God is dead, but he’s a man about 16 or 20 years old or maybe 77, I think. I can send him a message and he comes alive and reads the message. He’s a special person. No one sees him. He’s not actually dead. Before bed I say, “God, I really want this war to end because people are blowing up a place, and if they blow it up, I ‘ll never get to see it.”
—Evan, 2008 (early)
It’s hard to know what to write after that last post, so here’s a picture of my pretty doggie:
Luna
My big brother at my wedding.
Today is the first anniversary of my brother’s suicide. He planned it well: On the coffee table were copies of his will, life insurance policy, and house keys. He changed the greeting on his cell phone (”by the time you hear this message I’ll be dead”), put a plastic bag over his head, lay down on his bed, and died.
His death gutted me, just as his prior threats of suicide had in the years leading up to it.
He was a complicated figure. His best self was fantastic — alive and brilliant, curious, adventuresome, generous, thoughtful. People wanted to be around him and themselves became more alive and aware when they were with him.
I remember Jimmy as so intelligent, fun, sweet, and kind, basically the coolest cousin you could have wished for. He was such a great friend to us in the years we lived in Bedford. I will always cherish those times and will remember him forever.
Such is the seductiveness of narcissistic personality disorder. Despite the joy and wonder with which he engaged the world, he cared about other people — parents, friends, siblings, children, partners — only as if they were participants in his eponymous movie. We were cast in roles that he created, and if we deviated from his script, we were wrong. Because he was charismatic and persuasive, we often felt foolish if we didn’t see things as he did. When we ceased to have value to him, we were written out of the story.
To this day, a year after he proved his beyond doubt that he was ill — after meeting his psychiatrist, who diagnosed the disorder — I catch myself wondering if we’re not just exaggerating.
His memorial service helped. I hold on to it as evidence that the complexity isn’t imagined.
On one side of the room sat his colleagues from the university, where he was under-employed an assistant in a biology lab. (He was 47 and had three degrees and more than 10 years’ work history with the EPA.) Evidently Jim showed up in a professor’s office one day out of the blue, and asked to audit a PhD-level seminar. The professor scoffed, handed Jim a textbook, and told him to come back when he had finished it. A few weeks later Jim returned and and they had a long and deep conversation about biology. They became fast friends, and Jim was offered work in the lab. Everyone at the school saw him as special, a bright light, not someone who could have deeply rooted instability.
On the other side of the memorial service, our mom, his ex-wife, teenage sons, sisters, and a few high school friends knew much more complex man. My sister had lived with his life-long ridicule and contempt. I had been accosted by repeated suicide threats (always sent by email), and viciously attacked when I tried to intervene. His ex-wife had begged him to get help six months before he killed himself. I can’t imagine what his kids have been through.
Living with a person like this is slippery. He sees life from such a strange and interesting, point of view, that when he lays out his philosophy (for instance, that humans are just corrosion on the planet), you actually sort of believe him, even when you know it’s ridiculous. He’s so sure that he’s right that you learn to doubt your own judgment.
I met Jim only once. But the impression he left is as if I had spoken to him many many times…I left the meeting laughing heartily and amazed by this talented and pleasant person. I’m sure Jim has touched countless people. I am glad I’m one of them.
I’m glad I’m one of them, too…but then he pulled a bag over his head.
How could I maintain clarity when faced with a super-smart, exceptional-seeming crazy big brother? It’s the most infuriating, frustrating, doubt-inducing situation. Especially when you’re nine and the crazy person is 14 and the most popular boy in school.
(Cue the Suicidal Tendencies’ 1983 hit “I’m not crazy…you’re the one who’s crazy…you’re driving me crazy”.)
I should be angry with him for killing himself, but I’m not really. It’s what he wanted. He had been planning it for years: He had his will notarized monthly. He took out a life insurance policy with a multi-year suicide clause and patiently waited until it matured, so that his boys would have resources. It should be just enough to pay for their inevitable decades of therapy.
His choice of timing is not surprising. My father — from whom he was astranged — died just a few months prior, after a 10-year illness. A few weeks later Jim asked his ex-girlfriend to marry him; she declined (”not until you get help”). He bought a ring, became depressed.
She and a friend successfully staged an intervention, had his gun impounded, and got him admitted to a locked ward for 72 hours of observation. She says it was the most calm she had ever seen him. Upon release, he began seeing a psychiatrist. He wanted to go every day, to prove that he was doing as she wished. He was convinced that a perfect love, a new wife, would make his life meaningful. A few weeks after the intervention, he acted on his long-held plan.
His girlfriend thinks he finally accepted his illness and couldn’t face the future as a crazy man (he had already watched schizophrenia take our sister and bipolar disorder take our
Goofing during photos. We both loved dancing.
father). I believe that his inability to connect deeply, to love, ultimately killed him.
The last thing I said to him was “If you ever decide to get help, I’ll do anything I can. But until then, I can’t have a relationship with you.” At the memorial, I came to realize how many of us have said some version of those words to him.
I miss him. I loved him so much. It makes my heart ache. A light went out when he died, and my life feels diminished. But it’s also more stable, less fearful. He caused of a lot of emotional trauma; he inspired so many to look with fresh eyes.
I hope to find in my life that which he never did — love, peace, and a settled acceptance of my self.
by way of Ze Frank and @canopygallery.
Where is your cell phone….in the next room
Your hair….vacillates between fabulous and ridiculous
Your father….was complicated
Your favorite thing….fabulous shoes
Your dream last night….haunted me all morning
Your favorite drink….good tequila
Your dream/goal….emmetlabs.com changes the world
The room you are in….the cozy one where my boy is playing with legos
Your fear….losing our nestegg in this crap economy
Where do you want to be in 6 years….yearlong homestay in the south of france
Muffins….No. Cake!
One of your wish list items….Marc Jacobs handbag
Where you grew up….in order: PA, IL, OH, and a tiny island in Florida
The last thing you did….deleted 1200 spam comments
What are you wearing….old cashmere sweater and long cotton jersey skirt
Your TV….is useless without TIVO and Netflix
Your pets….Luna, retired racing greyhound and Fishy the fish
Your computer….2007 Macbook held together with tape
Your life….is in full swing
Your mood….is in full swing
Missing someone….Ms JenBee
Your car….carbon-offset prius
Favorite store….is yet to be discovered…probably in NYC
Favorite color….depends on the light
Last time you laughed….last night, maybe?
Last time you cried….yesterday, definitely.
People who e-mail you….professional colleagues and my mom
One of your favorite foods….Cake!
Place you’d rather be right now….At my sister’s house in FLA
Brilliant post at theblogess.com today.
I am, by nature, an idealist — by which I mean that I’m motivated by abstract concepts that represent a nearly-attainable state of goodness. That’s how I think about the United States: We wrote down and agreed to a set of ideas that, when applied evenly and consistently, will result in a civil society in which the citizens can have good lives and promote goodness in general. Of course, we continually fall short of these ideals, but to me, the striving is the important part. Off the top of my head, these are the ideals that define America to me –
My newest favorite principle is habeas corpus. From Wikipedia:
A writ of habeas corpus ad subjiciendum is a court order addressed to a prison official (or other custodian) ordering that a prisoner be brought before the court so that the court can determine whether that person is serving a lawful sentence or should be released from custody. …
Albert Venn Dicey wrote that the Habeas Corpus Acts “declare no principle and define no rights, but they are for practical purposes worth a hundred constitutional articles guaranteeing individual liberty.”
I love practical things that help us live up to our ideals.
Another ideal that I’m pondering is something on the order of “we’re good guys” or “don’t be evil.” But that doesn’t really show up anywhere in the declaration or the constitution (or, if it does, I haven’t found it). Is it an American ideal to be good guys (or THE good guys)? Is that part of what the framers had in mind? I’m no longer sure. I hope so.
My greatest fear for this country is that we stop striving for these ideals. If that were to happen, then the concept of America would end.
Now is the time to talk about ideals, to renew our commitment to principles that we jointly believe in, and to subordinate powerful people to the laws that govern our government.
“They never delegated understanding” — Eames Demetrios
“A new moral hunger is growing” — Katherine Fulton
“Raise your angle of view” — Philippe Starck
“I am shit” — also Philippe Starck, mid-rant about barbarians, and pronounced “sheet”
“We’re less violent than we used to be” — Steven Pinker
“Animated graphics can make a difference” — Hans Rosling”
“Simple is best” — Murray Gell-Mann
“What little boring things are you willing to do every day?” — Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
“I’m scared.” — John Doerr
“lexicographically” — Erin McKean
“Things should be as simple as possible, but not simpler” — Einstein (Ok, he wasn’t there. But it was mentioned and is still relevant.)
“I was there as myself” — Maira Kalman
“You look great in that uniform” — Deborah Scranton
“Passion lives here” — Isabel Allende
“I don’t make old people noises” — Sophia Loren (also not there, but mentioned and always relevant)
“Learn as if you will live forever” — Benjamin Dunlap
Two weeks ago I went to the TED conference for the first time. This is four days of intense introspection on the part of humanity — deep explorations of war, science, space, ethics, art, design. The speakers included Nobel laureates, an ex-president, inventors…and it brought most of us to tears more than once. You can’t help but be moved, especially if you’re like me. It challenges us all to be more thoughtful and ambitious as humans.
I came back and immediately reported for Jury Duty. Jury selection took three days. More than seventy people were in the jury pool, and by the time we were done seating the jury, only 8 were leftover. That means more than 50 were interviewed and let go for one reason or another. I was the last one. I should have been let go.
It was a prostitution trial, and I have a schizophrenic sister who has been on and off the street for 20+ years, and I assume that she’s done a lot of prostitution in that time. She was last arrested for trying to light my mother’s hair on fire, but that’s another story. Because of Julie (my sister) I’ve thought a lot about life on the street as a drug user, homeless person, prostitute. My feelings are complicated.
Jury selection took 3 days. The trial took 2 hours and consisted of only one witness (a cop) and a tape recording in which the defendant wasn’t named. Deliberations took two days. We found her guilty.
The cross-section of humanity — from humbling masterworks of science, art, culture to the mundane brutality of life in the gutter. By the end of the trial I could barely maintain a conversation, there was so much to process. I’m still at a loss.