The thing about help is, if you're already a pretty intelligent person, very few words can get through. When the shit goes down, you can see the future - and the future is bleak, regardless of whether there might be a recovery at some stage. It feels a lot like a prison sentence.
You can see you might come out of it at some stage but first, you are condemned with spending a long time not wanting to come out of it - because coming out of it is accepting whatever happened and what sentence from a therapist convinces you to accept a scenario ahead of schedule? To me, fuck all could be said.
On top of that, you also know that even if you do manage to accept it (and you will learn to live with it, at least) it will be years, possibly decades before you get over it.
If he was posting stuff on facebook, he had something he hadn't accepted. The frequency of that should decrease over time.
I'd say I have almost accepted my particular situation. I stopped dreaming about it about 2 months ago. I used to relive it at least once a week, without the emotional filter (that is now pretty fucking great) that protects my waking thought. I'd wake, fucked up as if it happened that day. I couldn't even tell you how long it has been, every year has been a blur. It is either 3 or 4 years. I only just (like, a month) stopped posting my own sad cnut shit somewhere where I know the c u n t that did me up can read
Time is the greatest therapist. Time served learning to accept the aftermath of some shit.
(Alternatively, you just meet some other delicious morsel but when you're an ugly guy who doesn't seem human beings as disposable (as I am), the road is wayyy harder, because there is very little chance of skipping all that time you know you must serve)
Anyway, that's just a slice of what sounds like his life was, for you - from the perspective of someone who is perhaps just about at the top of the hill.
