As I continue trying to secure legal representation for my brother, Bill, because of his unnecessary death at the hands of various doctors, medical, and care facilities, I end up feeling the same way I felt while fighting for my own rights in the music industry. A lot of, "Gee that's too bad, but I can't help you Bub!" I know what "no help" feels like and what it produces in the long run, and it is virtually nothing. The endless words, comments, and suggestions, boil down to....you're on your own.... I have been on my own for most of my life. It's the oldest and deepest complaint I have about being alive. Those who would like to help, but can't, versus those who could, but won't. Not once, since the day I was born, have I ever had the experience of another human being coming along and offering real and serious help, other than my mother. My emotional reaction and frustration in attempting to advocate for, Bill, who was terribly wronged, is pathetic. I have already heard too much, "Well don't let it get you down, or let go and move on." This kind of crap is the denial of reality. It is emotional cruelty disguised as help. It is in fact someone saying, "Oh shut up and quit complaining!" It is the process by which real complaints are dismissed, by some, as unnecessary whining by those who were actually wronged and/or harmed. Since I have nowhere else to go, and no one else to talk to, I share my frustrations about these kinds of things here on these pages. I suppose it will become another one of the deeply painful things in life that one is left alone with to sort out on their own. There have been too many already telling me how to cope with these losses, casually announcing from on high, that this is just part of life. Really? So life is where we just get fucked, over and over, and we ought to damn well get used to it, because nothing can be done about it? I find that intolerable as a suggested remedy, or pathway to peace of mind, even though it may well prove to be the case in the long run.
The days and nights alone, attempting to grapple with these questions, and their possible solutions, is tiring at best, and leaves me pondering what the next step is. At times I feel like giving up on the whole thing and just walking away, saying, "Well I did the best I could!" But deep down inside I have to ask myself, "Did I? Have I?" It is an insistence that comes back, again and again, as I search my mind and soul for answers. When do I know if I have done all I can do? When will the time come that I can put down my need to do more? I have worked on this problem since early June, when my mother had her first stroke, and then through the subsequent problems of Bill spiraling downward as the resultant fear of losing his great protector, my mother, loomed before him. In Bill's mind, and rightly so, our mother, was the single force that stood between him and the idiots. And without her there to protect him, Bill knew, and again, rightly so, that he was doomed. His life, and hers, were intertwined like Ivy growing along a fence line. The two of them together had formed a mutual dependency on each other, whether by choice or accident. I spent years, decades, learning to understand, and accept, that this arrangement was both real and necessary. It is now, by looking back, that I see, full scale, how utterly important they had become to each other. It is this that drives me. This that makes me want to pursue an answer to the question of, "Who had the right to destroy their pact? Why are they both now victims of stupidity and malpractice?"
I find myself torn by the various possible outcomes to all of this. I think daily about who I believed I could rely on for needed emotional support through all of this. The answers are not there, and so I am left with the confusion and sadness that remains in place of the missing persons I was sure would be here...
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