Introspection

September 25 was the anniversary of my younger brother's birth in 1953.  Tomorrow is the anniversary of his death in 1975.  I still miss him, of course.  This time of year and this time of my life my thoughts occasionally dwell upon him.  He was everything I wasn't for his age.  Tall, dark, too handsome for his own good.  Smooth with the girls - many of them - and able to buy liquor easier than I could AFTER I was legal.   (Back then beer was legal at 18, hard liquor at 21.)  He was probably the most spontaneous individual I ever met.  That is not always a good thing...

He was also one of the funniest people I have ever met.  He got that honestly; our father was also a very funny man, though I didn't realize just how funny he was until he was in hospice.  It is like a fish in water - he has little appreciation of it until it is removed.

Part of his spontaneity may have been due to his metal state.  None of us - including our father - knew our grandfather very well.  Apparently though our grandfather was prone to erratic behavior, including sudden fits of rage, addictive behavior, extreme mood swings and a very social individual, until he wasn't.

My brother fit that description, at least for a while.  He was certainly troubled.  He self medicated.  In the late '60s and early '70s that was a simple thing to do.  Alcohol, marijuana, MDA, LSD, later heroin.  He wasn't actually addicted to any single drug, it was more that he was addicted to searching for something that would provide relief.  No one could understand what he was needing relief from.  In those days recreational drugs wasn't an unusual activity.  So his participation didn't stand out.  Over years his personality became more erratic, more extreme.  He was straining -extremely hard - to be successful, to impress other people, especially our father, that he was able to be a man.  Unfortunately he tried too many shortcuts to achieve that, and besides, it is really, really hard to impress people when you are stoned a lot.  He became erratically violent, yet could be incredibly tender and gentle.  He loved animals and acquired a Doberman puppy, one of the most beautiful Dobes I've ever seen.  He was almost a canine equivalent - larger than life, smarter than a dog has any right to be, ferocious to strangers yet enjoyed babies crawling over top of him.  He was the perfect image of Borong the Warlock.  Look him up.  They are identical.

He wasn't easy to understand.  Long after his death, family issues revealed a familial trait for Bipolar Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder.  Either or both could be identified by his behavior today.  Back then BP was known as manic-depressive and BDP hadn't been identified at all. They do have genetic tendencies. While both conditions can start at an early age, the manifestations are rarely caught unless the symptoms are extreme.  For a very active male at that time, no one had a clue.  Typically the symptoms rear up in the late teens to early twenties.  Hormones seem to trigger the onset, though there is little definitive knowledge.

Combine early hormone onset, a predilection for BP/BPD, easy access to mind altering drugs and a great desire to find mental peace or distraction and you have a catastrophe searching for a location.

Recent information reveals that he died, syringe in his arm, and was moved to his place of discovery -in a van behind a popular bar.  One I had frequented many, many times.  Not that night, thankfully.  It was only after his death that we discovered the tattoo of a bleeding rose on his shoulder.

It was his Sportster, a blue Ironhead, that ignited my desire for one.  He totaled his, crashing it into a stone wall.  Alcohol, at least, was involved.  He survived that one, after several weeks in hospital.  There are so many, many tales about him, some tragic, some hilarious.

Maybe I'll relate some.  Someday.

The brightest stars burn out soonest.

RIP MSV.

ciao,

the Snark