Homeless mentally ill

What’s it like to be mentally ill in Calgary?

It is a dark and reasonably warm night by the river. The lights of the city look crisp and clean against the dark black/blue sky speckled with the odd star. The full moon is reflected in the muddy flowing water up onto the bank. You can look out across the river by the bridge into the downtown, the huge buildings and their lights neatly stacked in columns and rows peering from black rectangular, tall shapes. It is safe crouched under the bush in the park overlooking the river.

In front of you, on the edge of the bank, silhouetted against the flashing reflection of the moon in the river is the tree, a small cedar, about three feet tall. You can look through the tree to the flowing water, but tonight it is calling to you. The tree is the focal point of the universe. It has a message for you. It is one with the universe and you are one with the tree. It talks to you, not so much in words, but in feelings and thoughts that are beyond words. There is no need for words. The communication is far too sacred and direct. There is a full and complete connection between the universe, the tree and your mind. It is very beautiful. The smell is as clean as a brand new razor. The lights are crisp. The colours of the tree, the river, the bush, the stars, lights and the total night are so real, they cannot be described.

It’s a light-headed feeling. The tree and its message are hypnotic. The night passes slowly. The traffic dies down and you are truly alone. It begins to cool and then get colder. You shudder, couching and clutching yourself for a little warmth. A slight drizzle begins. You have to protect your family – the children. There was a wife so many years ago. You could get to them and tell them the message. But they wouldn’t listen; they wouldn’t understand. It has been so long. You remember them but they probably don’t remember you. It’s cold. There were the children, your family, trying to care for them, going from job to job, trying to make a living, trying to be a decent human being. You could never make it. You never got a break. You had to go on your mission, to find your path, to discover your destiny. Things would be all right then. They would love you then.

The night is colder. The mist turns to rain. Cold, wet and shivering you huddle under this bush. Where is your family now? Where are the ones you love? It has been years. You have no one. This small tree talking to you in the night is your only friend, the only friend you have in the world. You are gripped by the pangs of an incredible and all-consuming loneliness and you cry. Where are they? Where are they? You clutch yourself and curl up in a ball of self pity. You roll onto your side and weep uncontrollably. And there is no one to hear you. No one except a small tree.