I first became mentally ill in 1997. This was triggered at a party I was invited to in February, where I met several disparate persons from unpleasant experiences of some twenty years of my past. Then I had a falling out with a fellow parishioner at snooty church when she ratted on me for saying likely true but unkind things about the clergy and some of their scandalous goings-on. It took one particularly evil priest to discredit me and it was downhill from there. I became suicidal and benefited greatly from the support of a friend.
In July I unwisely quit my job. They were not giving me more than six hours a week and refused to increase my hours, so they said, unless I retrained. Because I couldn't live on my wages I could not afford retraining and they were not about to sponsor me. In frustration I quit and tried to get by on faith and my art. I managed to struggle along for almost a year before I was evicted from my apartment and became effectively homeless.
One evening in late August does much to evoke the sense of magic realism I was living in at the time. I had absolutely no money. Somehow I did manage to pay the rent and had some food in the fridge and nothing else. I decided to walk the four miles to the West End where I could have a free coffee at a café where I was showing some of my paintings (nothing sold by the way). The sun was soon going to set and the light and late summer heat were intense. I walked through the industrial district where the survival hookers were plying their trade. I chatted briefly with one with whom I was already acquainted. We were friends. One morning while I was on my way to early mass at snooty church she gave me a big friendly hug. Kneeling at the altar rail I could smell her perfume on my clothes.
I found a two dollar coin on the pavement and carried it in my pocket. I decided to walk past a house that had a suite for rent. I don't know why exactly I was interested in this place. It used to be the home of a friend of mine some twelve years ago. It was two bedrooms and I thought that if I could persuade a different friend who was in a rather difficult living situation to move in with me, we could split the rent and I could apply for welfare and still be able to afford to pay my share. I slipped into the alley to view the back. Then I was attacked and stung by two yellow jacket wasps. Coming out onto the street I encountered almost a procession of adults and children from my friend's Christian community house. One of them, she was one of the leaders, did not like me, but others there invited me to join them. They also attended snooty church, by the way. I detoured with them to a neighbourhood park where they were celebrating the festival of dreams, a kind of surreal community art performance featuring colourful and bizarre costumes and papier mache fantastic animals. I only stayed for a moment, then resumed my walk to the West End.
After sitting for a while in the café, surrounded by my paintings which no one offered to buy, I continued walking on my way. I wanted to spend the toonie I found on the street on chocolate. I stopped in various places on the way and then I heard people talking about the death of a famous person, first in the Shoppers Drug Mart, then in front of an apartment building, then in front of an apartment building and finally in the London Drugs where I found two Swiss chocolate bars for less than two dollars. I heard the name Princess Diana, I heard car accident in Paris, I heard death.
I walked home, on the way giving a panhandler my last quarter. He had the cheek to ask for more and I snarled, "Look, it's my last quarter, take it or leave it!" Not a word of thanks from the ungrateful bastard.
I arrived home just before midnight. I turned on the radio news. It was true. Princess Diana was dead in a car crash in a tunnel in Paris, pursued by paparazzi. I found myself suddenly weeping, a huge surprise to me given the indifference I had always felt about her.
In November came the APEC conference and I was part of the protests and resistance, calling for justice for the innocent slain of Tibet, Tiananmen Square and East Timor, occasionally running up against the police. I was still penniless.
I did forget in my previous post to mention an encounter I had with an angel in 1996. This just between my second last and final weeks of toothache. A young man appeared to me when I woke from a dream, he was dressed in white and was sitting at the foot of my bed and he assured me in a vision I had later of all the planets being held in orbit by the sun when I fell asleep again that he would be with me always, I would never get far from him.
The power and strength of this visitation did much to sustain me in the years that followed.
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