First in a three-part series on depression.
Jo’s father was quiet, distant, worked hard and drank harder. After he stopped working, he drank less; instead, he sat in the living room and stared at a blank TV screen all day. One day, he lurched from the sofa, vigorously “beating bugs” off his arm, collapsed and died.
So when her son told her that he was an alcoholic – at 21 – she didn’t believe him. He was sweet, outgoing and funny as hell. Their family, including his three older sisters, doted on him. Then calls started coming: from friends, EMS, police. Soon long sleeves, caps and sunglasses couldn’t cover the cuts and bruises from falling.
Today she realized both men had been severely depressed. Liquor simply worked better than Prozac.