triggered me. A comment from a stranger that kinda shocked me. On one of my Instagram posts sharing some pictures of Manny and talking about how I miss him a random stranger decided to comment and ask what happened, while also throwing out their own assumption. Total stranger who doesn’t know Manny and doesn’t know me personally. Appears to be a drummer, probably follows me because of that. I do not follow him and no mutual friends.

His comment “Sorry to hear about your loss. He looks very young, as do you! Do you mind me asking what happened? Was he unhappy?”

Ok, so mostly seems supportive, and was polite in his asking, but then the “Was he unhappy” is what really upset me. Not just anger, but a whole flood of emotions.

Why ask what happened and then follow it was “Was he unhappy?” which is basically asking if it was suicide, right? Like why even throw that in there? It’s like you asked what happened but seems like you already painted a picture in your mind. I didn’t even respond.

No, he wasn’t sad and no it wasn’t suicide. BUT…I did lose my mother to suicide and so that comment hit hard and agitated me. I was offended and shocked someone would ask a stranger that. Why would you just assume that anyway? Just because he is young? Why even ask it that way? If it was a suicide loss, how do you think that would make a person feel, being asked that question that way. And if it was a suicide, it is none of your business unless someone decides that they want to share that detail. I don’t think that is a question that should be asked directly to anyone.

BTW depression isn’t just “Sadness” you know. It is more feeling like a burden and hopeless and just a gut wrenching pain that is both physical and mental, and completely reality distorting. It is hiding your pain with a smile and not letting anyone know the depths of torment you feel within your soul.

Yes, I could be overreacting, and I know he meant no harm, probably thought he was being kind and supportive. Just one of those things that has been eating at me since I saw it, and I needed to put it out there.

My opinion is that politely asking how someone passed is fine, but it is up to that person if they want to share those details. Assuming anything, especially if you don’t personally know them, is rude. What do you think?

On being me…

Mindee Jorgensen1 Comment

Sometimes…

I wish someone else could feel how I feel. Or that I could somehow explain it in a way that doesn’t sound all sappy or like I am just feeling sorry for myself, or just want attention.

I don’t feel sorry for myself, and I don’t want attention, especially for my horrible feelings.  I rarely ever share them.  I doubt I will even share this writing with anyone.

    I sometimes feel the way I am feeling right now; that I am just a joke to others.  That no one takes me seriously.  That if I didn’t make an effort and reach out to people, no one would ever reach out to me.  That no one really cares or values my feelings, my art and creations, me as a friend, or me as a human being.

   I feel like if any other human went through what I went through and told the story, that people would care. That people would respect their battle, understand it was hell and wasn’t their fault, that people would listen and validate their grief and trauma.

   I sometimes feel like when I tell people, they are annoyed, they didn’t want to know that, I should keep it to myself, how dare I ruin their day with such a depressing story, I doubt it’s even true.

   Below is something that I wrote a while back, but didn’t have the courage to actually share with anyone.  I wrote this on one of those days when a celebrity died by suicide and suddenly, for about a week, every one was posting about reaching out, be there for people, ect.  Sometimes it hurts even more that few people regularly reach out to me.

This is probably triggering…

   I am having a hard time and I need to just talk about shit and get it out today…but in my life there is no one who I feel I can really open up to.

   This is what I wish I had the courage to say to everyone…

   I don’t want to live with pain, grief, guilt, ptsd….no one does. I am actively trying to recover and resolve as much pain as I can and now that I have health insurance and can actually afford go to therapy, I have been.  I spend so much time and energy just trying to “be ok.”  I work really hard, take care of myself, do yoga, try to meditate, take medicine, occassionally battle through the PTSD, I make such an effort to not go down a bad path, be addicted to drugs, numb my pain with alcohol, ect…I really do as much as I can to be happy and not let this get to me. But sometimes it does. I mean, how the fuck would it not?

   Going to therapy is the 1st time I have fully told all the shit I went through to another person, and had someone tell me it is ok to cry, and that the emotions I feel are valid. Damn I needed to hear that. Growing up I got yelled at and shamed for crying…for having any feelings about this really. “Bottle it up, be strong, you can’t talk about that,” were what I was told as a kid. I better not burden anyone with hearing the shit I went though, and have now felt for 30 years.

Well….what is an even bigger burden than having to hear about what I went though….is actually going through it!!! And feeling like you don’t have ANYONE to talk to about it, especially as a child. For feeling completely isolated and alone in this your whole life.

That my family thinks I turned out great and they are “So happy that your happy.” Not being aware that just because things appear to be “going good” and you work hard and are kind of successful, that you must be completely fine and happy all the time and have such a great life.

My step mother, growing up she always had stuff to say to me though. Not until recently in therapy did I realize how emotionally abusive she really was. I was too mentally fucked from the age of four to even comprehend how much I was bullied BY A GROWN ADULT from the age six.

Growing up she would pick on me, and was manipulative and used what I went through to hurt and control me.

I lost my mom to suicide at 4. Stepmother entered my life at 6.

She, an adult woman, would tell me (starting at 6, a mere 2 years later,) things like…

“Quit crying, you don’t even miss your mom, your just a selfish brat.”

“If I was your mother I would have killed myself too.”

“Your so annoying no wonder your moms dead.”

And she constantly called me…a child…a manipulative liar, and that I had no emotions and no one should feel bad for me because I was a brat who deserved it.

Really I was a depressed child acting out… because I found my mom DEAD!! Because I knew from age 4 that my mother killed herself.  Because that day I also lost my home, toys, bed…everything. I lost it all in one shitty day. At age 4.

What the fuck is a kid gonna do? I had mood swings, I cried a lot, I was an angry and disgruntled child. I felt guilt, shame, anger, the full responsibility of her death, abandonment, grief, pain, shock…every horrible emotion you could think of…even some I still don’t have words for.

So yeah, I guess I’m sorry that trip to Disneyland didn’t magically solve all my problems, and from then on I got to hear about how I was an unappreciative little brat.

And It was pounded into my brain that I shouldn’t have emotions…I was just feeling sorry for myself, it was wrong to feel the way I felt, I should not tell people because it will just bum them out.

As a teenager struggling with depression, I asked to go to therapy. “There is nothing wrong with you, you just want attention,” was the exact words she told me. I felt guilty for wanting help and having pain.

The situation with my stepmother is very awkward.  I do have love and appreciation for her, she met my needs for food, shelter, ect.  She was not always mean, and was supportive and kind at times.  Then, when she was in a bad mood, I just felt like her emotional punching bag.  She spoke words to me that really tore me apart inside. 

And now here I am 30 years later, making a real effort to heal all this shit. I am very guilty of keeping it to myself, of pretending “I’m fine” “I’m OK”…yeah. I don’t reach out, I rarely ask for help or a friend to listen to my issues because I know it is hard to swallow.

BUT…it is also hard to live with, and that is what I do, every single day!

I guess since there were some celebrity suicides recently people are now talking about this for a week or two…posting things like “Reach out if your having trouble.”

You know what…it is the hardest to reach out when your having the most trouble. That is the sad truth of it all.

It’s because we are taught to “Be strong,” that our sad emotions are wrong and frowned upon by society. And so when we are feeling such deep pain and grief, we keep it to ourselves as to not burden others with it.

People are also saying to reach out to those who may be having trouble.

HELLO FRIENDS, I’M RIGHT HERE!!!

I know my friends that know me well know I went through this.

I am probably one of the saddest people you know. I am probably one of the most depressed people you know. Yes, they are 2 different things, and I feel them both so deeply, and fight the shit out of them. And I have done it alone for 30 years.

I have PTSD. I didn’t even realize or think that was something I had….it’s for other people, not me, I’m strong.  I am trying to admit it so I can better heal from it.

It’s like having to carry around a heavy monster on your back and randomly, not always and not predictable,  when someone mentions suicide, or brings up your mother, or references to you as if your mother is alive (Your mother must be so proud of you is probably the worst,) that monster punches you in the stomache as hard as he can.

Or that feeling you get when your almost in a car accident. It takes a while to go away too, even though your rational brain knows there is no real threat. I can’t always control these feelings.

I CAN control my responses, and asides from feeling like I put out this blast of awkward energy, I am good about appearing calm and you probably would not even know my heart rate just doubled, it hurts to breath, and my body is in high defense mode.

So yeah…the days when it is all over the news, are sometimes hard for me. It is also kinda hard when I feel like my close friends should know I went through and deal with this, but few reach out.

I guess that is my fault for being too strong, for hiding my pain so well, for being too successful, for not reaching out myself.

I am trying to admit I have trouble, and am not always “OK.” It should be alright to say your not doing well when your not doing well, right?

I guess when you find yourself wanting to be the person to reach out to someone…remember that have the burden of a well of painful emotions and my main outlet is beating the hell out of drums as hard as I can and as often as I can.

The more I talk the easier it gets, and I have gone a very long time without much talking. So someone offering to listen to my issues without judging my pain is always a very welcomed jesture.

If you are a friend who knows and has listened before, or wrote me just to say hello and ask how I’m doing….know that I remember and really appreciate it, and it means so much to me. Thank you.