Yesterday was, quite possibly, the strangest day of my life. In the morning there was a rushed exchange of e-mails between myself and London Metropolitan University, where I hoped to find someone who could write a couple of lines confirming for my new employers that I was once a student there. Positive response was not instantly forthcoming, but once I’d made it known that I had been unemployed since graduating, they seemed to realise that their assistance would keep me from bumping up their graduate unemployment rates. I finally got the head of Psychology to agree to be a referee, even though she never met me and probably hasn’t a clue what to write. With that sorted, I was once again free to worry about the actual job that I had taken on. After training last week I have a fair idea of what the company actually does, but the details of my job specifically are still reasonably vague, partly because it’s a new job that no one’s done before. The job description makes it sound easy, but I’m sure it isn’t going to be, otherwise they wouldn’t be offering to pay me as much as they are. So in spite of their obvious eagerness to employ me, I haven’t a clue whether I can actually do the job or not. I don’t know who I’m going to be working with; I got the impression last week that it was a fairly quiet, serious kind of office, and I just have this impression of people who work in offices as being cold, unhelpful and far more clever than me.
I didn’t have much time to think about these things yesterday, unfortunately, as in the afternoon I had to return to Highbury Magistrates Court to testify against Ben, the mentally unwell individual who attacked my sponsor outside a meeting last year. The hearing has been postponed so many times that by now my memory of it is unhelpfully hazy, and none of us really wanted to go through with the hearing by this point, but I think if my sponsor had just dropped the case, there might have been a risk of Ben getting off scot free without any order to get the help that he desperately needs.
We got to court at 1.30 yesterday afternoon to find the place almost empty. Apparently everyone was still on their lunch break. Part of me was hoping that the whole thing would be called off again like before – I really didn’t want to be spending my last day of freedom in that place – but another part of me just wanted to get it over with. It’s been a year of waiting, wondering, not knowing. By yesterday the case was most certainly something that could not be put off any longer.
My sponsor was the first to be called to the witness stand. The prosecution simply asked him to explain clearly what happened; defense then did their best to pick holes in his story. Up next was me. Within seconds of reading out the oath I was shaking. All of a sudden I seemed to realise where I was, what I was doing. Ben was sitting on the other side of the room, looking alone and lost, and I felt terrible for him. There was no way around what I was about to do to him. In telling the truth of what happened I was to smear his character, make him out to be a villain, because he was one that night. Now, however, he is just a lonely, depressed individual who doesn’t deserve to be where he is.
I stumbled over my words and the judges kept asking me to speak up, which was embarrassing. When the defense started on me, I knew I had no hope. It became clear that they wanted to portray my sponsor as the bad guy, the intimidating one who came in and picked a fight with poor Ben. Apparently, Ben only kicked and punched and threw coffee at us in self defense. I found myself unable to disagree with the argument, even though I knew in my head that it was not right. I was only on the stand for a few minutes at most, which is probably a good thing, though as soon as I got back to my seat I began to wish I could go back and tell my story again.
Next up was Ben himself. He looked a state on the stand: upset, shaky, hardly sure where he was. His story was rambling and inconclusive and he couldn’t answer a question with a simple, straight answer. When it was all over, the judges went out and took about twenty minutes to debate their verdict. When they came back, they explained in far too many words that while they felt sympathy for Ben’s mental condition, they didn’t believe that he had acted in self defense. They found my evidence and that of my sponsor wholly credible, and they believed that what happened was down to a heating of tempers, caused by Ben’s ongoing disruptive and abusive behaviour at the time.
Ben was given a conditional discharge on the grounds that he has been receiving treatment since the time of the incident (I didn’t know this). If he commits any further offences in the next twelve months he will return to court to be sentenced for this as well as any future offence. He was also required to pay £100 in court fees – when he tearfully explained why he could not afford to pay it all in one go, I nearly collapsed in shame. How could I do this to him? We shouldn’t be here. This should have been sorted out months ago with an honest, open, face to face discussion. Not on opposite sides of a court room.
I will probably never see Ben again. I don’t doubt that this is the best thing for both of us, I just wish…I don’t even know what I wish. He’s getting help, he’s not coming to meetings and causing disruption any more, so I suppose everything really has worked out well.
Outside the court there were sad farewells to be exchanged with my former sponsor, who is leaving the country to return to his home, California, for good today. He lost his job in London a couple of months ago and I think he never really intended to stay here permanently, in any case. It would have been nice to have a longer goodbye chat with him, but it was cold and we both wanted to get home. I’m sure I’ll see him again – his long term partner still lives here and I imagine that we’ve become close enough friends through all of this not to lose touch. We have been through a lot together. He took me through the twelve steps – I can’t forget that. Though there was a time earlier this year when there was a great distance between us, I think that’s over now.
So, both of our lives are changing completely today. He’s moving to the other side of the world; I’m starting my first proper, adult job. What a way to end our old lives, in court. Coming home from Highbury Magistrates wasn’t quite the end of my day yesterday. In the evening I received a surprise call from a friend, Jan, who had two tickets to see Priscilla, Queen of the Desert in the West End. He told me it was a treat, to celebrate my new job. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d been dying to see Priscilla for months, ever since they erected that giant glittering stiletto outside the Palace Theatre on Cambridge Circus. Going to see shows such as this was part of the dream that I envisaged around starting work, having money again. I didn’t think I’d be living the dream quite so soon, though.
The show was, of course, incredible. Priscilla is one of my all time favourite movies, and the stage production doesn’t let the movie fans down. If anything it is bigger, brighter, bolder and more fabulous than the film in many ways. I suppose it has to be – the quieter parts of the film just wouldn’t work on stage. Glitter, pink feathers and confetti flew everywhere; well known classic pop songs were belted out with twirling, kicking dance routines. Everything was camp times a million. I loved it. At several points the worries about starting work today tried to intrude on my enjoyment; I quickly forced them out, telling myself to stay in the moment. That’s where all the fear comes from, not staying in the moment.
When the show was over I couldn’t believe that was it. I wanted to go back and live through it all again. I didn’t want the fun to end. But now it has ended. First thing this morning I woke up with that all too familiar jolt of fear. I knew that the day was finally here, that there was no escaping responsibility any more.
In three hours from now I have to go to work for the first time in years. Though I’ve survived so many frightening things in recovery already, I can’t convince myself that this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. If I could take to the stand and give evidence in court against an old friend yesterday, surely I can go to Notting Hill and complete a few slightly complicated administrative tasks as part of my brand new role? No. My head cannot believe that I am ready for this.
The hardest thing, as I said before, is the fact that I won’t be able to leave once I’ve got there. I’ve told the job centre about this new job now, so if I end up resigning, I won’t get any more benefits. I have to go along today, tomorrow and every single day for the foreseeable future and I have to see it through. Logic and reason keep butting into my thoughts, telling me that it’s not being sent to Afghanistan, it’s not being banged up in prison for five years – it’s just a job. But it isn’t just a job! It’s the most important thing that’s ever happened to me and I can’t afford to screw it up!
Before sitting down to write this I spent about half an hour crying my eyes out on the sofa. This is just like leaving home all over again; going to school for the first time; leaving the safety and comfort of the only home I’ve ever known to step out into the real world. I experienced the exact same emotions the day I left for University in 2001, the day I started secondary school in 1994, and the day I started primary school in 1987. Despite the years that have passed, the feelings haven’t changed. I know this is wrong, I shouldn’t be feeling that fear any more, but I never got over it, I never learnt whatever I needed to learn to deal with growing up. In the most significant and memorable dream I ever had, I was forced to go back to school to rearrange some tables in a large hallway. At first all my old school ‘friends’ were there, pointing and laughing at me, not helping at all. After a while I was on my own in the hallway, and the tables just kept multiplying, growing and growing in number until there were hundreds in front of me and I didn’t know what to do. Today, I face that challenge. I’ve run away from it all my life. I can’t run any more. I can cry, I can plead, I can panic, but I can’t run away. Mum isn’t here to hold my hand now. Is God going to take care of me? He took care of me when I went to school, left home for University, and when I stopped drinking and joined AA. All those major turning points in my life were huge, terrifying, and I survived them with God’s help. Why can’t I trust in God today? How could I think that He would abandon me now, when I need Him the most? This is it, then. This is where my faith really gets tested. By the end of the day, I’ll know the answers to all the questions. I’ll know what the rest of my life is going to be like.
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