ManicWorld Magazine

And Now – You’ve Come Back…

“Now you’re all gone, got your make-up on and you’re not coming back” –
Anthem for a seventeen year old, Broken Social Scene

I was twenty-five when I started treatment for borderline personality disorder. After getting my diagnosis from a health clinic, I spent a lot of time on the internet researching my condition. I wanted to hear stories from other folks who had similar mental health conditions. After googling, ‘BPD’ into YouTube, I coincidentally came across a video of someone I had recognized. I was pleasantly surprised to see the face of someone I had been friends with in high school. In her video, she talked about similar experiences and openly discussed them on the internet. Quickly, I sent a little message over social media thanking her for opening up about their personal struggles. I didn’t know that this friend had been going through so much while we were young. I thanked them for being so honest and vulnerable about their struggles, and how sharing their story helped me reframe some of the events. She replied, thanking me for reaching out and we had a nice little exchange across social media. It felt good to talk to someone about high school, and who understood the context of all that chaos.

In hindsight, I feel like a good percentage of the kids at my old school had some sort of mental health issue, diagnosis or not. Looking back, I was clearly un-diagnosed with BPD throughout all of high school, yet, even though my high school had no formal support system, it did at times feel like all the burnouts and weirdos at least tried to take care of each other, as imperfect as it was. Whether through weed, cigarettes, self-harm, or late nights getting wasted, there was something. Obviously, this was no substitute for treatment or community, however, I recognize it now as one of the few times in my life where I had a sense of consciousness-raising. How naive we all were.

Unfortunately, the limits to that flawed support system would be tested after we all graduated. Being ushered into the cruel isolation of the adult world was too much for some. The stress of modern times became overwhelming, and I hear stories of how some lives would reach a tragic end. The things you’d expect overdoes, suicide, jail time, or ending up in psych-wards and rehab centres. Considering everything, I see myself as one of the lucky ones. For some reason, I managed to awkwardly find myself receiving treatment when I was most in need. Only, that just leaves me reflecting on the past decade of youthful mayhem.

I’m mourning that awkward teenage boy right now. The one who finally broke down and was lucky enough to get help. That’s the funny thing about healing, there’s always a grieving process. One filled with nostalgia, cringe, and pain.

A year later, another old friend of mine from high school came back to visit Toronto. She had moved away to live abroad in Scotland. Unfortunately, she broke up with her long-term partner while over there. So, she came back for a visit. Said she needed to help find some clarity after a messy relationship. We talked while walking through the parks and beaches we used to get drunk in. Retracing the steps of our once chaotic youths. Trying to find answers to questions we know we’ll never get. Searching for something, anything. Maybe a wild rush again, or perhaps wanting to know less about the realities of the adult world.

Or, maybe we’re just tired. Exhausted from living in extremes for over a decade. Tired from all the dramatic fights between friends and long appointments with therapists. Worn out from trying all the prescriptions, legal or not. Wanting something more than experimenting with drugs and other bodies. Perhaps we’re craving something real and concrete.

We joked a little about how so much had changed in such a short amount of time. A decade ago, we saw Justin Trudeau get elected as Prime Minister on idealism and a promise to legalize cannabis, only to see him step down from office for letting the price of housing get out of hand. If this isn’t a clear enough symbol of how the optimism of the 2010s has given way to the realism of the 2020s, then I don’t know what is. The only things more explicit would be how astrology has been replaced by pop psychology in casual conversations. Funny how I used to be a Taurus moon, now I just have an anxious attachment style.

While walking through Riverdale Park with my friend, the sun came out a little through the winter sky, and the city warmed up enough for me to take off my hat. When she saw my new haircut, she gasped, “You had that same haircut when you were seventeen. Now you look like a teenager again.”

This made me laugh. I had spent the last five years growing out my hair, so I was still getting used to having it short again. But her comment made me think; what would I do differently if I had to start all over again, from seventeen? Would I still make all those stupid decisions, or knowing what I know now, would I try being more practical?

I try not to live with regrets. It’s that 2012, “YOLO” ideology that I cannot seem to escape. What’s done is done, and I cannot change that. After all, I’m from a generation that grew up watching our older siblings and cousins being wild and eagerly imitating them. Shows like Degrassi and Skins fueled our curiosity, making us think, ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to try that too?’. So, maybe it was just a part of the culture moment to go out and do wildly toxic things.

However, I do think it’s only human to speculate on what could have been. And, what could I be now that I’ve gone through an intense round of mental health treatment? I can’t help but ask myself; what’s next for me? What lost futures of mine are waiting to be born?

And what’s next for the city of Toronto? Will City Hall finally get its act together and start adequately funding housing and mental health services? Will the people of “Hogtown” embrace our unique sense of urbanism with pride? Will the current reactionary trend of sex negativity continue? Will the Yorkville hippies reopen their drug-infested school at Rochdale? Will all the expensive multi-national chain stores along Queen Street West go out of business, leaving space for all of the old punk bars, thrift stores, and family- owned restaurants to return? In a metaphysical way, death implies a rebirth. I say it’s time for a new era of countercultures to begin. The great city of Toronto is due for a resurrection of the bohemian.