To the editor:

My son Alex did not live a tragic life. But he also did not live an easy life. From his early years, Alex struggled for three decades with an invisible and progressive illness that was as deadly as an undiagnosed cancer.

Alex excelled in physical activities, particularly skateboarding and dancing. And Alex excelled verbally with an incredible vocabulary and a fantastic ability to mimic voices of cartoon celebrities. Marge Simpson was one of his funniest. Alex was a fun and funny guy to party with. He could get people to laugh. His apparent social ease and apparent openness and natural good looks opened doors to many new circles. But the circles rarely allowed Alex to easily fit in, so he bounced from circle to circle, becoming well-known but rarely known well. He couldn’t keep pace with folks around him as they glided into their futures. He felt himself continually slipping behind. He felt he was missing his path into a happy future.

Alex’s apparent social ease and openness was indeed misleading.
Inside, Alex was a deeply private person struggling to conceal his anxiety. Alex would confess of himself that he really was a good person but did make some really bad choices. And at the same time, the anxiety grating within him could erupt into verbal outbursts. He knew his ability to entertain others was also an ability to create distance and cause hurt.

As Alex struggled, he hoped to find a fast path into his happy future somehow. But that path wasn’t there. Alex worried that there may be more behind his struggles. He worried that he might be manic depressive. Only in his mid-twenties was Alex diagnosed with the now too familiar and largely unmanaged condition known as general anxiety disorder. No clinical help had prepared him for his early adult years. As his world spun faster and faster, Alex’s anxiety found release in angry words and broken things, and increasingly hazardous self-medication.

Alex found his most compassionate place among others who struggled as he did. Together this group experimented and watched from a distance as their friends overdosed and died. It was a known risk. The only safe bet was to never take the risk alone where you would not be able to get help.

Life got more complicated when economic pressures rose for Alex. He saw no path other than to become part of the network pushing risky substances. We did help him out of that world and helped him explore some alternatives. However, performance work rapidly pulled him into the present and away from of the urgent minutia of his cell phone. This irritated Alex. His phone was his lifeline. His irritability was certainly a contributing factor to Alex’s inability to hold onto serious “on-the-job learning” opportunities. While Alex did have many job experiences, some of which meant a great deal to him, they all too soon panned out for him.

So, with years of counseling, Alex came to understand his situation better. He learned what was needed to shed substance dependence. Eventually he did actually get off the most risky of substances. His last demon was his earliest friend, alcohol. This final passage took years of recovery and relapse, yet eventually it seemed to lead Alex to a new hopefulness about his future. Alex happily announced just recently that he went bar hopping in Providence with friends and “didn’t touch a drop.”

And this brings me to the point where why I am so sorrowfully angry. Some time in the early morning of Feb. 20, Alex reconnected with an old friend from his risky drug days and took a lethal dose of fentanyl. Alex and I had so much work left to do, so much living left to do. And I had so much learning to do. You see, Alex was sharing with me life stories that I could never have lived, nor even imagined. His energy poured through me like a river carving riverbeds in my mind. For 10 years I had given my life’s energy to helping Alex find a way toward the promising future that he so wanted to reach.

Alex had just recently joined us in yoga training. He felt it was something that he could master and share with others. He felt its spiritual connection with martial arts. We made plans to have him with us on all of our future training sessions. And then, after yoga and a most happy dinner, we all went to the Newport Car Museum, where Alex beamed as he named so many of the cars with such detail that the docent took notice of his skills. Back at home, Alex confirmed his flight to Florida to work with a food truck team contracted to serve a motorcycle rally. He would be able to save the money that he needed to buy a motorcycle. He had so many hopes as to where this food service job could lead.

He rolled with the dogs for a while and then said good night, I love ya, as he headed out to care for his soulmate cat. It was a perfect day. And it was also to be his last.

Thomas Flanagan
46 Washington St.
Warren