The author is a historian, sociologist, writer and retired teacher from the University of Quebec at Chicoutimi in the history, sociology, anthropology, political science and international cooperation programs. His research focuses on collective imaginations.
He started life like all children his age: a beautiful, smiling, playful little boy, pampered by his parents, surrounded by friends, happy. Then, as he grew up, his character darkened and, over the years, he withdrew, became suspicious, alienated his playmates. He continued to frown, becoming someone “not like the others”.
He was reaching adulthood when he was diagnosed with a psychological disorder. More precisely: a mental health problem. Then his life changed for good. He believed he was forever a prisoner of his illness. He suffered from loneliness and even more from the company of others. Beautiful summer days found him cloistered in his room. Christmas holidays too. His old friends continued their studies, frequented bars, made friends. Not him.
Throughout this painful journey, his parents continued to generously lavish him with all the affection and support he needed, but his condition did not improve. He was all the more unhappy because he believed himself responsible. He blamed himself. It was one more burden for him to bear. One burden too many. He made his first suicide attempt. Another was to follow. The idea continued to torment him, it pursued him for a long time.
One day, he was told that his diagnosis was wrong, that he was instead suffering from a disorder of genetic origin, a very rare, little-known disorder that was difficult to treat. This announcement produced a completely unexpected upheaval in him. So he wasn’t responsible for his problems? Was it more biology, chance? This, above all, is what he took away from genetics: it was not him who was the cause of his illness, it could have struck anyone. He hadn’t been lucky, the lottery had chosen him. From that moment on, he was relieved of the burden of his sin.
Another unexpected upheaval, rather paradoxical but decisive for the future: he began to believe that he could attenuate the effects of his genetic “accident”. His life then took a completely different path, this time under the sign of courage. No more guilt, no more feeling of helplessness. He was going to fight.
Over the years, through patient, sustained efforts, marked by failures and small victories, but always with the tireless support of his parents, he reoriented his life. It was not easy, neither for him nor for his loved ones, but the miracle slowly happened. Soon, he was able to work a small job which put him in contact with other people for a few hours a week. Some of them made him miserable (he was hypersensitive, he still is), but others understood and worked to protect him, to facilitate his recovery. It only took very small actions to hurt him, but also to put him back in the saddle.
What saved him was first of all all the attention, the love of his parents, their permanent presence, their limitless generosity, their courage also to live in the constant proximity of their child, all of whom they observed sorrows, relapses and recovery efforts.
And then, suddenly, another miracle: the improbable discovery of painting. He devoted himself to it more and more, only to discover along the way that he had a real talent, a talent that his friends didn’t have… He threw himself into it, he made it his passion. It became the most effective remedy for his condition.
He progressed, developed a style, refined it to the point of drawing attention to what he was doing. Later he received some orders and became more known. His “clients” presented him with photos and sketches so that he knew what they wanted. But there was no question for him of exhibiting or associating with other artists, even if he had become one.
Then, from time to time, he began to paint for himself, based on his feelings, his impulses. What emerged, at first glance, was not happy. These are strange paintings, twisted faces, desperate expressions, broken silhouettes plunged into darkness, with just a little light to accentuate the shadows. Many of his paintings revolve around death.
Out of morbid taste? No. It would rather be to remember the demons he has defeated and show himself that he can keep them at bay, reconfigure them as he wishes. He taunts them with the tip of his brush, he is the one in charge from now on.
He told me about his perilous odyssey in a calm, ineffective, peaceful voice, with the quiet assurance of a marathon runner who has reached the end of a long and difficult ride from which he emerged victorious. There is beauty that emerges from his journey, a lot of emotion too. He doesn’t seem to realize it – it’s me who is weakening while listening to him! But it is easy to guess the painful and always fragile framework that underlies it.
Finally, through effort, he created a new life on which one would be tempted to add, but very delicately, the word “happiness”.
So a great story. A story of courage. But also a magnificent message of hope for those who, committed to the same path, risk getting lost along the way.