After 4 p.m…

**Trigger warning**

She was sitting in the passenger seat of my dad’s pick-up truck. It was a crisp fall night, the engine was running and the only light came from the dashboard. We were in the back corner of the school parking lot with Dan Hill’s “Sometimes When We Touch” playing on a mixed tape.

I took her hands in mine, looked into her eyes, while holding back tears, and said, “You deserve someone better than me, someone who doesn’t have this black cloud,'” that I was living with. Holding back tears of frustration. Tears of confusion. Tears of anger. I was 17 years old and had no idea what this “black cloud” was but it made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Not deserving of love. Like there was something really bad living inside me. She was too beautiful of a person to be part of my dark brain. She was my first love and I was totally “in love” with her. But the black part of my brain said I did not deserve her and I was not good enough. We held each other. We cried. We broke up.

I have been like this for as long as I can remember. I had no idea at that time it was just an illness. Thanks to Michael Landsberg, I now know that I am Sick, Not Weak.

You see, I grew up with a father who was an alcoholic. Dad was a great guy, who would give you the shirt off his back until about 4 p.m. every day. Then he got into the booze. I really wanted my dad to love me but no matter what I did I was always a screw up. I was always wrong. I was never good enough. I was the only boy with three sisters but I couldn’t do anything to win my dad’s love or praise.

It didn’t make sense but you learned how to survive.

I was the Quarterback of the Senior Football team. I was on the basketball team. I was on the tennis team. He never came to my games. I was on Student Council as President of the Athletic Association. I got good grades. I had a part-time job. When I turned 18, I joined Big Brothers and had a little brother who I went out with every week. I never skipped a class in high school (or university). But nothing was ever good enough for dad. I was pretty sure that he loved me but he would never show it. But he would criticize me.

Yup, it didn’t make sense but you learned how to survive.

One of my daily jobs, as I got home from school and practice, was to bring in an armful of wood for the wood stove. One day (after 4 p.m.) it was a wet snowfall so I brought my school bag and my Adidas bag into the house, put them down. I was about to turn around to get the wood when my dad tore into me for not bringing in the wood first. From that day on, I always left my bags outside (even if it was raining/snowing) and brought the wood in first. Yup, it didn’t make sense but you learned how to survive. You had to always “be on” for you never knew what dad’s mood would be like after 4 pm.

When I was younger, about 14 or 15 years old, I remember joking with my dad (after 4 p.m.) and I guess I had picked up some of his wit and said something that caught him off guard. I had pulled one over on him. I was hoping to make him laugh. He called me an insolent, disrespectful bastard and told me I should never speak to him that way again. I thought we were joking and having fun.

Another time (after 4 p.m.) dad was joking and teasing me, but I would not joke back with him (I had LEARNED my lesson) and I just stood there and took it. Then he accused me of being arrogant and too good for him. I lost if I joked with him. I lost if I didn’t joke with him. It didn’t matter what I did. I lost.

Yup, it didn’t make sense but you learned how to survive.

Back then I didn’t know what this black-cloud I lived in was. I just knew that I was no good and not worthy of love. From my dad. From anyone. I was a “useless son of a bitch”.

I was exhausted all the time but I couldn’t get to sleep at night.

I moved into a shared house with my best friend for my first year of university. Classes were going really well and my marks had jumped from 70s (and a few 80s) in high school to all 90s or 95s. It was amazing how well you can do if you actually read the book before the lecture (like the prof told us). As the first set of exams approached, I was exhausted all the time but I couldn’t get to sleep at night. I couldn’t turn off my mind. Worry. What if. Not good enough. And all I wanted to do was sleep all day. This lasted weeks and eventually I stopped enjoying things that I used to love to do. I didn’t want to be with friends. I didn’t want to play basketball. I didn’t want to go for a run. I didn’t want to eat. All I wanted to do was sleep and make the pain in my brain stop. But it wouldn’t.

I had a plan and it was a good one.

I decided my life was not worth it.

I was going to kill myself.

I had a plan and it was a good one.

I was going to climb to the top of the 30 metre smoke stack tower right beside my dad’s office, and jump.

I had written “the” note.

I called my girlfriend (I don’t like the word “ex” or “old”) to tell her where the note would be and what I wanted her to do with some of my things; my car; my stereo; my bank account; the poems I had written. She convinced me to go to the university health centre and talk to someone about it. I said I didn’t want to live and she said to at least give talking to someone a shot. She offered to go with me. So I did. I saw a psychologist. He helped me get my brain unstuck.

I married that girlfriend. We have been married for 28 years. We raised three amazing kids who are now adults, and I am going to be a GrandPa this July.