CHARLIE ERIKSSON

I was born at the Varberg hospital on July 31, 1991. Since then, my life journey has had several stops. I was a pretty lively child, perhaps not always that easy for my parents to handle. I ran away from home several times in order to discover my surroundings. It was exciting to see new things. In addition to that, I liked to do business. Everything was for sale. I sold fruit, berries, juices and golf balls outside our home, to mention some of the goods that sold the best. When I was around seven years old, I began to take an interest in sports and I played both soccer and floorball. My school years were quite uneventful. There were no major disasters. In high school, I attended the social science track with focus on economics. I graduated with good grades; my level of ambition has always been high.

On November 4, 2007, something happened that came to deeply affect my life. A good friend collapsed during floorball training and his life couldn’t be saved. He was just 16 years old. I’ll never forget when we were told that he was no longer with us. It’s been several years since it happened, but even today I think about how much joy he spread around him.

My friend’s passing made me realize how fragile life is. That what we take for granted can be gone in a split second. In school, we formed strong bonds of friendship and helped each other get through the grief. Not a day went by when I didn’t think about my friend’s death. How unfair it felt and what a vacuum he left behind. For my own part, I wanted to live both for him and for me. He never got the chance to become an adult; now I would live for the both of us, was my idea.

In the summer of 2010, I went to Australia with two former classmates. The idea was that we would travel around and work for a year. But it ended with me having a month’s holiday and then I went home again while my friends stayed on. I was often like that. Unpredictable, restless and spontaneous. When I got back home I started dating a girl, we became a couple and life began to feel really stable. We liked each other a lot and had fun together.

My girlfriend lived in Gothenburg and there were always things going on there. We visited amusement parks, strolled around in shops and did other things that were not possible or far from as exciting to do in my home town. Things were great with my new love and my newfound friends in Gothenburg.

The year after the adventure in Australia, I also made several trips. In June, my girlfriend and I visited Corfu in Greece, in November I went alone on a last minute trip to Thailand for two weeks and immediately when I got home I packed my bags and traveled with my girlfriend to Egypt for a week with sun, beach and unwarranted salespeople.

But in January 2012, I stepped into the adult world. Now, I was accepted to Linnaeus University in Kalmar and my first apartment contract had been signed. I was named this year’s “zero” at the introduction and immediately put my name on the map in Kalmar. Being named this year’s “zero” was a certificate that I was considered to be one of the nicest and most sociable new students, something that opened doors in my new city. I quickly connected with influential people in Kalmar and got a flying start in student life. My girlfriend was in Gothenburg and our relationship fizzled out; in February, we decided to break up. But that summer, we met again and rekindled our relationship. However, the fire only burned until September and we broke up again.

Life as a student consisted of constant partying and as little studying as possible. I spent a lot of time with my friends. In September that same year, I got a job as a student ambassador for Samsung. The job meant that I was sponsored with products for me and a fellow student running a Facebook page with various campaigns and competitions. It was a lot of fun and felt like an opportunity to get a foot in the door with the huge company, Samsung.

Maximum performance has always been my goal; you can ALWAYS become the best! But my high demands on myself combined with all the stress due to studying, work, exercise and being there as a friend led me straight into a depression. A depression that I initially refused to accept and which almost ended up costing me my life. Not just once, but several times.

Spring 2013

Spring is a good time. After the long, cold and gray Swedish winter, it’s time for nature to brighten up life with green foliage and colorful flowers. The sun is no longer a rare feature, it’s come to stay for months and it’ll give us all a much needed dose of vitamin D.

At the end of the year, 63,671 people lived in Kalmar municipality, which was considered a relatively small community. But ever since I moved to Kalmar I had appreciated this little coastal town. For a year and a half I lived in an apartment that was on idyllic Stensö Island, a stone’s throw from attractions such as the Kalmar Castle and Långviken with its cozy harbor environment and great swimming.

A common sight on Stensö Road, the street that leads into the center, were all the dedicated joggers who had come to enjoy the popular exercise trail on Stensö. This daily sight always made me feel a bit guilty, a feeling that I was lazy who basically lived next door to the exercise trail but rarely used it. Instead, I preferred the evenings, to let the darkness fall, light some candles and watch a movie or listen to music. I’ve always been like that. I enjoy the simple things in everyday life, things that can create a cozy atmosphere.

This spring started in the same way as the year before. The tempo was high in school, I felt like the exams just kept coming one after another. My strategy was to try to be free for the longest possible time and then study intensively the last week to hopefully make the exam and possibly – with lots of luck – get an A. This strategy wasn’t new; I had used that method since I started college in January 2012.

Being a student had its advantages; every day was like a blank paper that I could fill with exactly what I wanted. There were rarely compulsory school tasks that prevented me from creating my own daily agenda.

In my class, the majority were girls, but I mostly hung out with the guys. We were a happy bunch of about ten bachelors who all loved the good things in life. Together, we studied for upcoming exams, worked out at the gym to get in shape for the summer, and went out into the Kalmar nightlife.

Despite these great people around me, I felt how my scholarly ambitions started plummeting. The spring had started out well, but my results dropped without me doing anything about it. I had found out that I had been accepted to study in Nice in France, the place of my dreams. Therefore, my grades no longer felt as important and I spent less and less energy on studying. This was nothing that weighed me down; I felt that there was a logical explanation for my lack of motivation, since I’d been accepted to the study abroad program.

Episode 2 – The Hospital

Saturday started with a really good breakfast. The alcohol from the evening before was still in my body and I felt generally slow. This day would be a day to relax. After a few hours on the couch with various movies, it was time to start preparing for another night out with the guys. I had the party playlist going on Spotify, and slowly but surely, I was getting ready for another night out. I danced around when I was cooking and cleaning up, I was in a good mood and I was looking forward to the evening’s activities. As usual, I took a long hot shower and drenched my body in masculine scents. This evening’s party bag was even more cranked up: there were now eight bottles of hard cider and about 40 centiliters of vodka — more than enough for a nice buzz.

Boom, boom, boom, boom… the bass was pounding between the walls at the infamous Tullslätten. After several different drinking games, finished drinks and cigarette-puffing on the balcony, we rolled down to Kröger’s patio which was packed with party people as usual. The alcohol was flowing, and mainly it was bottles of rosé that were ordered in, it was really something special to sit on a patio in the warm spring evening, drink a glass of rosé, light a cigarette and take some puffs in good company — a bit of a magical moment. At Krögers, the opportunities for dancing were minimal, so parts of our crew headed down to Vallen, which had a younger clientele and lots of dancing. This evening, there were lots of familiar faces and it was a really nice atmosphere. At Vallen, the sequence was first the bar, then the dance floor, then the bathroom, pretty much without any deviations. In other words – it was an ordinary night out.

When it was about to be 1.30 am, I started to feel that I’d had too much to drink. I was definitely intoxicated. It was about time that I headed home. I got my coat from the coat check and went outside to try and find my bike among the parking chaos outside. The journey home was unsteady and foggy; I probably violated most traffic laws. I don’t really remember which way I rode, but at least I came home.

I unlocked the door and went into the apartment. The feeling from last night started sneaking up on me; there was a strong sense of anxiety and worry. A few minutes passed, then the anxiety was so strong that I couldn’t put it into words. What happened? What was I supposed to do? My head was buzzing, and my first impulse was to call for help. But it hadn’t worked the night before. I drained two or three bottles of cider in order to try to suppress the ongoing anxiety attack. Nothing happened, except that the anxiety grew stronger. I felt how I started panting. I acted without thinking — in a few minutes, I’d swallowed an unknown number of Tylenol pills. Something told me that this wasn’t a good combination, so once again, I called the forbidden number. 112.

This is my interpretation of the conversation.

“Emergency dispatch, you’re talking to (unknown), what has happened?”

“You have to help me. I’ve tried to kill myself.” I cried and felt abandoned.

“What’s your name and where are you located?”

“Charlie Eriksson. I’m at home. I don’t feel good.”

“Okay, Charlie. Where do you live? What have you done?”

”Bisterfeldsvägen 4. I’ve swallowed a lot of Tylenols and had lots of alcohol.”

“Was it Bisterfeldsvägen 4? All right. That doesn’t sound good. How are you feeling right now?”

“Yes! I feel nothing, but I’m hyperventilating. Should I go outside?”

“The paramedics are on their way to you, Charlie. Can you get out of the apartment and meet them?”

“Yes, I’m outside now, sitting by the roadside.”

“Let’s keep talking until the ambulance arrives.”

I hung up and called my ex-girlfriend.

“Hello!” she answered.

“Hi, I’ve tried to kill myself!” I burst into tears again.

“Have you called for help?”

“The ambulance is on its way.”

The call was disconnected.

I sent text messages to my three brothers and to my parents, wrote what had happened and ended with how much they meant to me and that I loved them.

Suddenly, a bright light shone straight into my eyes. The ambulance had arrived and two middle-aged men stepped out. The stretcher was rolled out and they helped me to get on it, then it was rolled into the ambulance. Inside, the light was incredibly bright and I felt a strong sense of dread. The paramedic was asking me questions in a rapid sequence and I answered as best I could. The drive to the hospital took about five minutes and the ambulance drove straight into the emergency bay. My phone rang and the nurse asked me to answer the call. It was the police. My ex-girlfriend had hung up when we’d talked and she’d immediately contacted the police to get me help. But I had received help and the police trusted my words and the conversation ended.

When the back door opened, a paramedic and two people in white coats were waiting. They moved me to another stretcher and drove me to a corner where I was taken care of by two other people in white coats. I was conscious the whole time and squeezed the phone hard in my hand. I remember wondering why none of my family members answered my text messages or calls. I felt totally alone and abandoned.

After an hour or so, I began to realize the seriousness of the situation. I was lying on a stretcher in the emergency room, with stuff in my arms and drinking carbon to neutralize the medicine. My breathing was getting heavy, the white-clad woman who supervised me asked questions that I could no longer answer. I struggled to breathe. My body began to shake, my eyelids shut and my only thought was that now I’m going to die.

“He’s having a panic attack!”

A woman’s voice woke me up. What had happened? I felt that my legs were still shaking but the breathing had returned to normal. When I got eye contact with the white-clad woman, she suddenly stopped talking to her colleague — obviously, I wasn’t supposed to listen in on their conversation. I asked about my status and what would happen to my body since I had ingested such large amounts of Tylenol and alcohol. The answer was straight and honest.

“Either your liver has been damaged and then you have very small chances of survival, or it hasn’t been damaged and then you’ll be all right. We don’t know more until we get the toxicology report.”

The feeling that struck me when the words penetrated into my consciousness was indescribable. Was I lying here waiting to die? I didn’t feel very sick, but now I know that it was probably because the alcohol suppressed most things in my body.

“We’ll keep you overnight to wait for the results of the screening. You’ll now be moved to a ward where you’ll have your own room.”

Three new people in the ubiquitous white clothes came walking towards me and politely introduced themselves before they wheeled me off through a long corridor. I closed my eyes and trusted that they knew where they were taking me. The room I arrived in was completely white and sterile — not my idea of cozy. But on the other hand, should a hospital be cozy? There was a TV and some kind of device they called a radio. I made some final attempts to get hold of a family member, but without success. They were probably sleeping and I thought it would probably be a good idea if I also got some rest. Soon, I fell asleep.

“Ouch!” I screamed loudly when I felt someone pushing a sharp object into my arm. It turned out to be some kind of needle that would stay there in case I needed IV. “What time is it?” I asked the unknown white-clad person. “About four,” she replied. I fell back asleep.

In the morning, a doctor entered the room.

“Charlie?”
“Mm,” I replied.
“How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know… tired.”
“The test results are in.”
“Okay?”
“From what we can see, your liver hasn’t been damaged. But we want to keep one more day for observation.”
“Lucky! I’m not going anywhere.”
“Rest up now, and then we’ll check back in on you later,” the doctor said and left.

A guitar solo started and the whole bed vibrated — what the hell was that? Oh, my phone was ringing! It was Mom. I answered with tired voice and I immediately heard how worried she was. She and Dad were in the car on their way to Kalmar. Another guitar solo was heard, this time it was one of my brothers. He and my two other brothers were also on their way to Kalmar. My family was expected to arrive within two to three hours. These hours felt like an eternity, and I tried to kill time by watching horse races on TV and having long phone calls with my parents as they were driving.

“Charlie is in room eight,” I heard a woman’s voice say. My brothers had arrived. It was an incredible relief to have family members by my side during this difficult time. And then, my parents showed up. Inside the room, there was tension in the air. The gravity of the situation became apparent. I needed help, and this had come out of the blue for my family.

After a talk with a psychologist, I was discharged from the hospital. The danger had passed and I was going to get in touch with a psychiatrist back home, that is, on the west coast of Sweden where I would spend the summer. Now, I had what I needed. Help.

Nice, France – A Dream that Almost Came True

August 26, 2013 was a regular Monday for many people – the first day of a working week or another vacation day – but for me it was something very special. It was the day I had longed for the whole summer, a day that meant more than the other dates in the calendar. It was now my great adventure would begin! The flight to Nice departed from Copenhagen Airport at 2:20 p.m.

The alarm on my cell phone went off at 6 a.m. For the first time during the whole summer it felt like I was flying out of bed and levitating into the shower. The sun was shining and I was excited. The train from Falkenberg would leave just after 7 a.m. and my mother and I were there in good time, waiting in the glowing morning sun that lit up the platform and the tired people. The train rolled into the station and I said goodbye to my mother. It was crowded, but I managed to find a seat, which was nice considering my heavy luggage. A conductor helped me get the bag off the aisle. I plugged in my headphones, leaned back and relaxed. I was on my way to France.

At the airport, a young woman at the check-in counter greeted me in Danish. I handed her my boarding pass and passport. When I placed the bag on the scales, it showed 55 pounds, while the maximum weight allowed was 50. Without really understanding her Danish accent, I decided to pay for the overweight, it was about 100 dollars. It doesn’t matter, I thought, because I’m moving to France to live the dream.

The seating in the airplane wasn’t very comfy, but since I’m a pretty skinny person I found an okay position. When the aircraft had taken off and the seatbelt sign was turned off, I took out my cell phone, plugged in the headphones and pressed play. “Talkin ‘Bout A Revolution” with Tracy Chapman started playing. A song that I associate with the word “journey.” That’s the song I would listen to when I was going to sleep in Thailand; I used to play it when I was driving; it was played frequently when I went to Gothenburg to visit my then-girlfriend and my friends, and it’s been giving me strength when I’ve been weak. It is a song that’s been with me both on physical trips and my own life journey.

The flight to Nice took just over two and a half hours. At the approach to Nice Airport, I saw the views I’d seen on the Internet, the azure blue water in contrast to the mountains. The sight filled me with a lovely feeling; this would be absolutely amazing.

When I exited to the arrivals hall, I was met by two people who represented the school I was going to study at. I was the only one who arrived that day, so we went straight to a small car where my bags barely fit and the heat was unbearable, there was no A/C. The first stop was IPAG, the university that was located in the central parts of Nice. There I met a person who was responsible for the exchange students and a woman who provided housing contacts. That same evening I was to see the first apartment, which I ended up cancelling since I was tired after the trip.

I went to the hostel I had booked for the first three nights, during the time I would shop for an apartment. It was in the old town, a very beautiful place and with an incredibly attractive location near the Promenade des Anglais and the long beach. At the hostel, you share rooms with others and that’s the charm with this type of accommodation. It provides an opportunity to meet many interesting people.

In my room there were four beds, but there was only one bag in the room. So we would only stay two people in a room for four — plenty of room, I thought. An hour later, two girls came in. Nice! They were from Australia and we quickly got along. Ellie and Kyarna were both older than me and the relationship became sister/brother, they wanted to have me in their company. The first evening, we had dinner together and then some drinks at a bar. What a lovely welcome and what a great start to my adventure! My wonderful roommates would stay in Nice until Thursday, so we spent four days together.

Monaco, Monaco and then Monaco! What a great place! Although I had previously visited the little principality and knew what to expect, I was completely blown away. I absolutely loved the luxurious and upscale environment with the exclusive cars, superyachts, classy buildings and all the well-dressed people (except for a few tourists).

I felt like this is where I was going to live, and just the thought gave me goose bumps all over my body. I had found my home and I was one big smile throughout the stay. It was as if all the tough things I had experienced in recent times were gone; I was in my new favorite place. Right then and there, nothing could make my happiness disappear — I was in my heaven.

Ellie’s and Kyarna’s adventures would continue and they headed for Croatia. Myself, I stayed in Nice, an exchange student from Sweden who neither understood nor spoke French. The beach became my sanctuary; here I could relax without feeling alone. It felt like all the people at the beach was one big family, nobody was alone here. But the whole time, the thoughts were gnawing in my head. Is it so great to live in Nice? I have no friends here. I don’t speak French. What will school be like? Will I cope with all the challenges in my current mental state? The questions were adding up and the only answer I had was “I don’t know.” It worked for all of them.

What made me return to Sweden was the safety I had at home. Safety in the form of family, friends, language, school system, my perfect apartment and so on. This turned out to be incredibly important factors that I needed more than ever in the reduced mental state I was in. When the decision was made and my flight ticket was booked, the relief was immense. I was able to relax and enjoy every minute of the tropical heat in the magnificent city of Nice.

In order to connect the dots, the exchange semester in Nice was something I had really looked forward to. But in my state, the challenge became too big and I don’t think the experience had been worth the effort. To cancel the adventure and go home was the right decision at that time.

Episode 5 – “Unfortunately, we don’t think he’ll survive”

Exam week, which meant full days of studying and mood swings from “I know everything now” to “I know nothing.” That’s how things were going up and down those days. This particular week I spent most of my time with Rebecka, we studied together and it felt like a winning concept. She had studied a lot and had good knowledge, while as usual, I was out at the last minute to learn everything. But like before, it still felt like this exam would be a piece of cake.

Between 9 a.m. and 12 p.m. I was in the exam room. It was a special feeling to sit there, you could almost physically feel the tense atmosphere. The only sound you heard was the pencils that scratched the papers, the deep sighs, the rustling of papers and people blowing their noses. It wasn’t the ultimate environment for me. When I was studying at home I liked to play a lot of music in combination with a TV show and an open window to let the sounds of nature in. In other words – I didn’t like the silence that was like a blanket over the exam room.

There were four questions to answer and it felt like I wrote what I could; my gut feeling said that I’d probably make the exam and my body listened to it. I put it behind me the moment I left the room.

After the exam, I was going to help Rebecka with her move from the dorm to her new home. Her dorm corridor was filled with box after box and it was considerably more stuff than we had previously expected. Was this really just a one trip with the car? It didn’t look like that. But after quite some effort, we managed to push everything inside and the stuff was transported to the new apartment. The cleaning of her dorm room went quickly, everything was fine.

I felt tired and worn out after all the studying during the week and taking the exam. Now only the fun remained; to unpack and decorate the new pad. But it felt like the pile of stuff never got smaller. Every now and then we took a break and had some apples that I’d stolen from the orchards by my apartment. It was nice with a break in the middle of the moving mess.

I had no plan for the evening, even though I’ve had an exam, which was usually celebrated with going out partying. Rebecka was going to some event, but I was just going to have a quiet evening at home. When it was almost 6 p.m., the apartment was in order and all the moving boxes were unpacked. We had an hour of quality time before put my shoes and coat in order to head towards Stensö. We hugged each other, she thanked me for helping her and said goodbye to the doorway.

I plugged in my headphones and pressed play. “Alive” with Empire of the Sun roared at the highest volume when I rode through a gray and rainy Kalmar out towards my home on idyllic Stensö, a bike ride that takes about ten minutes at regular pace.

When I entered the building, I felt that familiar wave of immense anxiety washing over me, paralyzing my entire body. I hurried into my apartment. There, the anxiety took over completely and I lost control. I desperately located medications and placed them on the red coffee table. I had no alcohol at home, but poured a glass of elderberry juice. I still had my coat and shoes on and the music blared at the highest volume straight into my ears.

The anxiety made me breathe faster, I was out of breath and it felt like I was fainting. I dropped into the couch. The anxiety was now at its peak, it wasn’t possible to put words on how it felt. I poured the pills out on the table; they were white and pink. It was a big pile, a pile that I knew could lead me to the help I needed. For some strange reason, I took a picture of the pills and sent to Rebecka and Patrik, my classmate and closest friend at that time.

In pure panic, I grabbed a fist of the first pile and swallowed it with elderberry juice. I coughed and felt discomfort throughout my body, but I continued to swallow pills, hoping the anxiety would stop. But nothing happened – everything was still just as bad. Somewhere within me, I realized that I’d put a lot of pills inside my body. I placed the rest of them in the pocket of my pants and left the apartment.

Both Rebecka and Patrik called several times, but I don’t remember the conversations. I was fully focused on getting rid of the incredible anxiety that didn’t want to let go of me. I sat down on the bike and started pedaling along the Stensövägen road, a single long straight. I had Rebecka on the phone from time to time, but I couldn’t take in anything she said; I was fixed on getting rid of my anxiety. But as the medicine started to work, I became more and more clear-headed. I realized that it was a bad idea to bike into town. So I turned off Stensövägen to continue down to Stensö fishing village, the small cozy harbor where I used to sit and philosophize as the boats docked or sailed out. “Unknown Caller” was constantly calling, but I didn’t answer any calls. In the harbor, I parked my bike at the patio of the sailing club and went further down to one of the docks. I sat down and tried to enjoy the tranquility at my favorite place.

I reacted to the sound of sirens but had difficulty distinguishing whether it came from the music that roared in my ears or if it came from outside. The anxiety had settled somewhat when I’d arrived in this peaceful, familiar environment. My sense started to return and I responded immediately when “Unknown Caller” appeared on the display again. It was the police.

Here’s the conversation as I remember it:

“Hello?”
“Hey, is this Charlie?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m (garbled) and am calling from the police. A friend of yours has called and said that you’re in need of help. What’s happened?”

“I don’t really know, I’m sitting on a dock in the harbor.”
“Which harbor? Are you by Baronen?”
“No, I’m in the Stensö harbor, by the red cottages.”
“All right. How are you? Your friend said you were sad?”
“I’m fine. I’ve felt bad for a while, but right now I’m fine.”
“Okay, sometimes life is hard. What are you doing down in the harbor?”
“I’m just sitting here looking at the boats, taking it easy.”

“Your friend said you had taken pills? Is this true?”
“Yes, I’ve swallowed a large amount of medications.”
“What kind of medications?”
“Hmm, well … it was … eh … hmm … Ibuprofen and a sedative, Theralene.”
“Do you know how much of these medications you’ve ingested? Do you feel bad?”
“Maybe x number of Theralene and around x number of Ibuprofen.”
“Oh, really! Sit down and rest where you are.”
“I’m already lying down here on the dock, but everything feels calm.”

“A patrol car will be there soon. Just stay where you are.”
“I’m heading towards the street now, I can meet it there.”
“Does it feel okay to stand up? If not, just stay there and they’ll be there.”
“I’m standing by the roadside now and hear sirens.”
“Okay, thank you and best of luck to you. Everything will be fine.”
“Thank you very much. Bye.”

The sound of sirens were clearly heard in the otherwise quiet evening. A blue glow flashed like a disco light in the fall darkness. The sound came closer, a bright spotlight blinded me completely and at the same time the blue disco light went out and the sirens were turned off. It was the police driving towards me, and I took a step to the side not to get hit. The police car stopped by the side of the road and a male, muscular officer and a thinner female officer exited the car. They both looked tough at first sight. But as they approached, they looked a little nicer. The male officer was the first one to come up to me.

“Hey Charlie! How are you?”

“Hello, right now I’m fine, but I have a large amount of medications in my body.”

“What’s happened?”

“I’ve felt bad for a while, and I had an anxiety attack and tried to alleviate it with the medicine, not especially smart but it was an impulse.”

“Should we take you to the emergency room?”

“I don’t know, that might be a good idea.”

“Yeah, they should take a look at you. Do you want that?”

“Yes, we might as well.”

“Let’s get in the car.”

We walked over to the patrol car and got inside. The atmosphere was relaxed the entire time.

“This is the first time I’m in a police car, and then I haven’t done anything.”

“Haha, there’s a first for everything,” said the female officer.

She got behind the wheel and we started driving. I was in the back seat with the male officer next to me.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re from Kalmar?” said the male officer.
“No, I’m from Falkenberg. I’ve lived here for a year and a half, I’m studying at Linnaeus University.”
“Oh, I see. What are you studying?”
“Tourism Economics. Are you having a quiet evening?”
“Yes, so far it’s quiet. But now we’re helping you.”
“Yeah, maybe not the most exciting task you’ve ever had. This is where I live.” I pointed to my building.
“You’ve really ended up in the nice parts of Kalmar, you must’ve been lucky when you got your apartment.”
“Yes, I like it here on Stensö.”

“Illegal racing by the IKEA parking lot.” There was a voice from the police radio.

“Wow, is that the most exciting thing happening tonight?”
“Haha, yeah, Kalmar is generally a quiet city.”
“I can imagine that.”
“How long have you been feeling bad?”
“Since spring, it’s escalated during the summer.”
“Okay, anything in particular that’s happened?”
“I lost a close friend and a long relationship ended.”
“Then I understand that you’re having a tough time, but you’re young, you have your whole life in front of you.”

The police car rolled up to the emergency room and parked outside the entrance. It had been about 20 minutes from the time I’d left the apartment.

“Charlie, I’m going inside to ask if they should admit you right away or if you should wait in the waiting room,” said the female officer.

“Okay.”

“What medication was it and how much? I’ll tell the ER staff,” the female officer asked before she left the car.

“About x number of Ibuprofen and x number of Theralene.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

The female officer left the car and entered the emergency room. I remained with the male officer. The atmosphere was still calm and I felt safe.

“I hope it will clear up for you so you don’t have to take these medications again. You seem to be a really cool guy and I’m sure everything will go well for you. We all have tough periods, but they only make us stronger.”

“Yes, but it’s hard to constantly live in the future. Have to try to get through this step by step. I’m at the bottom and it can only get better.”

“What do you want to do for a living?”

“I want to be independently wealthy.”

“Then we won’t be colleagues, ha-ha.”

“No, it’s probably the wrong profession for that, ha-ha.”

The atmosphere was still calm in the police car when the female officer returned and opened my door.

“They want you inside right away for examination.”
“I guess we’ll go inside, then,” I replied.
“We’ll come with you,” said the male officer.

We went into the emergency room and were immediately shown into a long corridor where we were met by three women in white clothes.

“Hello Charlie, I’m (garbled) and I’m a nurse. Please lie down on the stretcher right there.”
“Sure, I’ll just remove my coat.”

I sat down on the stretcher and slowly took off my coat and started folding it up, but then it was pulled away from me and the other two women grabbed my legs and my upper body so that I ended up lying down on the stretcher. I thought they were rushing, but I didn’t feel anything in my body.

It was like a scene in a movie. They turned the stretcher around and started rolling me forward. On my right side I could see into a room with a whole team of white-clad people who were just waiting to do their job. My stretcher passed that room, they were apparently not waiting for me. But when we came around the corner, we still entered the same room, although through another doorway. The team was meant for me. It felt weird that all these people were waiting for me, I didn’t feel bad? I mostly felt tired. As soon as the stretcher was in place, all the white-clad people came up, they started poking me here and there and I lost the perception of what was going on around me. The cops were standing by my side, looking at what was going on.

A stretcher was rolled up from the left. I saw an older woman lying on it. I’m not the only patient in the room, I thought. The two cops shook my hand and wished me good luck, I replied something unintelligible. I was no longer fully aware of what was going on around me. I was tired, really tired.

A doctor later told me the following:
“The pulse dropped to 32 and then rushed up to 130. In this condition, you weren’t contactable, but reacted to pain. When we tested your sensation, you reacted to pain, but you couldn’t identify where the pain came from. You were incredibly anxious; you climbed down from the stretcher and fell down on the floor. Patrik came into the room to calm you down. Due to your critical condition and inability to oxygenate, you were transferred to the intensive care unit for full monitoring. You were put on a respirator to keep your body alive. Your condition was very severe and we didn’t know if you would survive.”

When the hospital called my mother, she received the following message:

“We’ve moved Charlie from the ER to intensive care because of his critical condition and we don’t believe he’ll survive.”

I became terribly nauseous and tried to turn to the side to vomit, but I couldn’t get anywhere; I was stuck. It was impossible to move; there were hoses everywhere. I drifted back into unconsciousness.

Two big hands squeezed my left hand hard, it felt warm. I tried to open my eyes, but I barely could. But I still saw that it was Dad sitting there. I closed my eyes again. Dad talked to me but I couldn’t respond, I just tried to nod my head. He told me who came in or left the room where I was lying. All I felt was that I was stuck in all the cords and hoses that were attached to my body and inserted into my arms. I’d never before experienced a similar fatigue and I was constantly tossing and turning, trying to find a good position. But it was difficult, since I was stuck.

Unknown Voice 1: “Can I talk to him here?”

Unknown Voice 2: “Yes, it’s okay. The other patients are sedated.”

Unknown Voice 1: “Hello Charlie.”

I heard how the unknown voice started asking me questions. I didn’t understand what she was talking about and I didn’t answer.

I noticed that the woman left the room and my family came back in and sat down next to me. My thoughts were unclear; it was difficult to discern what was dream or reality. The only thing I knew for sure was that my family was there and it provided a security where I was lying with all the hoses and cords, feeling completely helpless.

A nurse came up to me and announced that there was an ambulance on its way to take me to the psychiatric emergency room. But first all hoses and cords must be disconnected, which proved to be very painful. When they took them out one by one, I began to feel more mobile again. But when the hose to the stomach was to be disconnected, it was very painful. It felt like someone put their arm down my throat and down in my stomach, stirring around as if my stomach were a soup pot boiling in a restaurant kitchen. The discomfort made me want to throw up. But they managed to pull the whole tube out without me vomiting on anyone. Then, they pulled out the tube that was inside my penis. I won’t even try to describe the pain when they pulled it out. I screamed, it hurt and we took a break and then they continued until the tube was completely removed. What relief!

When all the tubes and hoses were gone, two paramedics arrived with a stretcher. I got a pile of hospital clothes to put on. I thought a little about where my own clothes and valuables had ended up, but there wasn’t time to think more about it at that moment. I crawled over to the ambulance stretcher. As soon as I stood up I saw all the relatives who were sitting next to the other patients in the room. I was uncomfortable. This room was about life or death. I remember that the eyes of the relatives were empty. They still didn’t know if they were going to get their loved ones back alive.

But I had pulled through, I was still alive. I had beat death. It’s an image I’ll always carry with me. To be a winner in a room where the loser ends up dead.

When I was sitting on the stretcher, several of the staff came up to me. They showered me with well-wishes and said a lot of nice things, such as: “You’re a young, handsome guy, the future is yours. I wish you good luck and really hope that you’ll come out of this slump.” The paramedics rolled out the stretcher, the only thing I saw was the white ceiling and all the lights and I felt nauseous.

After five minutes in the ambulance, we arrived at the psychiatric emergency room. I got a room at the end of the corridor and I had to try to walk to the bed on my own. I failed and fell down into the bed that was on the left side of the room. Mom and one of my brothers were already there. They tried to talk to me, but I don’t think I responded. I was hungry and tired. They got me a pizza, I ate it and fell asleep right away.

Two nurses woke me up. I would be moved from the psychiatric emergency room to the psychiatric intensive care unit. They helped me walk through the corridors. I got my own room, it felt nice; I went to bed and fell asleep right away.

The psychiatrist had put me under forced care. I wasn’t allowed to leave the unit. If I did, the cops would pick me up and take me back to the hospital. I stayed at the unit for two weeks, and the same day as I was discharged, I moved to Uppsala.

My thoughts then, when I left Kalmar, was that my whole life had been shattered. I had cheated death too many times now, I really shouldn’t be sitting there on the flight to Arlanda. The whole situation was surreal.