t was Fall. Fall in Edmonton, at least for me this one year I want to talk about, can be an incredibly depressing time. Summer is over, and there were no romances like in my earlier days. Fall can be beautiful in Edmonton, with a whole new life cycle coming on, and students with high hopes and anticipations return to their favourite haunts and favourite people. But at the time I never allowed myself to appreciate the beauty or friendship, I was always too hard on myself and there were many things that had happened in the past few years.
Much of what I ended up going through began on a Fall day while I was working at a gas station. I was 17 and had big ambitions. I wanted to study psychology and then do my best to get into Law School. The mountains of academic work that I would have to navigate were daunting, but at the time I thought I could do anything. My high school days hadn’t been easy, but at least they were over.
On that fateful Fall day I had something of an epiphany. I had just finished pumping a customer’s gas and looking around at the limitless, pristine blue sky reminded me of a story my dad once told me. Apparently, a man had been walking through a field and suddenly gravity didn’t hold him to the ground anymore. He simply floated up and away and for days you could hear him screaming. This was what I thought would happen to me if I didn’t go back to school for my last credits to have a realistic chance of attending university. I made the decision to go back to school and it may have been the worst decision of my life.
At first it seemed ideal. Among the younger students I was cooler, taller, and more confident. Then there was Brandy. She could have been an identical twin of a young actress who everyone had a crush on. She walked into my French class, looked right in my eyes and came and sat down next to me. She would sit there beside me every school day for the next five months, and I would never get her off my mind.
Sadly, I lived with severe depression and anxiety which was untreated. Brandy became a friend; she even gave me her phone number. But I never had a chance to ask her out—until it was too late.
Over the next months I went through some almost unspeakable pain added to my unrequited love. A close friend died by suicide, I was enduring unrelenting abuse and anger from my dad who was at the time a heavy drinker. My depression was getting worse, then it happened. I can barely even describe it.
I don’t know the exact moment it happened, but somehow in all that turmoil, I began to slip and slide into psychosis. Several things happened while I was ill. I was assaulted by my sister’s boyfriend, who called the police. They took me to a hospital after another beating. I was later discharged, and chaos ensued. One day I fought Brandy’s boyfriend. It ended with me being admitted to the local psychiatric hospital after fighting with the police who had come to arrest me.
My whole life ended. No more job, no more car, no more friends, no more school, and no more Brandy. I was ashamed and humiliated by everyone in the small city of 35,000 I came from. Rumours and gossip soon changed me from being a very sick and tormented young man in dire need of help to being a monster. I left town for a long time.
When I returned, I didn’t return to my hometown but the nearby city of Edmonton, to live alone and in poverty. I spent long days drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, passing the time. I read a lot, I wrote a bit, but mostly my life was spent in the agony of loneliness, confusion and emptiness. Then my parents stepped in.
Somehow my dad, who had practically had his own nervous breakdown when I first had mine, found a support and information group for us to attend. It scared me when I went. I worried about ending up like these odd people that formed the group. I appreciated the chance to get out of my dingy apartment, but I didn’t clue in to what was going on. I remember halfway through the course I asked my dad:
“Why are you going to this course?”
“We’re going for you.” My mom said,
I was deep in what mental health professionals call anosognosia. I had an illness, I knew I had to take medications, but I was mostly in denial of the reality of it all. But the idea that another human being, any human being, would find and attend a course about mental health with me strictly for my benefit changed the course of my life.
Over the coming years, I relied on much help from my parents. I was by no means easy to deal with. I hated my situation, and I hated how the medications made me feel. But I still somehow believed I could become a Lawyer. I signed up for adult high school and patiently waited for my chance to get my academic records back in shape. It was there that I met her.
Caroline was standing outside of the cafeteria entrance having a cigarette as I was. She was in one of my classes, so it was simple to start up a conversation with her. Over the next weeks and months, she became my best friend and did so many things to open my eyes to the reality that I was a human being worthy of being cared for.
Not long after I met her, I went off my medications. I was okay for a few months, but my behavior started becoming more erratic and I blamed a lot of things for my troubles, including my parents who, in the end, were my only real means of help, kindness and support.
Eventually my medications were stabilized and I moved into a group home that helped me a great deal. Not long after I moved there, my mom passed away while under my care. In the wake of my loss, my dad became my rock and foundation. He had quit drinking by then and showed a genuine desire to be a good father and an exemplary human being. My dad and I would spend all our free time together. He helped me buy cars; we would go for long walks in parks. We started taking up digital photography together and from what he taught me I ended up getting some well-paid photography jobs. And all the while, Caroline was still my friend.
Eventually, I published my first book, “Through the Withering Storm” which was about my teen years with mental illness. I had to say some harsh things about my family members, especially my dad which was hard on him, but he never seemed to fault me for it. At 85, with many friends and two recent trips back to his home country of Denmark under his belt, my dad passed.
Now I was truly an orphan. But there was little time to mourn. My brother had also been struggling with mental illness and he needed me. I did all I could, lending him or giving him money when he needed it, helping him get groceries, and being one of his few friends since he began struggling with physical and mental health issues. It was something I always knew my mother would have wanted. She loved us both but always saw me as the survivor and my brother as more sensitive than he cared to admit.
I see Caroline now about once a month when I take her for groceries. As I became my brother’s caregiver, Caroline almost became mine. Despite the fact that she was married, we would still talk long-distance on the phone every night, usually for no less than two hours. More of my books came out and I started to mature and understand the need to be honest and hardworking because people depended on me.
Now, with 12 books in print, I work for The Schizophrenia Society of Alberta, I volunteer for an amazing foundation that helps people with schizophrenia and their families, and I also am a freelance writer. I will never stop missing my parents. Despite my poor attitude and extreme struggles, they helped me in any way they could. But they also taught me the most important thing a parent can teach a child—how to go on without them one day.
Leif Gregersen
You can contact Leif via email at viking3082000@yahoo.com
You can also connect with Leif at his Facebook page, Valhalla Books.
Find Leif’s books by searching amazon.com/amazon.ca. and four of his eBooks at Smashwords or contact Leif directly via viking3082000@yahoo.com for direct delivery, lower shipping costs and personalized signed paperbacks
