It’s been a while. Lots of things have happened since I was last here.
The pandemic and the endless lockdowns. The world has changed for us all. Thankfully, I managed to stay sober and hit three years alcohol-free yesterday. But I’ve lost so many friends to drink now, it’s well into double figures and counting.
Alcoholism is the age-old global pandemic that will never go away, and it has no vaccine. It probably never will.
COVID19 has killed so many addicts. Ironically, not of the virus. Recovery services going virtual because there is no choice. Confinement. Four walls. Boredom and the lack of physical contact are the real killers for addicts. You need some serious mental tools in your head and a strong recovery network to survive a pandemic clean and sober. Many are not so lucky, unfortunately.
I’ve let this site go to rack and ruin a little with zero activity. Must do better. Below is my personal letter to the beast.
Stay safe. Stay strong. Stay amazing. See you very, very soon.
Two years sober! That was a bit of a ride, and to be honest, the ride never stops. So how did that happen? Overnight? A magic pill? The fact that stopping drinking alcohol is simply a piece of cake?
None of the above.
Here’s my top ten of the steps that worked for me. In no particular order (apart from step one):
1: Always putting my recovery at the top of every list. 2: Wanting to stop drinking (not just having to). 3: Accepting help (you can’t do it alone. Believe me). 4: Hard work. 5: Finding my sense of humour again, very quickly! If you can laugh, you’re alive! 6: Realising nothing is ever bad enough to use as an excuse to drink. 7: Listening. Talking is great, but listening is just as important, if not more. 8: Learning about my addiction. 9: Being selfish in my recovery. I come first. Always! 10: Always making sure step number one never changes. Ever!
All the above, and a hell of a lot more, took me three years to realise. The list is endless and you will find your own to suit you. Three years to get two years sober. It certainly didn’t happen overnight. Two lapses and two stays in rehab, and a hell of a lot of hard work. I won’t sugarcoat it for you, it was hell on earth at the beginning. I felt as if I was going insane. I was in mourning for my murdered my best friend, alcohol. The friend I believed looked after me and kept me safe, every day of my life – garbage.
But alcohol was a deceiver and a serially slow killer. A stripper of souls. A trickster, a fraud, an abuser, a scammer, a personality hacker and a rapist of the heart and mind.
But slowly, very slowly, it improved day by day.
Baby steps. And if baby steps were too hasty, I walked slower. Staying alive isn’t a race. If you want quick, there is always death. But I wouldn’t recommend it.
Even now, I’m constantly on my guard. Addiction is a slippery little sucker. It whispers to me often. It will never go away. I may be an addict, but it doesn’t mean my addiction will kill me. I have too much to do in my life now. I made myself too busy to listen to my addiction. My recovery network is huge, and I use it every day. I built it myself, bit by bit, person by person, book by book. Hope by hope.
Hope by example, saves lives. If you think you literally have nothing to live for, you’re wrong. You have hope. Somewhere. You just need to find it. It’s there. And when you find it, you can start to live again.
Baby steps + hope x hard work = A new beginning.
Find your own top ten. It’s yours. Especially designed for you, by you.
But a word of advice. Always make sure your recovery is number one, the top of every list. Because if it isn’t . . .
The heartfelt and honest words below are written by a dear friend of mine. She is a recovery worker doing amazing work in the addiction field. She has also dealt with addiction issues regarding someone very close to her. She will remain anonymous here, but her words are here for anyone who is struggling with a loved one.
Stay safe all xx
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You win. I lose!
It’s been some time since I had this chat with you, last time we talked, you ripped me in two, my mother gave you her heart in the hope you would heal, heal wounds that I could not.
In you, she trusted all would be well and that she would be able to smile again, for a time, this was true, just a little bit of you, a lot more of me, but you didn’t like this, you wanted more of her, you wanted her to give you everything.
Only you! No one else mattered that was plain to see, didn’t take you long to take her away from me, you surprised even me, you are sneaky, I’ll give you that.
I blinked and that was that, she only had eyes for you. Only you could make her smile, only you could wipe her tears, only you could heal that empty feeling.
Only you, only you! Me . . . me who? didn’t take you long to break that heart, that heart that was given in trust, one thing at a time: you took job, money, home, husband, son, daughter, only you! But even after there was nothing left for you to take, you went one step further, you took that one thing you could still break . . .
You made a daughter live a life of ache, she was not enough for you. No, you were greedy and needed more, needed to spill your poison for all, you took the life from her. The life that I held dear.
So, guess what! You win I lose! I lose the one person who I needed most, I lose a piece of me that I cannot replace, I lose a mother with poise and grace.
Many of us have been here many times. Too many times. We imposed it ourselves. Our addiction demanded it. But we broke out, We ran free! We began living every day like our last. No more stumbling. No more tears. No more poison. No more fears. Just . . . Life. Then something came . . . again.
L O C K D O W N !
But this is for everyone. We are not alone. This time.
This newly isolated world. All in this together. As we clap the NHS. As they treat the sick and dying. The lost and crying. When breathless souls are flying. To their own higher power. Staying at home, not going out or about.
We stand together. Six feet apart. The depth of a grave. Too far for a hug. Or a kiss. Or just the hold of a beloved’s hand. Living together. And miles apart. But one thing in common. We have One beating HEART!
I was talking to a friend about fantasy fiction this week. It got me thinking about my own fiction writing from many, many moons ago. When I first started in the early nineties, I was writing horror and fantasy. Last night I came across this ancient effort of mine from 1997. At the time, I loved it. It even got published in a small press magazine. But now, after so many years, how do I feel about it? I must admit, it makes me squirm and cringe a little. It’s overly romantic and emotional, clichéd, saccharine, and faux erotic. It’s also not well written. Friends who had read it, liked it at the time and asked me to expand it into a book. My answer was always no. Thank God. Maybe I’m being a little hard on the old writer me. Maybe not.
It’s kind of nice reading it again after all these years. It shows a newbie writer trying out ideas for the very first time and seeing where it goes.
As a reminder to myself, I thought I’d put it here, warts and all. It’s untouched (as much as I would love to edit it to death) and as it was when I finally sent it off.
So, what’s this post got to do with recovery and addiction? Absolutely nothing. It’s a bit of positive self-reflection. We don’t always have to be talking hardcore recovery all the time.
If you want to read some cream of the crop fantasy and Sci-fi authors: Freda Warrington, Storm Constantine and Justina Robson’s books are stunning!
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The Fallen
Silent now, was the shore. Only the distant ebb and flow of the tide was to be heard. In the darkening sky, the clouds were beginning to pass and fade. The full image of the moon, whose rays shone over the vast beach, was now unveiled. Soon it would cover the eternal waters, repeating the rituals of nature, centuries old. The moon beckoned the shimmering sea back and forth like a father would to a child, offering promises of gifts. Only a parent as wise as this could offer the gift of life, love and all the mysteries of nature itself.
The obedient child obliged, slowly guiding the life within its celestial waters. The life, which also saw the child as an ancient guardian, a master that provided food and all the wonder the birthplace of the earth could offer.
Ancient as the game was between parent and child, it still offered new mysteries, fresh wonders of new birth and death.
Death.
For now, the child had been tainted crimson with the bodies of thousands of floating, silent warriors.
From the window, high in her stone fortress, the Scorpress watched these wonders as she had done for decades before. These wonders once held her mind captive. Now, tears welled from her depthless, red eyes.
Silence. The death-screams of her armies now gave way to the sound of the sea. Aside this, only the Scorpress’ grief could be heard. She tore her eyes away from the window and walked slowly to her throne where she slumped, staring at the timeworn stone floor. Her tears washed like tides. Her brave armies had fallen. All was lost. Thousands of warriors bobbed like apples in their watery grave. Others lay strewn on the beach outside the fort, their wounds staining the white sands the colour of berry wine.
Soon her enemies would smash their way inside. They would take her outside, parading their long-awaited prize in public and slowly, ever so slowly, slay her. The Scorpress rose and walked to the great oak table to pour herself a tall goblet of wine. She took one last look at herself in the looking glass.
Her human form always pleased her more than the others she could conjure. She discarded her robe, made from the flayed strips of skin of her enemies. In the dancing flames of the many candles burning around her, her dark skin glistened smooth like highly polished crystal with blood-red flashes across her stomach and tiny breasts. The contrast of pigments hypnotised all who were privileged or cursed to see her naked. Long, straight hair, black as cancer, poured down past her sleek back, gently brushing the floor. The only thing which belied her human shape was the long, muscular, leathery tail. It arced upwards from the base of her spine. At the end of which shone the deadly, hard ivory tip the size of a bull’s horn. It could gently caress a lover to the heights of passion and in the same breath, kill without warning. She lifted the tail over her head, the tip gently stroking the side of her face. Its warmth and smoothness gave her some ease.
Gritting her teeth she let out a deafening blood-scream, whipping her tail around at lightning speed, smashing the looking glass into razor shards which crashed to the floor around her. In her continuing rage, she destroyed in her path – unaware that the soles of her bare feet were being slit to ribbons by the razor-sharp debris. Tables, chairs, paintings; nothing was exempt from the scorned queen.
She fell to the floor helpless and breathless amid the havoc she had wreaked on everything she had once cherished. The stone floor was cold on her face, little pools of blood grew beneath her tattered feet. She whispered to herself, “I have failed my people.”
The door of the great room opened. Slowly, her breath calm, she raised her head. Standing in front of her was Ethis, her lover. Staring into one another’s eyes, they shared the un-spoken conversation of defeat. The black-robed figure slowly walked to his queen. He knelt next to her and began gently dipping his hand through the river of hair. His touch was soothing, as it always had been. There was no need for words, just a caress and a soft breath spoke volumes for the two lovers.
Raising their heads, they heard the inevitable thunderous booming, reverberating around the empty castle. They were here. Their enemies had begun smashing an entrance inside, desperate to claim their trophy. It would be a matter of mere minutes before they were both found. The Scorpress quickly turned to Ethis, her eyes dazzled with urgency.
“They will soon be upon us my love,” her voice quaked. You know what we must do. Ethis nodded. They rose from the floor and gently embraced each other with a new calmness. It was almost as if, in the light of what they were about to do, they had all the time in the world. Facing each other, their cheeks now traced with tears, she blessed her lover’s soft mouth with a long, deep kiss. Silently she whipped her tail over her shoulder, its glassy tip plunging into her lover’s back, puncturing his skin as she pumped her lethal poison into his blood.
Ethis felt nothing. The Scorpress’ arms took the full weight of the lifeless body. Tenderly, she laid him on the floor. Then one last kiss.
“I love you,” she whispered into his ear. Once more, her tail arced over her shoulder, she placed its tip carefully between her own lips. Eyes closed; she drank. The deadly, warm, white liquid dripped deep into her throat. Her body rolled like a rag doll onto her lover. They both appeared as if asleep, in the wake of passion, tranquil and at peace. The Scorpress had finally won, denying her enemies their glittering prize.
When the familiar comfort blanket of alcohol and drugs have gone, the only thing in your bloodstream is juice, coffee, or tea. With white knuckles, you’re soberly watching the world and his wife happily celebrating (ironically with an array of alcohol) this once joyous period.
Christmas can be hell on earth for people early in recovery. In fact, pick any occasion: birthdays, funerals, weddings, new employment – you name it. The newly-clean and sober, often struggle.
We do try. People wouldn’t believe how hard we attempt to get through these events of normality. If they could only see the mental gymnastics we have to perform, simply to get to our beds at night, clean and sober. They would be stunned. But others can’t see it. Unfortunately, they aren’t mind readers. We try not to talk about what we do, and we certainly don’t want patting on the head for our efforts.
For us, the daily 24-hour internal wars that we fight is just another day. It’s what we must do. But during booze-fests such as Christmas, we have to up-the-anti, crank up the super-psychology, sharpen up and pull even more tools out of the bag.
Unlike previous years, this Christmas I won’t be torturing myself with thoughts of alcohol, hopefully. I’ve put a lot mental groundwork in. My mind is calmer. Every day spent sober gives my mind the confidence to give itself a break. Sobriety isn’t easy, but time is a major player in easing or erasing the toxic thoughts around difficult events.
So: 1: Do I enjoy Christmas now? 2: Am I happy and contented? 3: Am I fixed? 4: Am I now a smug little bastard with all the answers, now I’m sober?
Let’s see:
1: I do not enjoy Christmas at all. I tolerate it because I don’t have a choice. Actually, I do have a choice. I choose to do it alcohol-free. The other choice is no longer an option. This Christmas I can promise myself I’ll get to 2020 sober. Previous years I couldn’t give that promise. I simply don’t enjoy Christmas as I once did. No big deal – it’s just another day. Life goes on and always will. Baby steps.
2: I’m not happy and contented. I’m riddled with guilt. I constantly beat myself up about the past, all the wasted time, all my failed hopes and dreams. I convince myself I’m not good enough. My own personal standards of myself were ridiculously high and unachievable. I’m striving to change that. I am my own worst enemy.
But I’m getting better. The past is the past and unless somebody invents time-travel, there’s nothing I can do about it. Was the past really ever as good as I thought? Maybe. But maybe not. It’s the present that’s important. Things are much better than they were, and my old hopes are gradually becoming a reality. So, for now, that will do. I’m working on Paulie: version 2.0. It seems a good version. Baby steps.
3: I’m not, and never will be fixed. But I will always have choice. I could still take the easy path by pressing the fuck-it button and drink. Block everything out and have a shitty life again. Or I can remain on the harder, more fearsome path, to stay sober every day and see where it takes me. I eventually chose the latter. To live. To see what happens and see what’s on the other side.
This is what I do day after day. Experiencing life on the other side of the bars of the cage – seeing where it takes me. So far so good. I have wonderful friends, a nice little job doing what I love, and fantastic colleagues. A nice little life. It’s far from perfect but nothing is. Is it? Baby steps.
4: Smug with all the answers? I hope not. No, I’m just a little bit wiser, a little healthier, a little less stupid now that my brain cells have finally kicked in. There are no answers when it comes to getting clean and sober. You can be guided, but no real answers reveal themselves. We are all different and we all find our own way. What might work for me may not work for you. But one thing I do recommend that helped me, is this:
Be selfish! No, I don’t mean be an asshole to everyone. Be completely and utterly selfish with your recovery. Every list you ever make: in your head, your life, your phone or on paper, make sure your recovery is number one. If it isn’t at the top of the list, everything beneath it could eventually evaporate – and you’re left with nothing, again.
You must put yourself first.
Don’t want to do something because it will make you twitchy? Don’t do it. Been invited out but you don’t feel safe? Don’t go. People think your weird because you’re not drinking alcohol at Christmas? Tough! It’s your life, your recovery. You know what works for you and what doesn’t. You are in charge and you are in control. If others can’t accept that at Christmas or any other time – again, tough.
So, my advice for Christmas? I haven’t any. My wish? That you are safe as you find your own way. That you don’t crumble beneath other people’s pressure. That you put yourself above everything. Christmas is just another day. It will not kill you. Find some joy and gratitude from somewhere – anywhere! It’s there! You’ll find it, even in the darkest corners of the darkest rooms in your head. It’s there. Grab it and run with it towards 2020 and beyond.
You’ll be ok. You’ll survive the best way you can.
A little more creativity before I post the big stuff.
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When your life is pitch black, Light it up, I know, It’s hard, So hard, To find your own flame, When it’s been gone, For so long, Because of this, Or that, But it’s there, It always is, But the hardest part, Is the search, For something, That the world, Tries to snuff out, Day, After day, After Groundhog Day, But you have everything you need, To find your own light, Just follow your own map, Under your skin, It’s in your DNA, It runs in your veins, It’s inside your heart, It swirls in your soul, It shocks your synapses into life, It pushes, Pulses, And gushes your blood, It flickers your lids, Over the flash of your eyes. It, has, always, always, always, been, there, because, your, light, is . . .
It’s been a while. There will be a real and actual blog post at the weekend. But until then, a little bit of creativity that fell out of my head. Dedicated to and inspired by my colleagues and friends on the front line every day, bravely and passionately helping others fight their addictions. I’m so proud to be part of the family. So proud.
Stumbling Towards Hindsight 