CHAPTER 1

PART 1

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THE STARTING POINT

THE PRIMAL KVETCH

THE DARKNESS

L'INFERNO

CAPTIVITY

The Starting Point of my journey was in a small bungalow ina banal, middle-class Toronto suburb a zillion years ago. Iwas sitting in the middle of the living room floor surroundedby toys, books, and a TV (a focal point in my life). It was a boringSunday afternoon. My mother was yelling at me from the kitchen tofind something constructive to do like clean my room. My father wassitting next to me asleep in the chair that faced the television. My oldersister, all of nine years old, was yakking incessantly on the phone to herfriends.

Suddenly a wave of anxiety overcame me. I tossed my teddy bearaside, rose to my feet, and with outstretched arms, I cried out indesperation, "Is this all there is?!" I knew immediately something had tobe done. I had my future to consider. I was not about to allow somethingas trivial as the meaning of life to eat away at me until I was nothingmore than a shell of a man before my fifth birthday!

So, at the tender age of four, I began a review of my Starting Point,the place I was at, the events and circumstances, and the associatedthoughts, feelings and behaviours that made me the miserable littlewretch I was. This review lasted fifty years. I think I now finally knowmy Starting Point, beginning with a chronology of circumstance.

I made a grand entrance into this world—I stopped the Santa Clausparade. My father was at work so my aunt and uncle sped along thestreets of Toronto to get my mother to the hospital, located along theparade route on University Avenue. My uncle screamed at my mother,"Cross your legs!" for fear that my birth would mess up his new 1954Buick. They got the police to stop the floats to let them pass through tothe hospital. To the disappointment of the angry mob of spectators onthat frosty November afternoon, I was born.

I was a scrawny, wiry, sickly child who measured his milestonesin life by illness, injury, and dire circumstances. This made me feelimportant, loved, and happy.

I had the chicken pox at one month old, scoliosis diagnosed atone year, and a tonsillectomy at age four. At thirteen, I had correctiveeye surgery. I also suffered with various respiratory illnesses includingasthma, pneumonia, and pleurisy. Continuing into adulthood, Ideveloped myriad other illnesses and debilitating diseases.

I was delighted.

My parents were doting, and I always felt loved, even though myfather, forty-one years older than I, worked twelve hours a day andwas always too tired to play ball with me, and was too old-fashioned tohave a meaningful conversation with me because "only sissies talk abouttheir feelings". My mother was a smart, funny and loving woman whoalso happened to be manic-depressive (as bipolar was known in thosedays). She was in hospitals for treatment more than she was at home.From the age of eight, I would take care of her at home while she lay inbed in agony with severe headaches, as I stole glances out the windowat my neighbourhood friends outside playing. Or else I was visitingher in hospitals with barred windows and naked light bulbs. On manyoccasions, she was reeling from electro-convulsive shock treatments orwas stupefied into submission by the smorgasbord of tranquilizers andanti-depressants prescribed to her.

I was elated.

My only sibling was a typical older sister whom I love verymuch ... back then, however, not so much. When she wasn't on thephone with her friends, she was threatening to tell my parents thatI was watching TV instead of studying or she was blackmailing meif I didn't do her favours. Much of the time, she was begging me forreassurance that my mother's illness was only mental and not physical.Once I confirmed this, she was off with her friends again, leaving meto my own devices and holding the bag.

I was overjoyed.

School was a struggle for me. Just because I knew my times tablesand could spell polysyllabic words in grade two, I was accelerated ingrades three, four, and five, completing them in two years. This left mebewildered and socially inept. At ten years old in grade seven, I wasbeaten up by some schoolmates and teased mercilessly by others, someof whom were three or four years older than I was.

I was ecstatic.

I married my sweetheart after a two-year teenage courtship. Wedeclared our love and discussed our dreams for the future. Now, decadeslater with four grown children and a grandchild, we are still very muchmarried. Mostly she ignores me, nags me, or tells me all the things Ido which are wrong.

I am enthralled.

I had secured employment in the field of Social Services for theCity which I held for thirty-three years until my retirement. I am nowat home with my wife, complaining about my health, worrying for myfuture, and constantly looking around for something to keep me busy.My wife is not pleased.

But I am enraptured.

Our four beautiful kids are the lights of my life. My wife and Icared for them through the ups and downs of family life and I worryabout them every minute of every day, even now that they are adults.My son was hit by a car when he was fourteen and sustained a severehead injury. I have three daughters, one who overcame OCD, anorexia,and anxiety, one who was a rebel in...