One of the strongest sensations I have experienced during the process of recovery from an addiction (two years without a drink last Wednesday, for anyone keeping score) is the sense of waking up from a nightmare during which I hadnt realised that I was asleep. There have been moments of sudden realisation; startling flashes of comprehension that things I had previously done and felt were in no way necessary, normal or, frequently, anything to do with who I was or wished to be. Then there have been incredibly gratifying moments when I would stop and realise that a particular brain function or personal capacity - that Id been taking for granted for a fortnight - hadnt been there for a decade or so prior to that. Its an incredibly pleasant and ongoing exercise in surprising myself. Sometimes thats about me - breaking the habit of thinking that staying on the mat is easier than running the risk of being knocked down - but, just as often, its about other people. Discovering that people are vastly more interesting, trustworthy, and lovely than the bottom - or even the top - of a bottle is one of the extraordinary pleasures of sobriety. Addiction erodes trust and destroys the capacity to think of others as anything more than an obstacle or route to the next drink. After my post last year, a few people asked whether they had been guilty of enabling the addiction and, as I said at the time, I think they had missed the point. I would have found another drink; I had got very good at it. What was extraordinary was the capacity of those who cared about me to not only make sure that I ate from time to time and mostly had somewhere safe to pass out but to also act as a reminder that there was much more to me than a hand to hold a bottle. The patience and forgiveness that must have taken is something that I still find both overwhelming and intimidating and is a debt that I doubt I shall ever be able to repay. As I sit here typing this, I can feel the tears forming just thinking about the enormity of countless acts of friendship and kindness - mostly ignored or taken for granted at the time - that insured that I had a cats chance in hell of still being around to give up in the end - and that there was something of me left to give up for. I am almost as bad at giving compliments as at receiving them but I really am incredibly fortunate with my friends and family, and Im only terrible at saying thank you more often than I do because the inadequacy of the words to express the emotion makes them catch in my throat. So, thank you. Thank you a million times and more. Thank you for having faith in me when I had none and giving me hope and confidence when I needed it most. I still struggle with the idea that love and affection really are for keeps and that neither are the brittle, fragile things I keep expecting them to be. Addiction worked its tendrils good and proper through my brain and left me convinced that, as I saw nothing lovely or lovable in myself, then neither could others - and that is one of the most pernicious parts of disease and one of the hardest habits to break. I dont want this to turn into some kind of homily on the loveliness of everything or a plea for us all to give the world a hug (although neither of those things are in and of themselves bad ideas) but the only positive thing to be said about rock bottom is the contrast it provides in retrospect. After 735 days it is surprisingly hard to recollect the aching isolation and despair that is the reality of addiction. In my bleaker moments it still scratches in the darkest corners of my mind but mostly it seems no more than the fleeting rumour of another, improbable existence or an echo of a nightmare in the light of day. The human mind is reassuringly bad at remembering pain and it takes a definite and concerted act of will - and one that gets harder every day - to capture once again the terror that passed for normal for too many years. I can still, just, sense the mindless fear that had become the worst of the poisons I poured into my body every day. Although the sensations are hardest to recall, the monotony of a life that consisted of waking up hungover at some indeterminate point in the afternoon and shuddering consciously in the dark before longing drove me to start the whole sorry descent into meaningless once again, is only too easy to recapture. The sheer absurdity of playing out the same routine, and wondering why an apparently uncaring or vengeful world delivered exactly the same results, would be laughable had it not taken twenty years of my life and more than enough of my sanity in the process. Its against that backdrop - and this is why I say the retrospective is positive - that I get to see the many pleasures of life play out every day. Casual acts of kindness, reactive and instinctive gestures of affection, unnoticed and unflinching displays of trust and optimism. The simple contrast between those two states - the unreasonably desolate and the recklessly affectionate - still makes me giggle, frequently uncontrollably. It seems that we can all have a tendency to take the most valuable things for granted, distracted by the trivial and overwhelmed by the mundane. I find that those fleeting moments of realisation that I mentioned earlier, as well as the more deliberate acts of will, serve as a regular reminder both that we get better and that we have cause to do so. For both the reality of that and the opportunity to be reminded of it, I am profoundly grateful. Last year I wrote that I didnt plan to make this an annual occurrence and I still dont; to be honest I didnt plan to write this before I sat down and started. However, having reflected previously on the pain of the disease, it seems only fair to say something about the pleasure of the recovery. I wont for a moment regret the point when the recollection of those feelings from another time becomes impossible but, while it is still an option, I hope youll forgive me indulging publicly in the exercise. Last year I wrote that there was a way out of addiction and that it was entirely possible, although not necessarily easy, for both the addict and those around them to find. A year on, I would only add that it is well worth the effort. That may seem obvious to the point of being trite although, I can assure you, it doesnt seem that way when the intimidating threat of sobriety is stretching out before you. However, I mention it more because many of the benefits are not the obvious ones of mental stability or physical health or emotional maturity but the million tiny facets of life that pass unnoticed in the headlong pursuit of the next drink. The all-consuming need to endlessly reorder every aspect of an already troubled existence to meet the demands of an insatiable desire leaves no time to notice the pleasures of life and love and friendship as we race past all three to an unyielding timetable. Putting down the drink - or, more precisely, learning not to pick it up - was the first and fundamental step. It remains foundational and unconditional. Many of the other lesson have been practical - time management, the benefits of nutrition that is not exclusively chocolate-related, money management (still tricky). However the most pleasurable lesson of all has been learning to enjoy the value of friendship for its own sake. Learning that the trust and hope we place in others is returned to us incalculably increased. Learning, again and again, that through friendship we discover not only who we are but who we can and wish to be. In this particular lesson, of course, I was extremely fortunate in having such excellent and able teachers. I thank you for it.
Posted on: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 04:45:45 +0000
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