7 months, 14 days (changes abound)

It’s been a good couple of days, and things seem to be going pretty steady at the moment. I attended a couple of good meetings last night, the ones that I usually go to with Earl on Thursdays. Both of them are ‘mainstream’ (i.e. not gay) and I feel quite comfortable with them now. I’ve shared in the first one a few times now, but not the second one, as it’s technically an old-timers’ group, meaning I’ll probably wait til I have a year’s sobriety or thereabouts before I speak. I won’t put it off any longer than that.

 There was a little emotional turmoil beforehand, when Earl wanted to meet up with a newcomer and bring him to the meeting. The newcomer, Mark, was very nice, but unfortunately very good looking, which instantly caused me discomfort. Ever since I came into recovery I can’t seem to be around sexually attractive men without feeling hugely inferior. I know what that’s all about. Every time I meet someone who I find very attractive, it makes me feel like that helpless little child, because I want the man so badly, and I can’t have him. This has happened with nearly every physically attractive man I’ve ever met. It’s why the men who I’ve gone for in relationships have tended not to be men who I really fancy. They were all safe options.

 Everyone feels threatened by good looking people, it’s a part of the human condition. But with me it gets so bad that, for a short time initially, I can hardly function. Poor Mark must have thought he’d done something to offend me last night. As soon as I realised what he might be thinking, the old instinct to resent him kicked in, and for a few minutes I had to fight the urge to walk away and punish him. I keep wanting to punish people, for the way they make me feel. But I know I can’t do that any more, so I stuck around last night, and eventually Mark and I ended up having a reasonable conversation with each other. At certain points I found myself slipping into fantasy land, imagining a utopian future where Mark and I settle down and live happily ever after. It’s another old behaviour that I’ve always engaged in to protect myself. All these things that I do out of instinct, they’re just defence mechanisms, ways that I learnt to protect myself from reality.

 I haven’t really learnt that I do this from AA; it’s thanks to the counselling module that I’m taking at the moment in University that I’m discovering so much about the psyche so quickly. I’m throwing myself into this module because I’m more sure than ever that it’s the career path I want my life to follow, and also because it’s teaching me so many useful things about me and other people. I didn’t know before that I used so many defence mechanisms. I didn’t know that I have a tendency to slouch and look at the ground because I’m scared to look up and engage with the world. We were told about people doing that in today’s lecture. I’ve always been vaguely aware of it, but I was never 100% clear why I really did it.

 It’s been a week of unbelievable clarity. Not that the past seven months haven’t been full of clarity, but I can feel stuff coming together really quickly this week, old and new stuff. When I talk to people now I make a conscious effort to keep my body language open and confident; when I walk down the street I put energy into keeping my head held high. The old, sick part of me constantly questions why I’m bothering to put all this effort in. What’s wrong with spending the rest of my life with my eyes focused on the ground? it asks. It’s hard to keep reminding myself to look up and ahead all the time, because looking down is such a natural state of being for me, but I’m persisting with this new behaviour, because I know my life isn’t going to change any other way. Sometimes I may forget to maintain the behaviour, but that’s all right because I can still keep trying, and at the end of the day, just having this new awareness of it is going to help. Being AWARE of things is the first step to changing them, after all!

 Today’s lecture was fascinating for more than one reason. The topic was Person-Centred therapy today, another form of counselling that I’ve been lucky enough to receive in the past. This course has really showed me how lucky I am – over the years I’ve seen about five or six counsellors, all of whom I now know were practising these different types of therapy. I had psychodynamic counselling when I was a teenager; then when I was at University the first time I received person-centred therapy for a couple of years; then about three years ago I received cognitive behaviour therapy. I always realised that these counsellors were each very different, but I didn’t know I was getting first hand experience of the various methods that I would end up studying in-depth years later in 2008.

 After being taught about the theory behind person-centred counselling we had a brief role-play session, which turned into the most fun I’ve ever had on this degree course. We were asked to split into groups of ten, with two people sat in the centre and the rest of us sat around observing. The two in the centre had to act as client and therapist. At first, our group’s two role players seemed nervous and unsure about how to play it, but they soon settled into their roles and it was a great insight into what they might be like in the real situation, should they choose to go into this line of work. Hence, it was an insight into the personalities of those two people, an insight that you wouldn’t normally get in the slightly anonymous atmosphere of the lecture hall.

 Again, by the end of the lecture I was nearly pinching myself, to check that I wasn’t dreaming. This is exactly why I wanted to study Psychology in the first place, to learn about the psychological nuances and intricacies of every day life. It seems to me that therapy gets underneath the surface unlike any other profession, and I love it for that, already. I’m so lucky to have already had that experience of therapy in the past, to know all that I already know about it. This is where I feel everything coming together in my life, this module, which has conveniently come right at the end of my degree, just as I’m about the enter the real world for the first time in my life. I don’t know how or when I’m going to be able to afford to pay the extortionate fees for the professional training, which I’d have to go through before I can become a proper therapist. That is my main goal in life, starting now. They say that healthy, sane individuals have goals; at least I can take comfort in the fact that I have one now. I just need to find out how to go about achieving it.

7 months, 12 days (work and play pt.2)

Again, a brilliant day. I managed to study all morning, for the first time in what feels like weeks. In the afternoon I had a very satisfactory nap, something that’s unusual for me to pull off, before I had to go out and meet Earl in Central London for another West End show. This week we were going to see the Mousetrap at St Martin’s Theatre, a play I knew virtually nothing about beforehand. I thought it looked quite interesting from posters around town, and since we’re going through a theatre phase at the moment, we decided to book some tickets. It was a brilliant show, a thoroughly engaging and gripping story with superb acting and direction. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in…well, in days! I was going to say years, but then I remembered seeing Mamma Mia last week! Do you know, this is the way I’ve always wanted to live. THIS is what I want to be doing with my spare time. This is the kind of thing that excites me. And I never knew it before! 25 years of living in London, and never once did I go and see a show. It simply never occurred to me before. Maybe Earl always pays for the tickets because he’s treating me as a replacement for his lost children…who knows? It doesn’t matter at all. I am SO grateful for his friendship, for the joy that it brings me on occasions like tonight, nothing else matters. Without the fellowship, NONE of this would have happened, I wouldn’t have even had the confidence to suggest it in my drinking days.

7 months, 11 days

Good day today. I visited my doctor this morning to talk about therapy as arranged. I was a little annoyed to be seen nearly an hour late, but not surprised as this sort of thing usually happens when I go there. I always get the impression that my doctor is rushed off his feet. It made me feel a little bad for going without a visible physical ailment, but I stuck to my guns and went through with the visit anyway. When I was finally seen I talked for a minute about why I thought I needed to go back into therapy. Unfortunately because of my nerves I forgot some of what I wanted to say, and it didn’t seem to come out right. I felt like I was in a job interview. When I’d finished he asked me to go away and write him a succinct letter with all the reasons why I think I’d benefit from counselling. He says he’ll pass it onto the resident counsellor that they have at the clinic, who will then make an appointment with me for a proper assessment.

 I have no idea whether I’ll hear from the resident counsellor or not. The doctor could just have been trying to get rid of me, because he had better things to do with his time. It seemed odd that he would have no training whatsoever to make an assessment himself. Then again, maybe he really was rushed off his feet and thought a letter would be a quicker way of doing it. I don’t know. I hope I get an appointment, but if I don’t, I guess it’s not to be.

 Meeting went well tonight. I think I got slightly better at my job as literature secretary today. During the break in the meeting I managed to approach a newcomer and sell them a copy of the Big Book. I never knew I had sales skills in me! It was a proper conversation, with me introducing myself and asking about his recovery.

 Unfortunately the meeting is running very low on literature at the minute and we’re still waiting for a new batch to arrive, three weeks after the order was put in. A part of me will continue to be anxious about it until the new books actually arrive. I worry that I will begin to be blamed the longer this goes on. It is a meeting for newcomers, who need to have access to AA literature more than anyone else, after all. No one’s picked me up on it yet – perhaps the people in charge of the meeting know an order has been put in, or perhaps it’s not so much a problem to them. If the secretary does pick me up on it next week I know what I’ll say: that we’re still waiting on the literature office to send the stuff. But the old part of me is scared of a confrontation developing. It’s another one of those things that I will just have to pray on. This is what scares me about responsibility, the fact that I’m actually accountable for something. But I’m staying in the role, I’m not running away from it.

7 months, 10 days

It’s been a very long day. I had to head into University early this morning to do a load of photocopying before the afternoon’s lecture again. I spent a total of £5 on copying today, and at 5 pence a page, you can guess how much paper I ended up carrying around with me all day. In the lecture I managed to ask some friends to fill out my research questionnaire, for the first time. I’ve shied away from asking people in University so far, because as I’ve said many times, I don’t know or trust them as much as my friends outside. Today I got a total of ten questionnaires filled out during the break in the lecture, which is a fantastic result. It was nerve-racking and I felt guilty asking them – I seem to have this core belief that people will reject me if I ask them for help. But I still managed to ask them today. The momentum is finally picking up with this project, and I now have about 50 questionnaires filled out. Only 50 left to do!

 Time passed by quickly and before I knew it the lecture on schizophrenia was coming to an end, and I was heading to Central London for my AA meeting. I bought some milk and biscuits in a local shop as usual, in preparation for my tea duties. A year ago, I couldn’t have seen myself doing something like that. Not just because it’s a responsibility, but because it puts me right in the centre of the meeting, and inevitably the social situation. The tea maker is always the most recognisable face in a meeting, after the secretary. After a month, I still can’t say I love the job, but I’m willing to continue doing it. It’s a reason to go to a meeting every Monday, and I’m still hopeful that with time, the nerves surrounding the responsibility will dissipate.

 Tomorrow will be another long day. In the morning I’m going to see my doctor, to discuss therapy. I’m determined to get a positive result from this meeting. Unfortunately I’m not confident about it being easy. I last saw my doctor two years ago, when he virtually told me to go away and sort myself out. It didn’t help that I had initially gone to that appointment hoping to be diagnosed with an autistic spectrum disorder. Two years ago I went through a phase of thinking I might be autistic, because it seemed to explain a lot of my problems. I don’t really think that any more. I’m not saying I was silly to ever consider the possibility – it was the only explanation that made sense to me at the time, and it was really the first time I’d ever considered that there might be something wrong with me other than a bit of social anxiety.

 After my doctor politely dismissed my theory about being autistic, I quietly vowed not to go to him for help again. I felt rejected and let down, as I always do when things don’t go my way. Since then I’ve been scared to see my doctor for anything, fearing that he will dismiss me again, like he did that one time when I managed to pluck up the courage to ask for help. I know now that I can’t put off seeing him any longer. I know that therapy will benefit me because my chronic anxiety is not fading. I was anxious throughout today, even during the lecture when I had nothing to be anxious about. This is low-level anxiety I’m talking about: it’s not going to kill me, but it’s been there my whole life and it can be very uncomfortable at times.

 You might say: why do I need help if I’m managing to deal with life as it is? Well, what’s wrong with speeding up the process of getting better a little? Wouldn’t it be nice to experience life without anxiety? If I can just about do a few scary things now, what could I go on to do with professional help?

7 months, 9 days (pastures new)

What a strange, strange day yesterday was. I place the emphasis on strange because by the end of it I felt like I was 14 years old again. First thing in the morning I headed out to North West London again, to carry on with my step 5 work with my sponsor. It’s nice that the momentum is finally picking up with this step. Yesterday we finished dealing with my resentments towards my parents. As I read out the resentments involving my mother, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at the silliness of some of them. One of them recalled an incident circa 1996, when my mum embarrassed me at the doctor’s surgery by demanding that my GP appointment be moved two hours forward. I remember the incident clearly as if it was last week. My appointment was at 6pm but my mum had taken me there at 4, thinking it would get me seen early so she could go home and put dinner on. As the hours went on it became clear that we wouldn’t be seen early, and my mum screamed and shouted at the GP’s receptionist, demanding attention, which just made things worse. Eventually we were seen and I was convinced that I would be removed from the doctor’s practice list. I was so humiliated. I thought everyone must hate me and blame me for my mother’s behaviour. Of course, the reality of the situation was nothing of the sort. No one blamed me for anything; I’m pretty sure the receptionist felt sorry for me, actually. This was just one of many embarrassing incidents caused by my mother that I had to describe to my sponsor yesterday. As I described them I found myself laughing hysterically. For the first time in my life, I could see the funny side of the situation. Right now, as I think about some of the things my mother did when I was younger, I feel no resentment whatsoever. The anger has gone. That is really powerful. It shows the power of step 5, and of the programme.

 After a couple of hours my sponsor let me go, and instead of going home I decided to kill time by taking a long stroll around London. Later on in the evening I’d be heading into Soho for the birthday celebrations of an AA friend, Pete, straight after my regular meeting. I had ensured that I wouldn’t need to go home in between seeing my sponsor and the evening’s meeting by dressing in my glad rags before going out first thing. More about Pete’s birthday later.

 I took the Jubilee line down to Green Park, which would be the starting point of a long round trip around Central London. I know London so well now, it was easy to know how to get to all the places I wanted to see. I passed Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye, the Millennium Bridge, St Paul’s Cathedral, Aldwych and Trafalgar Square, after which I sat down in a café for a long rest and a nice cup of hot chocolate. As I was walking around this strange feeling started coming over me. It’s hard to describe. It’s like…I felt young, and fresh, for the first time in years. Though I’d walked past all those famous landmarks many times before, it’s like I was seeing them for the first time. Everything was clear and sharp before my eyes. Most of all, I felt a childish excitement about all the sightseeing I was managing to pack into my stroll. I kept getting flashbacks to similar fun days out that I’d had as a child. Yesterday I was almost living the dream that I yearned to live as a 14 year old, the dream where I can choose to go to all these places of my own accord and spend as little or as much time outdoors as I like.

 That feeling of being a child again has come and gone in sobriety; until now it terrified me beyond belief, but today it excited me. It didn’t really get going until after a very embarrassing and unexpected event by the River Thames, where I tripped on some steps and fell flat on my face, legs behind me in the air. As soon as it happened I could literally hear the laughter of my old schoolmates in my head, the cruel jeering and the ridicule. It took a tremendous amount of courage to open my eyes and notice that in reality, no one was pointing or laughing at me. People were just carrying on as if nothing had happened. I picked myself up and walked away from the scene as fast as I could, desperate to get away from anyone who might have seen what happened. For five minutes, my heart pounded, sweat poured down my red face and I was convinced that someone would stop me to have a good old laugh at me.

 Five minutes was all it took for me to realise and accept that no one cared about my fall, and then, all of a sudden, I started laughing at the silliness of it all. All my life I’ve feared public embarrassment, doing everything I can to avoid it. Unfortunately when I was drinking I seemed to want to go out of my way to be embarrassing, which makes this sober fear even more incongruent. When something embarrassing happens, what is the worst possible outcome? People laugh at me. So what? Laughter won’t kill me. That is what I think I finally accepted yesterday. What happened when I fell over in public? Absolutely nothing. I’m almost certain now that in most of the life situations that scare me, the worst that can happen is absolutely nothing.

 When the time finally rolled around to 6.30 I headed over to Notting Hill for my meeting, and I was shattered. I realised that my three hour walk had probably been a bad idea considering I was supposed to be going out in Soho last night! Because of my tiredness I was simply unable to concentrate on the chair, and now I can’t remember a word of what he said. I was keen to share about my day and so I jumped in early on after the start of raised voice sharing, which is unusual for me. I talked about step 5, and the humiliation I had failed to experience whilst falling over by the Thames. My message was very positive, and again I felt that sharpness and clarity in my mind. At the end of my share I used the word ‘serene’ to refer to myself, for the first time ever. The rational part of me really doesn’t want to admit that I’d had a spiritual experience, but there’s no other explanation for all those events which makes sense.

 When the meeting was over I dashed off to Soho, completely unsure if I was doing the right thing or not. For the past two months I’d stayed in every night, an achievement which I’m proud of, so I was ready for some clubbing. At least I thought I was. When I got to Soho, I couldn’t walk into the arranged meeting place, a bar on Leicester Square, at first. I saw how busy it was and I knew I wouldn’t know most of Pete’s friends. I felt an insane urge to go home, to run away, but I didn’t. I walked around the block and gave myself a pep talk, telling myself it would be all right as long as I didn’t drink. Eventually I returned to the bar, though in my heart I’m sure I knew even then that it wouldn’t been the best night out I’d ever had.

 It’s not like I wanted or expected to have the best night out in the world. I suppose it would have been nice to spend the night somewhere a bit quieter, with better music. When I finally entered the bar I was pleased to discover some familiar faces, including Andy. To be honest it was a huge relief to see him. It was also nice to see that Pete had only invited non-drinkers. So the chances of me being tempted to drink were low from the start.

 All the signs for a traditionally good night out were there. There were cute guys everywhere, the music was OK, and I was with people from the fellowship who I genuinely liked. But I couldn’t shake the fear that something bad was going to happen all night. It was very busy on all floors of the bar, and I was sure that I’d lose my friends at some point.

 Actually, I think that was my main fear. Being abandoned, left on my own. The fear that has haunted me every time I’ve ever gone out at night. Luckily, we managed to stick together as a group the whole time in that bar. After a while Andy took me to the dance floor where we bopped for about an hour. The music was slowly getting better, and I finally had some fun.

 But it wasn’t too long before Andy wanted to sit down again with the rest of the group, and my mood annoyingly switched back to fearful. There was no seat for me so I had to stand on the side while everyone else chatted around the table. In my mind I went straight back to school, back to the canteen where I was always on the edge of things, not cool or interesting enough to be in the centre of any group.

 Even though Pete very kindly invited me out last night, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling that way towards the end of the night. I can never stop it. We learnt in the CBT lecture the other day that core beliefs are the hardest to change. Well, this is my core belief: I’m not worthy enough to be in any social group. While I continue to believe that, I will always be stuck at school, in my head. This breaks my heart.

 By midnight I couldn’t take any more of the overcrowded, overheated basement that we were in and decided to go home. Andy decided to leave with me. Pete and the others went off to the famous Heaven nightclub at that point. They wanted us to come with them. Andy and I nearly agreed, thanks to the promise of getting in free, but I think every bone in our bodies was screaming at us not to go. It would have been SUCH a bad idea. I always hated Heaven, even when I was drunk. Yes, the music may have been brilliant last night, but I just don’t like the place. It’s the same as everywhere else on the gay scene, which I’ve done to death over the years. Everyone’s out for a quick fix, some no strings fun. To me, the enjoyment has almost entirely gone out of the gay scene. I think I’ve grown out of it. The men are very nice to look at, but as soon as I catch one of them looking at me I know what they want. I know how the encounter’s going to turn out, and that doesn’t appeal to me. It never did appeal to me, it’s just that when I was drunk I couldn’t stop myself from getting involved with these men.

 So, I’m very glad that I made the choice to come home when I did. Andy and I walked to the bus stop together and chatted honestly about how we had found the evening. I feel so lucky to have a friend like Andy, someone of my age who really understands what I’m going through. He feels like he’s done the gay scene to death as well. During the times when we were standing around in the bar and the music wasn’t so good, he kept asking me: ‘so what are we going to do now?’ I didn’t know how to answer him. There is nothing to do in these places, other than dance and stand around talking about nothing important. If Andy hadn’t been there last night I’m certain I would have gone home A LOT earlier. I know that’s me being co-dependent, but I can’t help it. We had to keep each other sane last night. In my drinking days I didn’t even know people like Andy existed: young, sane, non-promiscuous gay men.

 At the bus stop we both seemed to agree that we should have enjoyed the night a lot more. Apart from the fact that I managed to enjoy it enough to keep going back every weekend for years, I had had such a good Saturday, it should rightly have been a good night out for me.

 In a way, of course it was a good night out. I managed to dance to some good music, chat to friends and come home at a reasonable time. What else did I want from it? Andy says the gay scene will never be the same for us without alcohol, and I think he’s right. He also says there’s nothing wrong with spending every night at home watching TV. Technically, he’s right there too. Doesn’t that just make us sound old, though?

 Why ‘do’ the scene at all if we’re perfectly happy at home? I can only speak for myself, and the fact is there’s still this part of me that wants excitement and buzz in my life. The trouble with the buzz you get from the gay scene is that it’s fleeting and not real. If Pete continues with the AA programme, surely it’s only a matter of time before he realises it too. The reason we keep trying to enjoy the gay scene when we know it’s no good for us is because in society in general, people our age ARE out every weekend. Alcohol isn’t necessary to enjoy dancing in clubs – I found that a long time ago – but it’s unavoidable everywhere you go on the scene, and I just can’t compromise on spending time in places that are full of drunks any more. I don’t know if or when I’ll ever visit the gay scene again. I’ll keep going to the coffee shops on Old Compton Street, of course. But as for the bars, the places where I discovered gay life for the first time, they’re no longer part of my life.

7 months, 7 days

Another interesting day, and once again I’m up late because the internet has drawn me in all evening. I’ll let myself off on that tonight – it is Friday night, after all. Today’s lecture was all about Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, which came in complete contrast in last week’s lecture on Psychoanalysis, and was equally fascinating to listen to. CBT is very popular all over the world right now, having been shown to work on nearly every psychological problem. It deals with the problem in the here and now by tackling and challenging negative thoughts and beliefs. That’s pretty much it. It’s very hands on, practical, efficient. You would see a Cognitive Behaviour therapist for about 20 weeks maximum, whereas a Psychonanalyst you would see every week for years. People like quick solutions, and compared to traditional therapy, CBT is very quick. It is also extremely effective because many, many psychological maladjustments ARE purely down to faulty core beliefs.

 As soon as I came into AA I realised that the 12 steps were just an old fashioned form of CBT. It’s amazing that a group of alcoholics in the 1930’s managed to come up with the basic mechanics of CBT decades before it was officially recognised as a discipline, isn’t it? The 12 steps are of course dressed up in spirituality and ‘God’, but at the heart of them, they address beliefs about the self that have gone wrong. This is very important, especially in step 4, because they realise that the alcoholic can’t move on until those beliefs have been changed. The four columns that you draw out in step 4 – the event, the people involved, the way it affects you personally and the character defects – are virtually the same as the columns you have to draw out on the page in a CBT exercise.

 In modern CBT, character defects aren’t called character defects, of course; they’re called core beliefs, intermediate beliefs and negative automatic thoughts instead. It means the same thing, in a round about way. I don’t really like the term ‘defect’ – I think negative automatic thought describes it a lot better. Someone was saying something about this in a meeting recently. This is why I like the gay meetings; people are willing to question the way the 12 steps were written, to deal with them in a 21st century way. The programme as it was designed in the 1940’s isn’t changed at all, it’s just the language that’s being modified here.

 I’m going off on a tangent now. What I’m trying to get at is that, in a funny way, both Alcoholics Anonymous and my degree course have brought me to the same place. The lecturer today kept encouraging us to think about situations in our own life where we had experienced maladjusted beliefs about ourselves, which I thought was brilliant, because it gripped everyone’s attention. It was easy for me to think of a million situations straight away – I have after all just done step 4 in AA, and I did read a book about CBT last year, which taught me everything I needed to know about it (I was curious). But today I actually felt the real significance of what I was being taught, for the first time, because my negative self beliefs were slipping away from me as soon as I recalled them. The lecturer mentioned a case study of a man who had failed in all his relationships because of the core belief that he had to give people everything they wanted to make them love him. When I remembered doing that myself, I realised that I no longer did it, and the power of the belief was lost completely.

 All week I’ve been questioning these beliefs that I have constantly. Every time I feel a negative emotion now, I can’t stop myself from questioning it. Why do I believe that everyone on the internet discussion forums has to agree with me? Why do I believe that I’m worthless just because the man I like doesn’t return my feelings? Not too long ago, it was impossible for me to even consider letting go of those beliefs. Now, it’s not so hard. I haven’t let go of all of them completely - this is a long process! But I can feel things shifting, and it’s very exciting. Scary, but exciting.

7 months, 6 days

It’s been a good day. I dragged my arse into University earlier even though I didn’t want to. It’s not that I’ve got bored of the semester’s modules already, it’s just that today’s particularly module is the one where I don’t know anybody. I got there on time and sat alone, as always, while everyone else chatted and laughed in their cliques. This didn’t bother me too much, I’m used to it now. As always, people were going round asking us to do their research questionnaires. I should really be doing the same thing by now – my questionnaires aren’t going to fill themselves out! – but the momentum to get going hasn’t hit me yet. Maybe it will tomorrow.

 I went to two meetings tonight, for the first time in weeks. Both with my close friend Earl, who is such a wonderful person to have around. I really like these two meetings on Thursdays; they’re not gay meetings, which is probably part of the attraction now that I’ve got sooo used to the gay rooms and all the people in them. It’s nice to have some variety in the people I see and hear every week. At the beginning of my sobriety, the straight meetings used to scare me so much. I’ve never fitted into any straight social circles – I was bullied because of my sexuality at school and I guess that put me off straight people for a long time.

 I’m only just beginning to deal with that issue now; I feel I have the strength to deal with it now. So the meetings that I go to on Thursdays now are really nice. I don’t feel uncomfortable in either of them. It’s taken a while to get to this stage. I’ve only shared at one of them so far. It could be some time before I begin sharing there regularly, though I look forward to the time when I do.

 The later meeting is what we in AA call an ‘old-timers’ meeting, where many of the regulars have well over a decade of sobriety under their belt. Also in the beginning, the thought of a meeting like that would really have put me off. Now, it’s the kind of meeting that cheers me and keeps me going. To be in a room with people who’ve managed to stay sober for as long as I’ve lived is incredible. The meeting has so much positivity and so much strength - they’ve all achieved their dreams through the programme. At the moment, I can’t quite imagine being one of those old-timers myself; just the idea of getting to one year sober is mind-blowing enough. Maybe, just maybe I’ll be like those happy old-timers one day.

7 months, 5 days (work and play)

12:30pm I’m writing early as it is quite an important day and I needed to share about it. Already I’ve got some important things done; I went to my doctor’s clinic first thing this morning to make an appointment for next week. I’m ready to talk to him about seeking therapy. I’ve been putting this off for the past seven months. I’ve known since last year that therapy could be very good for me at this stage in my life, but I’ve let fear stop me from asking for help. I was reasonably nervous as I made my way to make the appointment this morning. I haven’t been to see my doctor for two years; part of me was scared they might have removed me from the patient’s register for this reason. Doctors have a habit of doing that in London.

 The last time I went there I found the reception staff unbearably rude and that’s what’s piut me off going back for so long. But I went through with the trip today, despite my nerves, because I know what I need and I can’t therapize myself any more. So, I’m seeing my general practitioner next Tuesday morning. I will undoubtedly be nervous as hell about it. I’ve never found my GP to be particularly in touch with my problems – he is a very old Irish man – but he’s the only one who can help me. Since I can’t afford to pay for a private therapist, I will need my GP to refer me to someone free on the NHS.

 I’m determined not to let today be a waste like yesterday, so I’ve just done some writing for my final year Psychology report. Although the research isn’t finished yet, there’s certainly no harm in starting the report now. I know what the introduction and methodology sections need to say already. Since I have just four weeks left to get the whole project done, the more I can do now the better.

 I’m not sure I’ll have the will to do any more work today, but I’m pleased with what I’ve done so far. I really do feel better when I’m doing something constructive. Even though constructive work is hard and a little boring sometimes, it is ultimately rewarding. I was depressed yesterday evening because I’d spent the day before the meeting surfing the internet, chatting to strangers on those pesky discussion forums when I should have been getting this work done.

 The internet is such a bad habit. I know I’m addicted to it. Even though it’s nothing like alcoholism, I do feel that my AA programme is helping me to deal with this particular problem. At least I’ve realised that there is a problem, and I’m finding ways to handle it, such as logging off for a few hours to do some studying. I’m not pressuring myself to work: I would have been happy even if I’m managed just to write one line of my report today. The key with work is willingness, just as it is with recovery.

 In today’s blog title I mentioned ‘play’ as well: that’s because later on I’m going to see a show in the West End. I’m going to see ‘Mamma Mia’ with Earl, and I can’t wait. We’ve lived in London all our lives and neither of us has seen anything in the West End before. I think it’s about time we saw something, don’t you?

11pm Just got back from Mamma Mia – it was camp as Christmas and utterly fabulous! I was bound to love it, I’ve always had a huge soft spot for Abba (haven’t we all?) Seriously, apart from the fact that the show was loads of fun, I’m genuinely pleased that I can do things like this now. If it wasn’t for AA, tonight wouldn’t have happened. My old drinking friends just wouldn’t be interested in this sort of thing, we’d always just meet at the pub. Alcohol seems to make people so unadventurous – the people I know, anyway. Next week, Earl and I are going to see another show in the West End, the Mousetrap. Obviously, I can’t wait. I hear it’s a very good play. This is the kind of life I want to live, a life with variety and culture. To share these experiences with real friends, too, is exciting. After the show was over tonight I felt completely at ease in Earl’s company, as I always do. We were able to relish in the whole experience together. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve changed as a person, or because my friendship with Earl is real, but whenever I used to share experiences with non-AA friends, I didn’t seem to feel that same fondness with them. It’s strange, but if I was walking out of a cinema three years ago with a so-called friend, there’d always be tenseness in the air, like we wouldn’t know what to say to each other. Tonight, the experience was completely different. Long may it continue.

7 months, 4 days

Today has been a bit harder than yesterday. For some reason I managed to spend a whole day at home doing absolutely nothing. I got up early this morning and I was going to spend the day studying, but I just couldn’t make a start on anything. By the evening I felt so bad about this I was quite depressed. So I went to my home group in a bad mood, beating myself up whilst knowing perfectly well that I could have changed things by making the simplest of starts on the work. I got to my home group to find that once again the secretary had set all the literature up for me; I would have been grateful if it weren’t for the fact that I’d made the effort to get there half an hour early to do the job myself. I don’t think he really does it as a favour to me, I think it’s more because he doesn’t trust me to do the job yet. Well, that’s what my head tells me anyway.

 I was so pissed off about things I didn’t share in the meeting, for the first time since last July. It’s the one meeting I’ve gone to and shared at every single week since coming into recovery. I had hoped to continue the regular sharing forever, but the chain is broken now. Fricking brilliant.

 I was too tired to get really worked up, so I just remained in a mild state of disenchantment, which has to be better than full on hysterics, I suppose. As the night dragged on I was slowly able to regain some perspective. I reminded myself that if the secretary thought I was doing a bad job as literature secretary, he would have told me by now. If he really does think I’m a bad literature secretary but for whatever reason is choosing to keep it from me, then it’s his problem.

 The other reassuring thing is simply the fact that I haven’t had a full on depressive attack. Yeah, I was a little disengaged in the meeting, but I was still able to talk to people before and afterwards. Helpful thoughts seem to be coming to me more naturally, though only just. I still don’t think I’m the best literature secretary ever; if I last the whole year I’ll be surprised. Since it is a newcomers meeting there are naturally lots of people there in their early days who probably want AA literature but are too scared to approach me about it; by now maybe I should be approaching the newcomers myself, but I can’t do it. Every time I think about approaching someone new that fear hits me and I’m virtually paralyzed to the spot. I can’t talk to strangers, and I know that one of my biggest challenges in sobriety will be learning how to do it.

7 months, 3 days

It was another good day. I headed into Uni early this morning in order to get some real work done; so far this term I’ve been so worried about finding participants to do my questionnaire I haven’t actually done any studying. On the way to the University library I was noticeably nervous, for some reason. I don’t know if this was because I hadn’t been to the library for a while, or because I thought I wouldn’t get any work done, or what. In any case it’s unusual for me to get nervous about going to the library. When I got there I had to photocopy the stuff I wanted to read as they only let you have the actual books for a short time. I was worried about creating a big queue for the library’s sole photocopier, so I only copied half of what I needed. This shouldn’t have happened, I should have been able to copy all the stuff that I wanted. I will have to go back next week and finish the job off. I haven’t really got much more to say about that, I just wanted to mention it because it’s indicative of these anxious episodes that I seem to be having continuously.

 The afternoon’s lecture was fun; it was all about the causes and treatment of schizophrenia. We’ve never been taught about schizophrenia before. Once again it felt like we were being entrusted with important, grown up knowledge. I’m loving this semester’s units. It will certainly be a fitting end to my degree.

 Between the end of the lecture and the evening’s AA meeting I had a few hours to kill, so I sat in the University computer room surfing the net. I’m still chatting a lot on internet discussion forums; most of it’s harmless fun at the moment, as I seem to be learning not to take them so seriously. My views don’t appear to be as unpopular as they used to be!

 The evening’s meeting was fine. Not many people were there so I didn’t have an awful lot of tea commitment to do. The meeting’s chair was given by that man who I bumped into on the way home last night, Ron, who doesn’t know me too well but wanted to go for coffee with me. I’ve always liked his sharing. He’s an extremely honest and articulate character; he tells it like it is, so to speak. Though he doesn’t come across as a fearful individual these days, I strongly get the impression from his sharing that he was exactly like me in his early days. His chair mentioned chronic anxiety disorder, something I’m pretty sure I’ve got. He said that only years of therapy got him out of his anxious ways of thinking. I shared back about my own chronic anxiety, the morning’s episode in the library, and the process that I am going through of learning not to run from scary situations. As usual people came up to me afterwards to tell me they had identified with what I said.

 Some asked me how my Psychology research is going and even offered to take some more of my questionnaires to work with them. Since my study is investigating drinking patterns in the normal population, I can’t actually ask alcoholics to do the questionnaire, otherwise I’m sure I’d have no problem finding 100 people to do it! As it is I’m forced to ask friends to ask their drinking colleagues to do it. I haven’t yet got to the stage where I’m ready to go around the lecture theatre in Uni and ask my own colleagues, even though there were about half a dozen people going round during the break in the lecture this afternoon asking the rest of us to complete their questionnaires. I could have got up and done it right then, the momentum would have been there, but today I wasn’t ready. Maybe I will be soon. All I can do is pray on it.