With Uncommon Grief
A Life Long Journey With Mental Illness
by
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" For I have come to ‘set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother- in-law;’ " and ‘a man’s enemies will be those of his own household. Matthew 10:35
Reflections of a Recovery
Although part of the title of these reflections is a recovery, the recovery process actually has never ended. Many of my emotional wounds have healed. Scars remain that are sensitive to the continual stresses of life. Just as most physical scars are permanent, I have accepted that some of my emotional scars are permanent. Some fade with time and some don’t. Not all are negative. Be they physical or emotional, not all are apparent. (Even my physical body has scars and breaks from the trauma that I have encountered.) My most recent diagnoses relative to modern psychotherapy is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of the earlier crises in my life. I have also been diagnosed and treated in earlier years for being Manic Depressive and Reactive Schizophrenia. (I’ve come to believe that I have been misdiagnosed several times in my early psychiatric evaluations.) The most significant trait that I have developed through the years has been the ability to persevere. One dream I had was carrying a tetrahedral trophy down my hometown street inscribed with the words "Acquainted With Grief". The trials that have taken me from the sunny care free days of a perfect early childhood to the hallways of a mental hospital have been long, lonely and filled with despair. One moment in time changed my life forever. I was eleven. It literally happen with a flash, and in a flash. Forever gone were my childhood days of being happy, carefree. Prior to that moment in time, my life was like a box of chocolates. Up until that day, I may not have known what I was going to get, but it had always been good, just like a box of chocolates. The death of my brother by an accident, tied to the observance of a president’s funeral in the year 1963, changed my delicate life. If my life had not been so nearly perfect up until that day, would the devastation been less? Was it the tragedy that threw me into an emotional tailspin or the events after the tragedy that nearly destroyed me? I believe that latter is true. To this day, my family continues to mask the dysfunctional household that we became because of that day. Oh yes, we have moved on. However, we have also covered pain and truths with religious beliefs, rituals and preoccupations due to the lump in our throats when or if ever the topic arises. My survival instincts lead me to a psychiatrist at the age of twenty-five. Before that, I had never discussed my brother’s accident with anyone. I tried to save him but failed. I tried to cope, but was blamed. I buried the pain, became silent. For the next fourteen years, I never spoke of the events of that day except for one time to my first wife. Discussing it with her, I cried. On that fateful day in November of ‘63, no one asked me what had happened. I was accused by my father. Later, the issue was taboo. I was never brave enough as a child to be able to bring up the issue and defend myself. I spent the next forty three years not knowing what my family knew of the circumstances of the accident. Jeff was my brother, my partner. We were cowboys and Indians, pirates and captains, best friends. He was an extension of myself; almost like a twin. I felt responsible for him. Was this assumed responsibility an instinct built within my nature, or were there subtle implications from the family that caused me to carry this role? Again, I do not know. I do know this. As a cloud hung over a nation that day, a cloud descended over my family, the same type of cloud, large, dark, consuming, and threatening. In humility with and before God, I write these events and reflections of my life in an attempt to give hope and encouragement to those who suffer similar trauma and tragedies today. I have gained a lot of emotional wisdom, but recovery is still an on going effort. My own perception in this world leads me to believe that the process of recovery may not be complete until I meet my Lord, Jesus Christ in person. Contact WithUncommonGrief@gmail.com
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About the Book
" With Uncommon Grief" is a true story of the author's journey through mental illness. It represents a lifetime of struggle from a tragedy that was associated with the assasination of John F. Kennedy and his subsequent funeral. The two are not directly linked but have a common ground in timing with eternity. The struggle of the author, with his brother's accident and death, led him into a lifetime of suffering and inability to cope with many situations in his life. At the age of eleven the author experienced an emotional breakdown which continued to haunt him in his adult life. This book details the events and tragedies and outcomes of being acquainted " With Uncommon Grief".
About the Author
Shawn Gregory was born in Southeastern Ohio in 1952. He currently resides there in a small town village. He graduated from Milford College with a BS degree in engineering. Presently he is employed as a Research Scientist. He met his wife, Reba Jones, in 2001. Both remained employed with their jobs in Ohio and West Virginia.