We All Need A Little Companionship, Especially Those Isolated and Living With Mental Illness
A story of living alone for over 30 of my 53 years
Has anyone out there seen the movie “Big” with Tom Hanks? In the film, Tom Hanks’ character is a young boy who is turned into an adult by wishing to be “Big” on a funhouse machine. What I can’t forget about the movie was when Hanks first spent the night in his new apartment and when he closed the door he felt so incredibly alone that he began to cry. This really struck me, even though I watched it long before I ended up living alone myself.
One of the funny things about living alone bothering me was that I didn’t come from the most perfect family. My dad was a heavy drinker and often argumentative and sometimes violent. My mom would do anything for me—as long as it didn’t go against my dad’s wishes. I was 18 and I had tried to crunch the numbers to rent an apartment and have enough left over in my paycheque to drive a car to get to work and to high school which I was about to complete. Even after I sold my car I just didn’t see how I could do it and it scared me. I ended up begging my dad to take me back and he agreed, but a few months later he kicked me out again. In one case, he told me to leave and I did, but he still called the police on me and I was told I was going to be charged with trespassing. I told the officer that if he charges me with trespassing I wanted to charge him with assault for the many many beatings I had over the years. The officer left, and then came back and said I was free to go. What often bugs me is I never told him I agreed not to press charges, he just thought as long as I wasn’t being charged that it was enough for me.
Fortunately in recent years I have learned to let go of the hate and resentment I had for how my dad treated me during my teen years and we genuinely became very close. But I will never forget what it was like to live with a mental illness and to be in a small single room with flies and ancient paint and a bed that looked like it had been used as a diaper. I had no idea how to cook for myself or had been able to develop habits of cleaning things. It didn’t help that my mental state was very poor. My dad later said that he kicked me out because of the violence, but I never really acted out violently to him. I did stand up for myself once or twice which I thought was reasonable after a lifetime of abuse, but unfortunately the law stayed on his side. There was even a time when I left the hospital I was in to go to a movie and the police were waiting for me at my parents home when I went there to get a ride back. The cop was very plain about telling my dad he could kick me out at any time he wanted. This enrages me because I had a great deal of personal property in the house, most of which he laid claim to. I also wonder about the legalities of kicking someone out of their only home without a 48 hour or 14-day notice. I guess I just have to get over these things as part of a past I will never be able to change.
For much of the next years I lived alone. When I was in Vancouver, I stayed either in a traveller’s hostel or an apartment I rented with a ‘friend.’ It was great at first, and he was very supportive of me until he had his girlfriend visit and because I wasn’t quiet enough while stirring my tea, he assaulted me and forced me to leave the apartment, which was also in my name. I have never forgiven him for that, even when later that year I was severely ill and he came to see me and tried to help me.
After I returned to Edmonton, I ended up getting my own apartment and went through some very hard times. Often, I would sleep for inordinate amounts of time, and I had very little direction in life. I did start to attend AA meetings then but I often think that was a mistake. It was good that I built up a resistance to using drugs or alcohol, and I did make some friends, but a few of them were very bad apples and one of them started to control my life so much I had to cut off all contact.
So began a long period of extreme isolation. There were hospitalizations, there were suicide attempts (none serious until later). I longed to return to Vancouver, not knowing conditions in the places I used to live had rapidly deteriorated. On a recent visit, I will never forget how many homeless people were living on the sidewalks of the numerous cheap downtown hotels. I did have one bit of solace though, I had a chance to meet up with an incredible couple who I had known from church in Edmonton and it was an absolute delight to spend time with them again.
I have a guest right now who is about 18 years older than me and he has been through a lot of the isolation I experienced. I am developing a new understanding of him, especially because there have been a couple of times when I have gone into the room he sleeps in and he has woken up without me making a sound and screamed things like “Hey!!” at the top of his lungs. He has become so used to being safely locked into his apartment over years and years of living alone that even the presence of others close by while he is vulnerable and sleeping scares the crap out of him.
I often wonder what may have happened if I had been married at a young age like I had sometimes wanted to do. In reality, it likely would have been a bad marriage and also likely a short one. I have never had a great deal of money and normal functioning is almost beyond my abilities. I just wish I could have had a companion, someone to talk to. I do have a close friend who I talk with daily but it doesn’t make up for the fact that I am alone. Funny enough, there was a time when I had a roommate who was a good friend and let me share his massive house with him, but he had a bad habit of immersing himself in work, then immersing himself in nintendo hockey games, and also every possible hockey game he could watch on TV. I ended up moving out, and once talked to his wife who was experiencing the same thing and had told him he had better change his ways or she would leave him. Thankfully they worked things out.
I think a lot about my childhood and teen years and I recall that even though mostly my dad and I got along, deep down he still cared. I would go to sleep each night fairly easily knowing he was in the next room if anything happened that needed to be dealt with. My mom and dad are both gone now and every day I want to pick up the phone and call them and have to stop myself. Sometimes it really sucks to be ‘Big.’