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Abstract

us are more like death seekers. That’s what we want. I drown my mind with drugs to escape. I see no positive future for me.”</p><p id="0c25">~<i>I found this poem and heart wrenching explanation recently while looking through Brandon’s journals and sketchbooks. Brandon died a few years after writing this, February 12 of last year, of an accidental drug overdose, after going off of various prescription medications to help with his depression. He had just turned 21. He said that the doctor-prescribed meds weren’t working.</i></p><figure id="b621"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*30vhv2CSqFAAoJnf0j8R7A.jpeg"><figcaption><i>Photo by Ann Marie Steele</i></figcaption></figure><p id="fc62"><i>~Although Brandon was in rehab for a Xanex addiction for part of his senior year in high school, he still managed to graduate, and was able to enroll in a post secondary medical tech program. Brandon was an incredible artist too. One time I remember him telling me that he was sad that he wasn’t good at a

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nything.</i></p><figure id="9b45"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*XvgZp7e97vN6xW89aYkc2w.jpeg"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><figure id="5ff3"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*nNva9xsNrxNr6rV2wZlBtw.jpeg"><figcaption>Art work provided by the writer, created by Brandon</figcaption></figure><h2 id="d2ad">Ann Marie Steele</h2><p id="16c6"><i>~I wrote this piece about Brandon in August:</i></p><div id="166f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/i-wasnt-there-a63aebae15b3"> <div> <div> <h2>I Wasn’t There</h2> <div><h3>I wasn’t there when you went off your meds</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*T8kRSGzYfb_70JCYp8rfdw.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Senseless Agony

My son OD’d a few years after writing this poem in rehab

*Poem by Brandon Steele, photo by author’s mother, Ann Marie Steele*

I wake up in a cold white room a crusty yellow lightbulb swinging from side to side dangles above my head.

Time for my dose.

I wait as a tingling begins from my toes up my legs through my frail spine.

I gaze into the grey tiles underneath me, covered in dried blood and grime, without a care in the world.

I prefer living in agony than living as a spawn of agony.

~Brandon continued- “The mind is a terrible thing to live in if you have a mental disorder. Life is hell. Depression is a silent killer. When it isn’t silent, the subjects of that hell are labeled ‘attention seekers.’ All of us are more like death seekers. That’s what we want. I drown my mind with drugs to escape. I see no positive future for me.”

~I found this poem and heart wrenching explanation recently while looking through Brandon’s journals and sketchbooks. Brandon died a few years after writing this, February 12 of last year, of an accidental drug overdose, after going off of various prescription medications to help with his depression. He had just turned 21. He said that the doctor-prescribed meds weren’t working.

~Although Brandon was in rehab for a Xanex addiction for part of his senior year in high school, he still managed to graduate, and was able to enroll in a post secondary medical tech program. Brandon was an incredible artist too. One time I remember him telling me that he was sad that he wasn’t good at anything.

Art work provided by the writer, created by Brandon