We live with others, not through others

2017 was a difficult year. I had to cope with so many changes. Within the first six months alone, I experienced unemployment from the job I had worked for years to get into, separation from my partner with whom I lived, multiple home relocations, and, unfortunately, homelessness. On the 14th of July 2017, I received an end-of-contract notice for the house I was renting. Sadly, that day was also the 20th anniversary of my best friend’s death. The man with whom I grew up, my friend since we were babies, died on the very same date, 14th of July 1997. This coincidence led to my emotional collapse during an already difficult period, when nothing in my life seemed to be working.

The loss of my best friend was the first significant loss in my life, when I was just 21 years old. It is in these weak moments that previous traumas knock at our doors, and we hide ourselves in the darkest room of the house. In my case, I had neither a house nor a trusted person to turn to.

I do not want to focus on the loss of our loved ones, because that pain stays with us for life no matter how much we adapt or grow through bereavement. Instead, I want to share how I coped with the crisis in 2017.

The first piece of advice I would give anyone facing similar circumstances is to avoid loneliness. Being in a country where I was not born, I felt a loneliness I had never experienced before. Returning to Greece, my home country, was not an option—it would have been disastrous for me as an openly gay man who had fled years earlier from a homophobic environment. With no economic means to survive after the end-of-contract notice, I had no other option but to seek shelter for the first time in a friend’s house in Brixton.

Remaining active is the second thing I would advise. Being out of work for a long period put me on the financial edge, draining much of my savings. Although I had plenty of time to apply for jobs, I often found myself doing nothing because of depression. It was important to push myself. Volunteering in a pet shop gave me a sense of hope. The animals became like little brothers and sisters to me. They gave me something to focus on, somewhere to spend my time, an opportunity to talk to others, and a responsibility to feed the cats and dogs on mornings when I didn’t even want to eat or speak to anyone.

I had to work hard to regain my confidence and maintain a good level of functioning without panic attacks and withdrawals into depression. I learned how to be vulnerable. That has been a lifelong change—realising the beauty of human nature when we both cry and smile, the value of psychotherapy, the grace and compassion of friends who offered me shelter, the strength in singing to hear my own voice and keep myself alive, the power of being weak and still choosing to live.

At the lowest point in my life, I discovered my values—and what threatened them. I have always believed that we, as human beings, live through our values. One of the self-help books I read during that period included an exercise about identifying and naming values. My results held no surprises: peace, knowledge, and faith. These three values had guided my life since childhood, alongside the memory of my best friend who now rests in peace.

In 2017, those values helped me survive. I breathed in peace in parks, churches, libraries, museums, forests, and beaches—places where silence allowed me to think and express myself. In peace and tranquillity, I found the calmness to reflect on my life, read literature, and especially write. With faith in God, I endured much—and later, I believe, God offered me a job as the denominational safeguarding lead in the United Reformed Church. Ironically, I had grown up in the Greek Orthodox church in my small hometown, which I left only when I went to study in Athens. Returning to the church was, for me, an important call from God to follow.

I do not wish anyone to experience what I went through. I survived because I did not stay alone, and I kept myself busy. Probably, the loss of my best friend 21 years earlier taught me the value of living. Probably, his loss showed me what it means to live with pain. God—or whatever name one may choose—knows. I am certain of only one thing: we live with others, not through others, until the day we depart alone.

In memory of my friend, I promise I will never stop seeking peace, harmony, reflection, wellbeing, and the chance to support others. I hope these words may help someone else who is struggling.