Yesterday I wrote this post about Mary Kennedy’s death. I wrote about how I empathized with her experience of divorcing a rich and powerful family and that, if I had had the severe depression and substance abuse that she apparently suffered from, I might have felt that ending my life was my best option.
I based my assessment of Mary Kennedy’s mental health and substance abuse issues on what I read in the media.
Acclaimed addiction writer Susan Cheever wrote a piece in The Fix blaming dual diagnosis (substance abuse and depression) almost entirely for Mary Kennedy’s suicide. Now, it could be that she didn’t get proper treatment at dual-diagnosis rehabilitation centers. Or it could be that substance abuse treatment wouldn’t have solved what appears to be a bigger problem.
Copious news stories painted a picture of a woman who had wrestled with debilitating depression since girlhood. There were reports of erratic behavior, driving while intoxicated, an attempt by Robert Kennedy Jr. to get his wife hospitalized.
Most of the dark details the media glommed onto were quotes from Mary’s friend and sister-in-law Kerry, and from Robert Kennedy, who stated “I don’t know how she made it through the day. She was in agony for a lot of her life.”
Shortly after I posted my piece, a source in Mary’s camp wrote to tell me that my piece had missed the mark. My source told me that the Kennedys had put a spin on Mary Kennedy’s suicide, attributing it solely to weaknesses that were taken out of context — a context of a divorce she didn’t want, and a horrific custody battle.
Here is what my source wrote me:
“All M’s friends were thinking ‘What? Demons? Lifelong agony? Did I miss something?’ … they all concede that Bobby leaving left her shattered. She was in denial at first, then depressed … and it did get worse and worse. But that is hardly the story of her life and if he had any compassion — did he really need to do red carpets with new girlfriend, did the new girlfriend need to tweet every detail? Did he need to serve custody papers? — maybe she’d still be here. By saying M. suffered from depression, her whole life, he is removed from any accountability, it’s all depression’s fault.”
When I read that last line, I started to cry. I was siting in front of my computer in the butler’s pantry, and I kept getting up to go into the breakfast nook where the Kleenex is, to grab one or two tissues. But I kept having to get up to get more tissues because I couldn’t stop crying, until finally I grabbed the whole box.
I thought about Mary’s family, the Richardsons, who had a separate memorial from the Kennedys. I thought about her children — her children! — who may grow up to believe the narrative that their poor dad had to divorce their mother because she was a crazy alcoholic.
And as I sat there snorting into my Kleenex, I felt sick. Sick that I had swallowed the media spin. Sick that in my last post I in any way perpetuated the story that Mary would not have told about herself.
So I’m writing this piece to honor this woman in her entirety, instead of reducing her years on earth to a series of depressive, drunken episodes.
Yes, she drove under the influence. But there’s more to that story, says my source:
“The two DUIs? One was dismissed altogether because the substance was doctor-prescribed anti-anxiety pills. She was speeding, got pulled over and offered that information to the police. But the only law she broke was speeding. The other was reduced to negligent driving. So in other words, even the truths are warped and exaggerated for effect.
“Obviously no one kills themselves unless there’s something really wrong, but it was situational. No lifelong demons, no lifelong substance abuse. Depression / drugs and demons were not her life story.”
I don’t know what Robert Kennedy is really like, and I don’t know the reason he chose to leave his wife. But I do know this: when you are in a toxic relationship, especially one where there is an extreme imbalance of power, you can say and do crazy things.
Towards the end of my first marriage, Prince and I went on a Carribbean vacation with the entire Machiavelli clan. And on that trip it became blazingly obvious to me that his true attachment was to his family, and I was just someone to accompany him to parties and dinners. I knew that the marriage was going to end at some point, even if it took me leaving it.
And so I freaked out. I had kind of a breakdown. I couldn’t sleep or eat. I spent most of the vacation in bed, or holed up in our sumptuous hotel suite on the phone with my relatives, sobbing. I’m not religious, I don’t pray, but I sat on the floor of the shower, water pouring over me and I prayed to my dead mother to give me strength and show me what to do.
When I did shuffle out of the hotel room for dinner, I looked like hell. I had dropped several pounds in a few days, my face was gaunt, and I barely spoke. Prince never asked what was troubling me, but seemed irritated that I wasn’t being any fun. My mother-in-law glared at me and told me to “put on some lipstick” because I looked pale. My sister-in-law advised me to get my act together because “you don’t want my mother to see you being weak.”
It took me a couple more years to file for divorce, but when I did, I vacillated about leaving, which compounded Prince’s naturally aggressive temperament. When we finally did split, the splitting was more brutal than anything I could have imagined. Prince thrived on the brutality, while I struggled to keep myself from drowning in the undertow.
The Machiavellis seized on my vulnerability as further proof of my “mental illness.” A few years after the divorce, my babysitter went to my old house, the house where Prince still lived, to pick up my kids. My mother-in-law tried to hire her away, saying Prince needed a sitter. She interrogated my babysitter and slandered me: “Pauline doesn’t look well — what medication is she taking?”; “who is she dating and does he sleep over?”; “she was always a gold digger.”
My sitter went into the house to get the kids. Prince had just had surgery and was lying in bed, his future wife Sarah at his side. Prince also tried to hire away my sitter, telling her I was a terrible mother and my kids were much happier with him. Sarah sat there, expressionless, as if Prince were talking about the weather. My kids were playing down the hall. Who knows what they heard?
Who knows what anybody heard about me? Especially once the custody battle ignited? When Luca went to wilderness camp, he was given a psychological evaluation without my knowledge. When I got my hands on it, I read that Prince had told the psychologist the court had taken away my custody because I was “mentally ill” and “emotionally unable to parent” Luca. The truth was that I had voluntarily given Prince custody.
But what if I had never spoken to the psychologist and given him the custody order so he learned the truth?
And what about the people who have never met me, the people who just assume that I am the unfit mother who lost custody of her child?
The custody battle almost did me in. It was months and months of little sleep, little food, and terror that I would go bankrupt from legal fees. Plus, my son already hated me.
In the early morning darkness, during those hours when even mundane worries loom large, I laid wake and thought about ending it. Not because I wanted to die, but because I couldn’t imagine how I could survive the pain of losing Luca. I couldn’t imagine how I would reconstruct my life.
What kept me alive were three things.
My kids, especially Franny, whose attachment to me never wavered.
Not wanting to give Prince and his family the satisfaction of having destroyed me.
And this: I didn’t want my life narrative to be rewritten so that I looked mentally ill. I didn’t want Prince to run around gloating, “See? She really was crazy!”
Which brings me back to Mary Kennedy. Let’s remember her as a three-dimensional woman. Let’s tell the story told by those who really knew her:
“She was a strong, confident, kind woman, not this seething hysterical thing they made her out to be.”
Rest in peace, Mary Kennedy.
I love you and I love this. RIP Mary. We get you.
The bottom line is that Mary is not here to speak for herself. Both sides claim to be painting an accurate account and the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle…or has gone to the grave with Mary. A sad tale, for sure.
I have heard this kind of story enough times that it just aches to read two more stories, yours and MK’s. The abuse of power in relationships such as these rarely stops when the relationship ends. The predators exact their revenge in courts and in the arena of public opinion. And there is nothing that one can do but carry on. It is very, very difficult to do that.
A beautiful piece. Thank you. And Robert Kennedy? In Boston they used to call him Robert “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” Kennedy. What a mess for that poor woman to deal with.
Thanks for taking the trouble to put this right…
Pauline, I guess I can call you Pauline.
Anyway, I read your post yesterday and was tempted to comment but didn’t. Anyway, have you ever wondered that when someone from a wealthy or powerful background dies, especially when it’s a questionable death, that the family members say what a wonderful person the deceased was, that she/he was loved by everyone, that in many cases the demons the deceased fought overtook the poor deceased, and basically the deceased and everyone else walked on water, yada yada yada. Usually men have the power in a relationship and when their wives leave them they will use their power to puff themselves up because underneath they know they’re weenies. Women usually leave men for good reasons, many times because the men put other people or issues over their wives and the wives reach a point where they can no longer accept being the least important person in their lives. And for the women who don’t choose to leave, some turn to drugs or alcohol, and many go temporarily batty. Who wouldn’t? And this happens to all women, rich or poor. Anyway, don’t beat yourself up over yesterday’s post. It was still good.
Yep — I’ve thought about all those things, Karen, and I agree.
I didn’t read your other post. I hadn’t read anything about Mary Kennedy. (Dealing with some crap of my own). But I read this. You pulled me in. But the line you quoted, ” By saying M. suffered from depression, her whole life, he is removed from any accountability, it’s all depression’s fault” and your response sums up much of my life in the past few years. When my therapists tell me to be easy on myself by stating that I’m suffering from debilitating depression– I cringe, because my susceptibility to the melancholy would not be as much a force in my life had other things, other people, not happened. Depression is a beast. It is real. But it does not absolve others from horrid behavior intentionally directed to the depressed person. It does not. Hell, I’d rather be someone “who isn’t quite right” or is “overly sensitive” (insert the sniggers) than someone who intentionally does wrong. And I’ll tell ya right now — It ain’t all depression’s fault.
Yes to everything you said. Roxanne.
That was a great post! It’s so true. Men love to turn on women for crying, especially when those men have dealt the blows. It’s so much easier to call a woman crazy than accept any blame. I am sorry you had to go through what sounds like such a horrible divorce, but you are better off. And I’m glad you didn’t off yourself. You’re right, if nothing else, saving your memory, preventing everyone from claiming you were crazy all along was worth sticking it out!
HAHAHA! I’m glad I didn’t off myself either, Lindsay.
I never thought I would ever read another divorced mother nail so eloquently the thoughts, feelings and experiences I’ve also gone through almost verbatim. My whole pre-and post-divorce experience with the father of my oldest child is almost exactly this sans gross affluence as a variable. Thank you for being a voice for those of us condemned out of ignorance.
Erin, I’m sorry to hear how much you relate to this…but glad that you shared that seeing your experience reflected in another divorced woman’s situation is validating.
wonderful post!
Thank you!
Somehow I lost you. I knew you moved and I thought I plugged you into my reader but I didn’t apparently.
Anyways!
The thing to remember whenever you are listening to someone tell a “true” story is this: There are three sides to every story– his, hers, and the truth.
As always, Pauline, you’ve written two great, intelligent, and heartfelt blogs. I know from reading your blog for some time now that you know whereof you speak. I share Erin’s experience above in that my ex wasn’t wealthy, and that made him no less abusive. One element that I can really related to in Mary Kennedy’s story is the custody dispute. I think there is so little recognition of the violence inherent in a custody dispute. According to Phyllis Chesler in Mothers on Trial there is plenty of documentation within the field of the truly terrible effect it can have on a mother to threaten to take her kids away. And Lundy Bancroft’s good work on Angry and Controlling Men shows the way in which the sense of privilege that is part and parcel of the psyche of angry and controlling men, whether they have money or not, leads them to seek revenge against their former partners through their most potent weapon and the mother’s most vulnerable spot–the children. Money makes it that much easier, but in a the custody system that prevails in the US today it is possible for any person to claim the children, whether they have had any responsibility for them or not. The reasons for this are complex and were originally well-intended, but the outcome now is that mothers are left open to the sort of assault on our very core that can lead the most sane and well-balanced among us to contemplate violence, whether against others or against ourselves. Witness the nearly daily reports of violence in custody disputes. So both things could be true–Mary Kennedy may have been perfectly sane and not chronically depressed (how self-serving, how condescending of Robert Kennedy to falsely sympathize with her struggles–a great example of manipulating appearances to put himself in a good light, very typical of successful sociopaths) and also have been driven to a situational depression at the thought of having her children taken from her that ended in her death.
Ginger, thanks for the mention of Lundy Bancroft’s work — I hadn’t heard of it but will check it out. You’ve summed up the psychic violence of custody battles impeccably.
I am so glad you rethought the relationship between depression-suicide-and the cruelty of the not yet ex spouse.
From experience with other Moms—family and friends, the cheating spouse tries to project all the blame for the marriage ending on the spouse that was playing by the rules and hadn’t cheated. It gets very hurtful when the cheater starts digging deep for reasons they were “forced” to cheat. If my knowledge of other couples has any similarities with Mary and Robt., he was cheating well before he went “public” with the cheating relationship. He probably lied to her for a very long time! He probably continued to sleep with her. If she questioned where he was or what he was doing, he probably reassured her it was all business, she had nothing to worry about. If she heard the rumors about the other woman, he probably told her it was just sex. I think it’s the roller coaster, highly emotional ride before the separation that weakens a person’s ability to cope, If there was a tendency for depression, the cheating exacerbates everything. So, I’m glad to hear other people voice the opinion I have had from the start, RFK j. is culpable for Mary’s suicide. Depression and alcohol abuse are symptoms of the real problem.
I don’t know if Robert Kennedy is a sex addict/sexual compulsive, but I do know that being the partner of a sexual compulsive is brutal. Women in those positions often feel gaslighted, inadequate, and crazy. And as you said, if you have a predisposition towards depression, being cheated on, divorced, and on the losing end of a custody battle could be too much to bear.
I find this heartbreaking and know that she suffered no matter who or what the cause. Sadly she had no one to fill the gap and help her move thru whatever it was that created such pain and loss of hope. I am sure she was loved, by many – she somehow could not access that and sadly did not see or grasp how deeply this will carve into her children’s hearts and future – for that I wish her peace as now she is gone and what is done is done, mostly I hope her children will remember the mother she was and none of the rest. Thank you for your kind and considerate piece – it is important for all of us to remember how difficult it is to walk in someone else’s shoes, each life, each journey has it’s very own story of love and loss.