On March 8th 2020, I landed my dream job as a full-time recovery worker in the field of alcohol and drugs. On December 16th 2020, I handed in my resignation.

I loved that job with all my heart. I still do! I adored my wonderful friends and colleagues. I still do! The service does amazing work around the UK and has helped to save many of the lives of countless addicts for over Fifty years. So, why resign?

Self-preservation. If I hadn’t, the person writing this probably wouldn’t exist. But thankfully, I do exist, and I held on to my sobriety – just.

So, what happened? How did things turn out?

The world changed devastatingly quickly for everyone. Far too fast for this human. I was still very early into my recovery, and at the very beginning of a brand-new, extremely demanding job. People’s lives and welfare were my business.

Without going into too much detail, three weeks into my new job, Bang! Lockdown!

The service rapidly, as everything did and has, had to go virtual. Everything via video link, email, or phone. Apart from a handful of us still working in the building, everyone at the service worked from home. The personal contact with clients and workmates vanished. I did well, for a while. I had a lot of good successes with my clients. I was a hardworking and dedicated worker. All my volunteering, and part-time work at the service from 2018 had stood me in good stead.

But eventually, without the personal contact, hug-ability, and constant life-saving humour of my peers, everything went dark inside my head. Too dark. Black! The psychological tide turned on me: daily thoughts of suicide, self-harm, and drinking reared their head once again. Too many conflicting and negative thoughts, spinning at light-speed in my mind. All wrong and at the worst time. So, I made the hardest decision of my life. Instead of concentrating on helping addicts to get clean, sober and improve their lives – I decided to save my own.

It certainly wasn’t plain sailing, away from the job. The work on myself had only just begun. The demons had come to visit and the beast wanted to move in again.

I had no confidence. My fire had gone, and my lust for life was no more. My lust for self-oblivion had replaced it with a venom. I would only leave my bed to eat and go to the bathroom. As I lay on my bed, I covered my face with blankets because the darkness was too bright. My mobile phone gave me panic attacks. Notifications of kindly messages (there were many) came through from friends, freaked me out. I would not answer the phone, only listening to voicemails in terror.

I’d lost my closest friend to a toxic relationship. So, she was gone. At the beginning of my job, I was weeks away from moving into my own place, finally moving out of the family home. Lockdown soon coshed that into a pulp. I had to remain with parents. Not the best of arrangements.

The temptation to ease the load with the liquid antichrist screaming at me was coming ever closer. But I’d look at photos of my son (who is 250 miles away thanks to alcohol) every day and the beast in my head finally went away.

But the months of black-nothing continued. A big lifeless nothing. No reading or writing, and my love for art had long died. Antidepressants were not working. But then something happened!

I randomly picked up a book from my towering ‘to be read’ pile. It was non-fiction, White by Bret Easton Ellis. I tentatively read the first line. A few hours later I was a quarter way through the book without realising. Something was happening. The rusted cogs and worn gears in my head had slowly begun moving. I finished the book and went on to the next, and the next, and the next.

Things are now much better.

I’m now reading my thirty-sixth book of this year.

I’m writing the first draft of my novel.

I’m making art again.

I have my best friend back.

I am volunteering again. But this time on a farm, helping adults with learning disabilities. I’ve been asked to do bank work there, and I seem to have turned into the resident photographer. I still keep in touch with my recovery workmate buddies. I’m going to volunteer at my old recovery service and see how things go.

My wonderful son passed his chef exams with flying colours, and we’re hoping to meet up over the summer holidays. I’ve connected with the most wonderful writers and artists from around the world on Facebook and made wonderful creative discoveries. I could go on and on, but the list is long now.

All because I decided to save my own life. All because I read the first line in a Bret Easton Ellis book. All because I looked at pictures of my son every day.

That was my route out of Hell’s basement. Everyone has their own. These are just a few ways I did things. You will find your own if you’re in your own personal Hell.

You’ll do it. You really will. Stay safe everyone xx