Blue Sunday

Last night was amazing. I went to stay with my new friend, Gareth, at his home out in Hertfordshire. He came to pick me up in Notting Hill after I had finished taking the meeting there, which was nice of him, and we drove out quickly to begin our night of naughty fun. Gareth is easy to fall for: he’s sexy, charming and very kind, and I can’t believe he likes me. We hardly slept last night, and consequently I was very tired today. I didn’t want to come home, but I had to as the dream couldn’t last forever. The experience went by so quickly, just like a dream, and I’ve realised that time passes more quickly when I’m happy. Being in the arms of a man like that makes me happy, because it’s nice to be wanted by someone who actually turns me on. It’s a basic need that I have never been able to escape, and I don’t think I ever will. What’s great is that I made the choice to travel to Hertfordshire last night with all of my senses intact. I wasn’t drunk and in blackout, like I would have been a couple of years ago. I knew that I liked Gareth and that I wanted to spend the night with him, so I did, fully sober.

 Since I returned home today I’ve been trying not to fall in love, like I always do in these situations. I’ve only known Gareth for a week and I can’t possibly be in love with him yet. Anything I might feel for him now would be down to that desperate, clingy, abandoned inner child. No, I haven’t grown out of those feelings yet. Perhaps I never will. What I can do today is deal with them. As soon as I got back to London I went to the Covent Garden meeting, not to share but just to be part of the fellowship, because I would probably have felt lonely and depressed at home otherwise. After the meeting I left quickly, prepared to go home because I had no money for coffee, but as I was about to jump on the tube I turned around and headed to the coffee shop, knowing there might be another opportunity to lift myself out of a depressive attack. I was well and truly feeling those Sunday blues today. I didn’t particularly feel like socialising, but just like this time sixteen months ago when I was a newcomer going for coffee on Sunday for the first time ever, part of me knew I needed people around me. We all need people around us: that’s what makes us human. When I’m feeling that way I just can’t be alone.

 Over coffee in Soho a group of us got stuck into a surprisingly political discussion about the negative influence of the media on society, something I have pretty strong opinions on. I couldn’t get much of them across as everyone else was so much better at getting their thoughts in, but by the end of it I felt better anyway. I had killed some time, meaning I wouldn’t have to spend so long sulking at home this evening; I’d talked to people and I had socialised when I didn’t really want to. It’s been a good day – there’s no reason why I should feel any sadness whatsoever, but this is the nature of my illness. I feel sad about lots of things that shouldn’t matter to me. I’m OK tonight but I still feel sad about this thing that really does matter to me: my love life, and how it is going to develop.

 There is no doubt that I’ve progressed further this month with sex than I did in six years of drinking. I’m enjoying sex these days and I’m ignoring the voice in my head that says I’m ugly and not good enough. For six years I had to drink to block out that voice, which unfortunately made it even more difficult to enjoy sexual intercourse as I was usually so drunk I could hardly stand up.

 Sex is one of the most important things in life, no matter what the puritanical Christians may say. I am determined to enjoy a fulfilling sex life, but it’s so difficult when I don’t really know if I’m performing well or if the man will ever want to see me again. Of course those things should not be as important to me as the question of whether I’m actually enjoying myself or not, and I think I am finally beginning to consider that question as much as all the others. All the evidence suggests that Gareth wants to see me again: we’ve already agreed on this Wednesday for the next ‘date’, when I will go back to his place for dinner. He’s told me several times verbally and via text message that he is desperate to see me again. I wish I could just believe what he says – I mean, why wouldn’t he want to see me again? – but last month I believed that Martin wanted to see me again, and he didn’t.

 That relationship with Martin wasn’t meant to work out. Maybe this one with Gareth is. The trouble is, neither of us will know until it’s actually worked out, days or weeks or months down the line. Until then we must wait to see what happens, and it’s waiting that I hate. I don’t want to need Gareth right now, because I know in my head that I don’t need anyone to make me happy, but in my heart I feel like it would just be nice to climb into bed with him and curl up in his warm, tender arms again.

 No one is perfect, but Gareth very nearly is, from what I can tell so far. Already I’m aware that I won’t feel that way forever: as I’ve found time and time again, the better you get to know someone the more you find that you dislike about them in time. It’s another part of being human. It seems a real shame to me that I won’t always want to curl up with him, that I could end up getting bored of him like I did with all of the others who bothered to stick around. That is what happens whenever I become part of someone’s life: I get bored of them, either because I’m too independent or I’m just a bored kind of person. I don’t know.

 So I have all of this to worry about: I don’t really know if Gareth wants to see me again, even though he says he does, and even if I do get to see more of him and we end up in a long term ‘relationship’, I might get bored or annoyed with him after a while. It doesn’t seem very fair to me. The more I feel insecure about things the bigger an impact it will have on any future relationship, which makes it one big paradox for me. I can’t help being insecure about things, it’s the way I am, it’s wired into my brain. The chances are, Gareth will become a ship that passed in the night, like all the others. If you believe in statistics, that is the likeliest outcome for that one. Only very few men have lasted more than a few weeks in my life, and as I said, I got bored of them all in the end.

 I’m not supposed to be obsessing about sex and relationships any more, having done the steps and talked it over with my sponsor on numerous occasions. And the truth is, I’m not completely miserable tonight like I normally would be on an occasion like this. I’m concerned about all those things that I’ve talked about, but I’m not exactly suffering with ‘washing machine head’. The thoughts aren’t buzzing around my head incessantly: I’m sure that once I’ve finished this blog I’ll just want to go to bed and forget about it all. I can see that on the surface, it has been a good weekend for me, and tomorrow is another day, and I will see Gareth again in the week and it will be fun. Any problems are entirely of my own making. It would only be a blue Sunday if I allow myself to feel blue, no one can make me feel depressed except myself. So the sadness is over and done with for another day, and I will go to bed happy!

Setback no.5189

I am angry today and I have to write about it. The reason I am angry is simple: I have accidentally gone past my bank overdraft limit, so the mean and greedy bank have charged me about £70 as punishment again. It fucking riles me because I have no money to cover those charges, and as soon as my next benefit payment goes into the account on Tuesday, the best part of it will disappear. My benefits should not be paying off bank charges every month, they should be helping me to live. I feel like writing an angry letter to the bank, but that would probably do no good. I’m going to have to go in on Monday morning and explain my situation to them. It probably won’t do any good either, but as human beings they need to understand what’s going on for me.

 I’m sick of being in the red all the time without any chance of ever getting out of it. The bank really hasn’t helped by applying these heavy-handed charges every time I’ve spent 1 penny more than I’m allowed to. I was being so careful this month as well! As if being careful makes any difference: nothing will change until I’ve got a job. I’ve accepted that this week, and I’m perfectly willing to work now, I just need an employer to give me a chance. Until someone in a position of power is kind and bold enough to do that, I will have no money, no real purpose in life and no identity.

 On the bright side, I enjoyed the date from heaven on Thursday with a beautiful man called Gareth. He’s a primary school headteacher from Hertfordshire; he’s intelligent, funny and caring. He’s also fucking hot. I’m going to see him tonight and we’re probably going to have a lot of fun. I hope my anger at the bank doesn’t spoil tonight. A short time ago, it might have. I suppose it’s positive that I’m more angry than scared right now, because I know what I can do to alleviate the problem. I can go into the bank on Monday morning and make someone listen to me.

 It might do very little good but even if I can just say all of this to someone who works there, it would probably be enough. I’m fed up of being treated like this, it is actually really unfair. I have a voice and I’m going to use it. Banks have so much control over the world, it’s scary. Let’s face it, it’s thanks to banks that we’re in a global recession right now! If I had the choice and lots of money, I’d store it all in a safe somewhere and never let any bank get their greedy hands on it. Banks and money are exactly what is wrong with this world.

Normal

Things are pretty much back to normal here, whatever that is. It hasn’t been a bad week; being back in London has been less awful than I thought it would be. Last week’s disillusionment with the old city appears to have been a temporary thing. It was terrible to feel that way again: the last time I hated London I was perhaps at my most depressed and detached from life. Things aren’t that way today. I am engaged in life right now and despite my current financial and emotional problems, I would say life is qualitatively better than it was five years ago.

 Coming back to London meant that I was coming back to the fellowship that I got sober in. It has been good to see familiar faces again. Last night it was Andy’s second sober anniversary and a bunch of us went out for dinner in Soho. I was nervous to begin with, because I still haven’t had that chat with people such as Dean to resolve things between us. But in the end I enjoyed myself, in part thanks to my higher power for putting me next to people such as Darren and Francis at the table, both of whom have always been good, reliable friends.

 There was a moment at the beginning where I felt a bit left out of things and I wanted to run away, just as I did this time last year in the same restaurant at the very same table on Dean’s first sober birthday – but the moment didn’t last long. Everyone there was not just a member of Alcoholics Anonymous – we were all fresh, young, gay alcoholics, which gave us another level of identification with each other, and it was beautiful. I don’t hang out with other young gay alcoholics much these days, but when I do it’s always a laugh. We have our own unique take on the program: we maintain a certain degree of jokey cynicism about the 1930’s clichés, but we love being part of it nonetheless.

 The best thing about this week has been the routine that I’ve successfully installed into my days. I’m getting up in the mornings and applying for jobs every single day, for the first time ever. It’s the only way I’m going to improve my chances of getting a job in this difficult period, and I don’t mind doing it any more. A while ago I hated the thought of having to go out of my way to find work – but this is the world we live in now. I need my indepedence and I need a job, so I have to start putting the work in. I don’t know how long this fresh new approach to life will last, but just for today, it is working. Today I have no fear, as I make the effort to put myself out there.

The wall

Everything was going so well until Friday. Robin and I seemed to be getting on so well up until that point. Then we began to get on one another’s nerves a bit. We moved far too quickly in our friendship, I think. And it didn’t help that we were living in each other’s pockets nearly the whole time. By the end of the week you’d think we’d known each other for seven years, not seven days. How many times have I been here before in previous so-called friendships? I thought I’d learnt the lessons that needed to be learnt, but evidently you can never stop learning about people.

 Robin became moody with me on Friday night. Before then we had been hugging a lot, but on Friday there was no physical contact. I wasn’t naive enough not to realise that I had done something wrong. He had gotten to know me, and he had probably found things about me that he didn’t like. We’d practically already agreed that I would move in with him next year, and as we tried to imagine living together the pressure mounted on us to like each other. When you live with someone there will always be things you can’t stand in each other – it’s part of human nature – but with Robin and I, we had only known each other a week when we tried to fit into each other’s lives as more than just casual friends. We learnt too many things about each other before we were ready; we attempted to live together and set all kinds of boundaries before we had gotten to know each other.

 I discovered this during the course of the weekend. Yesterday we had a deep and honest conversation about what might be going wrong. It turned out that Robin didn’t like my music taste; he didn’t like certain things I did to him in conversation, such as correcting him all the time, and he was worried that he might end up as some sort of father figure to me, look after me and pay all my bills when he can’t afford to. I realised that I had begun to expect things of him: I expected him to like my music and to agree with me in every conversation and to want to be a father figure. He brought up the fact that I was generally beginning to irritate him, and I immediately lost all sense of security that I had gained in the course of the week on the basis of our seemingly wonderful new relationship.

 We talked about it again this morning in the car on the way down to London. I asked if he was still happy for me to move up to Manchester in January – instead of quickly replying ‘yes!’ like I wanted him to, he explained at length why it might not work for us. He reminded me of my bad habit of correcting him all the time – I really didn’t know I was doing this. He said that he felt under pressure because I was moving into his personal space and it was making things difficult for him when he just wants an easy life. I can understand why someone would want an easy life, but at that point I really couldn’t see what I had done wrong. Earlier in the week we had been getting along so well. We were having meaningful, serious conversations without getting stressed out; we could have a laugh with each other. We were both looking forward to living together. On Wednesday I thought Robin was the nicest, most easy-going man I’d ever met. By today I thought he was petty and selfish.

 It didn’t take me long to understand how I had really been the selfish one. Having done the AA steps, it’s very difficult to hide from my character defects for long these days. I felt as if Robin was rejecting me and I put up a defensive barrier this morning, rolling my eyes and tutting whenever he spoke at one point. My problem is this: I’m terrified of rejection and if I’m not getting my own way I tend to reject the other person (before they can reject and abandon me). I saw this in step 6 and 7, but seeing it isn’t the same as overcoming it. I’ve only realised that I do this in the past few months – it may be a long while before I can say it’s not a part of my life.

 I was rude to Robin this morning and at the end of the journey, when we got to London, I apologised to him. We hugged and made up, agreeing that I would come to Manchester for another week in January and see how it goes. As soon as I left him in North London, I started to think that maybe I’m not meant to live with him in Manchester after all. Although very similar, we are not the same person, and we have our important differences. Do I really want to live with someone who doesn’t like music? Is it fair to live with someone who tells me I can never bring men home (it would have been one of his rules)? As I got closer to home today, the real question dawned on me: do I really want to move to Manchester or am I just running away from my problems in London again?

 It would be relatively easy to go along with the plan and try finding a space for myself in Manchester. But how will I feel in five years’ time, when I’ve exhausted all the city’s possibilities and got bored with it, just as I have with London? What city will I move to next? The real problem in my life is living here under my mother’s roof. I remain dependent on her for economic support and I can’t stand it. I need to leave this place, this unhappy flat in Holloway where I’ve lived nearly all my life. But I don’t need to leave London entirely. London is big enough; full of places like Manchester which are clean and friendly and spacious. The truth is that it would be much easier for me to stay in London, with my mother close, in case independence doesn’t work out. It will have to work out in the long term, but it might not straight away.

 Manchester is a great city, as is Liverpool, where I spent most of Saturday. I like the North, even though it’s cold and far away, and I learnt a lot there this week. I learnt about independence there – I managed to survive the entire week there without my mother’s help. If I could do a week in France on my own I could do a week in the North. I went to Liverpool alone yesterday as Robin had to work all day, and I had a great time there, visiting the Beatles’ Museum and the Tate Modern gallery. It was a good week for me, and I’ve found that it is time for me to move on in life, to start supporting myself properly. I still have no money and I never will until I have a job. I can’t wait any longer to make this change. When I get a job, I will have more money to do things with and I will be able to get a place of my own in the world. This isn’t just because I’m embarrassed about living with mum at the age of 25, it’s because I need my own space. We all need a home that we feel secure and comfortable in, and in this place I don’t feel those things. I never have.

 Facing up to these things is like standing in front of a wall. I know I have to climb over the wall to get to the other side, but I don’t know if I can. I won’t know until I start climbing. The wall is my fear, and when it comes to employment, it’s as big as it ever was. In other areas it’s sort of started to crumble, but it will probably never entirely disappear. I have to take that final risk and just do it. Going to work will be like returning to school, like I’ve always known it would. In my dreams every night I return to school and it is always a draining experience. Going to work will be draining and difficult for me – I know it will – but I have to do it. Which is why as soon as I got home today I applied for five jobs online. My life won’t change until I’ve changed it. For the past two months my heart has not been in the job search, partly because of the current problems in the economy, partly because I haven’t believed that I’m ready for work. Now my heart has to be in it again. I have to do absolutely everything I can to change my life, which includes getting up in the mornings. If I get up late in the afternoon there’s always a bad energy to the day, and I can’t be as efficient or motivated as I’d like to be.

 For years this fear - this wall, has been in front of me. Life might not be 100% perfect on the other side, but I now realise that it will be a darn sight better than this. It’s the reason why I’ve been so depressed in the past few months. I’ve been so worried about my role in life, my future and my security, the AA steps have been unable to do their job properly. Climbing over the wall will release me. It’s unlucky that I’ve never climbed before.

Manchester

I have been in Manchester in the North of England since Monday. It has been an exciting, challenging and thought-provoking week. I’d visited Manchester a couple pf times before, and I’ve always liked it. It’s clean, friendly and far easier to get around than London is. I like that it’s not so small that everyone knows who everyone else is; I like that it’s not so big that open fields are hours away on an expensive train. On Monday I would be meeting my friend Robin here and coming to stay in his flat. I met Robin for the first time last Friday in London – we had been talking on the internet for a while and it seemed a good time for us to finally catch up. When I met him I instantly felt comfortable with him, and when he suggested that I use his spare train ticket to come to Manchester for the week, I jumped at the chance.

 Before leaving London on Monday, I had to meet my aunt Emily for lunch. We talked mainly about the family, as usual. We didn’t get much time together as she was late and I had to leave after an hour to catch my train. It was nice nonetheless. Emily is more like a friend these days than an aunt. She’s pleased that I still seem to be getting on with my father. I probably won’t see him that often, but it’s convivial between us when we do meet up.

 I left London at 3.30 and was in Manchester by 6pm, shocked at how much faster the trains had got in the two years since I’d been here. Robin was working that evening so his friend Clive picked me up and took me to his house for dinner. I had only spoken to Clive on the phone for two minutes before I met him, so I was fairly anxious about spending the evening in his house, even though he was perfectly willing to look after me. It turned out that he was letting rooms in his house to some foreign exchange students, so during dinner on Monday night I was surrounded by German teenagers: not a situation I’m used to. It was a little like being at school, though they were all friendly enough. For the first hour or so I couldn’t help but clam up every time they spoke to me. It’s just my natural reaction to unfamiliar situations. I’ve dealt with my fear of people in general this year, but since I hardly spend any time with teenagers or children, it was bound to be difficult for me at first. Especially because I wasn’t expecting it to be like that.

 By the time Robin had finished work and come to collect me, I was fairly relaxed and calm in the situation. I was starting to make more effort with the boys, laughing at their jokes and commenting on their music tastes. When I left with Robin I knew I’d probably never see any of them again, so I wasn’t too concerned about having made a bad impression. I was glad that it hadn’t been a completely hellish nightmare, like it might have been a year ago.

 I spent Monday night on a reasonably comfortable sofa bed in Robin’s smallish living room. His flat is on the fourteenth floor of a tower block in the Salford district of Manchester, so there are fairly good views from all the windows. I slept badly on Monday night, as I knew I would: it’s always like that for me on the first night in an unfamiliar environment. Because I knew that, I wasn’t so worried about it. I think it’s funny how I spent years worrying about such things because I either didn’t know why they happened or couldn’t accept them. Now I know why it happens and I also know that it’s generally only the first night that’s bad. Every night since I’ve slept much better.

 On Tuesday morning Robin took me to see a friend of his who is training to be a shiatsu therapist. I had said that I was interested in the idea of shiatsu, and Robin thought his friend might be flexible enough to give me a massage. When we got there I noticed that Robin’s friend was incredibly sexy; he was also straight. So the thought of him putting his hands all over my body didn’t bother me at all! The massage lasted forty minutes in total, but it only felt like two. It certainly did the trick. Afterwards I was more relaxed and comfortable in my own skin than I had been in years. The therapist was incredibly charming, saying he had enjoyed working on me, and that he hoped I would come again if I was ever in Manchester.

 Robin and I spent most of the rest of Tuesday driving and walking around the city. That night on the sofa bed I started to think about sleeping with Robin. I also began thinking about moving here. So far it had been such a nice experience, enjoying all that Manchester had to offer and being away from all my London worries, that the idea of moving here suddenly seemed good. I asked myself if it would be possible, and could not think of many reasons why it wouldn’t be. I’d have to get a job here to support myself, of course, but that would be it. No other obstacles have presented themselves to me yet, which is wonderful because I’m usually the type of person who is full of reasons not to do things.

 Sleeping with Robin also became a possibility as I realised how comfortable I was becoming with him. Apart from the fact that my libido has rocketed this year, I knew straight away that Robin fancied me and part of me thought it might be nice to cuddle up with him at night. I don’t fancy him, and I don’t want a relationship with him – but a bit of cuddling in kissing in bed couldn’t do any harm, could it? As long as I make him aware that I’m interested in nothing more, surely it’s fine? As soon as I began to thik of how I could broach the subject with him, I ran out of ideas, because it’s not the kind of conversation I’ve ever had with a man before. I’ve never set any boundaries with men before: it’s as simple as that.

 Luckily, Wednesday was about to provide us with the opportunity to talk about all of this and more. Robin had another free day so we decided to set out in the car and drive to North Wales, where I’d never been before. I like excursions away from the place where I’m staying on holiday: it makes it so much more interesting. So we were in the car for most of yesterday, and we had a lot of time to talk. Early on Robin decided to make it clear that he wanted to sleep with me and that he hoped we could get into some kind of relationship. I found myself admitting that it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to sleep together every now and then: I really couldn’t see anything wrong with that. What I don’t want is a serious, heavy, emotional attachment. I don’t find Robin physically attractive like I do other men. If I ever grow to love him, it will be as a friend. But cuddling and kissing and having the occasional bit of fun in bed doesn’t have to be restricted to serious long term relationships, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve found out that friends can do that stuff as much as lovers do, if they want to and they’re happy to.

 It’s nice to have someone to cuddle up to. I’ve cuddled up with hundreds of men over the years; the only thing about all those men in the past is that I thought I was going to get into a long term relationship with every single one of them. This time, I know nothing serious is going to happen, which makes it a lot easier to handle, to be honest. Robin and I will be friends who sleep together occasionally, nothing more. It feels like the right thing to do, because we could both do with a cuddle and we both like and trust each other.

 Yesterday we drove all the way to Caernarfon on the North West tip of Wales, where Prince Charles was inaugurated as the Prince of Wales in 1969. It’s a beautiful, magical place. I’d defy anyone not to fall in love with it immediately. We spent a couple of hours walking around the famous castle and the quaint little surrounding town, before getting in the car and driving back to Manchester. By the time we got back it was dark and we were both tired, so decided to go straight home. I didn’t sleep with Robin last night because I was a bit knackered, and I needed a good sleep. He was happy for me to take the sofa bed again. That’s what’s good about our developing relationship: we understand and respect each other, we can be honest with each other and none of our conversations have resulted in anger or tenseness. We’ve discussed everyting as adults and come to mutual decisions about things. It must help that we are both on our own spiritual journeys in life. He’s not in AA, but he is a practising Buddhist learning to meditate and be generally more grounded in life. Having talked about this at length, it seems that many of the changes that he’s been through recently are similar to those which I’ve been through this year.

 He has become more comfortable in life, like I have. He has learnt to accept life on life’s terms; he knows he is powerless over people, places and things just as I do. Many of the things that he says sound like the AA clichés, actually. I’m sure he’d fit right into the fellowship. Best of all, he’s not an alcoholic and he doesn’t drink. I like that about him.

 I will say that it is odd, building this kind of relationship on an honest foundation in such a short space of time. It feels like we’re building something that will be ultimately good for us. There are definitely solid foundations there; we have our boundaries and our rules and there is a level of respect and understanding which I never knew could exist between two people. Although it’s only been six days, I feel like I’ve known him for a long time. I am extremely grateful to AA for teaching me how to do this kind of thing. Without AA I wouldn’t know about boundaries and adult agreements and honesty and respect. I also wouldn’t know about spontanaiety and living life to the full, something I am definitely doing at the moment.

 I went to Manchester three times during my drinking, and I don’t think any of those occasions was anywhere near as worthwhile or enjoyable as this one. The main focus of each of those trips was to get drunk in cheap Northern pubs, really. I didn’t come here to see the sights or meet people. This week I’m getting to know Manchester with a view to moving here, and in a way, I’m getting to know myself a bit better. I love that I get to know new things about myself all the time in sobriety.

 If I was seriously going to move to Manchester, of course it would be hard. Being able to support myself up here would depend on me getting a job, something that has never exactly come naturally to me. I have ties in London that I would have to leave behind. All those friends I’ve made this year, not to mention my mother, who I will miss the most. She might be devastated, even though Manchester isn’t the other side of the world, because I’ve lived with her for so long. And as far as she’s concerned, Manchester might as well be the other end of the planet. I know she’s never been here before.

 I need my freedom now – that is the truth. I have just as much chance of being able to support myself and live independently in Manchester as I do in London. I’ve looked at the job market here and it seems as buoyant as the London equivalent. It has many advantages over London which I’ve already mentioned. Prices are lower, people are friendlier, and the city is much more manageable in terms of getting from A to B. Though it is England’s third biggest city, meaning there’s enough to do so that I’ll never get bored. I’ve discovered this year that I’m a city boy at heart. I just don’t think I could cope with the countryside at this stage in my life.

 The fact I’m able to consider making these decisions about my life is entirely down to AA. I’ve told Robin this, and he thinks AA must be wonderful. I know it is. I’m not scared to think about the things I would have to do in order to be able to leave home again. It would have to happen in stages: I couldn’t just pack up and leave London for good in one go. I’d probably come here for a month, see how it goes, if it doesn’t work out go back to London, if it does then stay for another two months. And so on. I’d have to build a life here from scratch, with the same foundations that I built in London last year. It would be like 2007 all over again – no actually, it would be like 2001 again, when I left home the first time to go to Norwich. That was a very important year in my story. I built foundations in Norwich and by 2004 I felt like I had a life there. Yes, there was a lot wrong with it, but I did it all by myself. Then when I returned to London I managed to start from scratch again and create a whole new, better life. Today I would say my life in London is amazing. So why do I want leave?

 Apart from my three short years in Norwich, I’ve spent my entire twenty-five years in the same part of London. I know everything about London now. I’ve seen the same buildings and the same road and the same people every day for twenty-five years. I need a change. I don’t think leaving would do me any harm. Yes, there are unsafe parts of Manchester – just as there are unsafe parts of London, and everywhere else in the world. I need to change my life, I need to take control of it and turn it around once and for all. If I can pull off a successful move to Manchester, it would prove at least one thing: that I am capable of looking after myself. I wouldn’t be a scared little boy any more. I would be a man, out here in the world, fending, deciding and choosing for myself.

 I’d miss my mum a lot, and it would upset her to see me go again. I hope the promise of regular visits will be enough to comfort her. She can come up here and stay as often as she likes. Hell, she can live here too if she wants. In my mind I know the decision has already been made. I know I want to move to Manchester now. I can’t go until the New Year – there are things planned in London until then. Once they’re out of the way, I will be ready. So that gives London two more months: another chance, if you like. I don’t hate London. It has been good to me. But there’s no reason to spend my life there. I didn’t choose to be born and brought up there. It just happened to be the place that I grew up in and became familiar with. If I choose to view the world as my oyster, then it can be. I’m sick of every decision I make being controlled by money. For so long I’ve stayed at home in London, thinking I can’t possibly leave until I have money in my account. Crap. I don’t want to be a slave to money any more, and I don’t have to be. If I want to move out, I will.

 Luckily, there is a strong AA fellowship in Manchester. I’ve not been to a meeting yet, but I plan to attend one tomorrow. I haven’t been to any meetings since Saturday, my longest break from the program in sobriety. It’s been a good week for me, so the break hasn’t been a problem. I have every intention of continuing my regular meetings when I move here. I will always love the program. I’ll need to find a new sponsor and new commitments, I guess. Well, that can take care of itself at the time. Until then, it’s fun all the way.

Saturday

I’ve been to two AA meetings today, both of which I’m really glad I attended. I hadn’t been to any meetings for four days, my longest break from AA in sobriety. I was fine with that break, but it was long enough. Today’s first meeting was my regular in Notting Hill, where I am the secretary. The chair was given by an amazing friend with just four months’ sobriety. It was an inspirational, honest chair. All of the sharing back was equally positive and hopeful, as always.

 I love that meeting because there’s a lot of honesty and meaty recovery. Today we were graced with the presence of a household name, one I’ve never seen in meetings before. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them, as it does when you spot a celebrity. This was probably the most famous person I’ve ever seen in AA, though the nice thing is that they were just a normal member of the group, sat at the back of the room, quiet and shy like all newcomers. You wouldn’t know they made a living from their big personality. The weirdest thing is when you know a lot about their story, even though you’ve never met them or heard them speak before. I always feel for celebrities who have their lives splashed across the tabloids – it must be incredibly difficult for them to live an even remotely normal life. I used to crave fame and attention; these days I’d much rather be unknown. Who wants the most private, sordid details of their life on the front page of a national newspaper every morning?

 After that meeting I headed into town with friends for a new late night gay meeting, hosted by everyone’s friend Clive, who happens to own a big van which can serve as a meeting space until a permanent venue has been found. We used to have a late night gay meeting in London but it was cancelled when the rent for the old venue couldn’t be made any more. Until a new venue is found we will convene in Clive’s van every week, and as I already knew, it’s a cosy little space: perfect for the occasion. Only nine of us showed up tonight, a good number, which made it very intimate and friendly. A lot of people said that they will remember tonight for a long time, because of how close and intimate it was. That’s true fellowship, I suppose. We were all good friends anyway – my sponsor was also there – how miraculous it is that we could all be there together, sober and happy on a Saturday night. Years ago I couldn’t have dreamt of doing such a thing. Clive gave me a lift home afterwards as he always does when I’m in his van. It was nice to see my sponsor again (who happens to be Clive’s boyfriend) – we haven’t really spoken much this week as we’ve both been busy. We agreed to go through the details of step ten tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m only three steps away from the end of the program. How did I get here? Lots and lots of hard, scary work. But it has been so worth it.

 On Monday I am of course travelling to Manchester. I’m still really excited about it. My sponsor thinks it’s great that I am being so spontaneous. I’ve looked up the meetings in Manchester and there’s just the one gay group on Friday. I kind of wish there were more, but at least one exists. Many cities don’t have any, still.

The joy of living

This week has been much, much better than last week. The pink cloud is well and truly back – for now. I haven’t been to many meetings; instead I’ve been praying a lot, and I’ve been meeting men for casual encounters. A few years ago I detested the idea of anything casual, because I thought only a long term, serious relationship could rescue me. I thought casual sex was immoral and grotesque, really because I was scared of it. I didn’t know much about it and had only a series of drunken, inappropriate experiences to go on. These days, I am determined to keep an open mind. This week I’ve met a few guys and been taken to a gay sauna for the first time in my life.

 There was very little concern or anxiety in my mind; I wanted to go there, to see what it was like without alcohol in my body. We had a lot of fun that night. I enjoyed my body, I felt desirable and young and sexy. And I didn’t come out afterwards with the usual emotional attachment to the man involved. I might see him again soon – in fact, he seems very keen to meet up again – but what happens in the long run isn’t important to me in this case. I’ve finally conquered my fear of sex, which is the important thing. I’m not particularly looking for long term romantic involvements, because right now I don’t believe they could work for me.

 I was talking to a friend about this last night. I realised that I don’t really believe in the idea of there being one person who I could spend my life with any more. I spent years looking for ‘the one’. I don’t want to look any more. Looking at every man I met and weighing up their potential for rescuing me made me miserable for a long time. This week I’ve taken away all those criteria away from my sex life. The only criteria I have now is that I like the men I go with. In the past, it didn’t really matter whether I liked the men or not – it only mattered that they liked me.

 Last night I had another internet date, but this time the only purpose was to make a new friend. I knew that I didn’t fancy the man I was meeting, and when I got to our meeting place in Soho it was clear that we would end up far better friends than lovers. We sat together in a coffee shop chattering away for several hours. The man, called Robin, lives in Manchester, and he is down in London this weekend for work purposes. We agreed to meet up when we were talking on the internet a few weeks ago about writing and spirituality. It felt like a good idea to meet up and continue our interesting conversation. Last night was really nice – far better than I expected it to be. It’s funny how that happens sometimes.

 Before I left Robin had a surprise to spring on me: he invited me to go and stay with him in Manchester this week. He has a spare train ticket that he can’t use, and he wanted me to have it. I was instantly thrilled at the invitation. I love Manchester, I haven’t been there for years, and I’ve been wanting to get out of London for a break for some time.

 It doesn’t matter that I’m going to stay with someone who I’ve only met once. I’ve done crazier things before. Two years ago I went to Canada for a week with someone I hardly knew, because they’d won the holiday and wanted me to come along with them. Before that I’ve stayed with near perfect strangers for the sake of convenience, and had a great time. Yes, to most people that kind of thing might seem crazy and dangerous. How can I be sure that I won’t be murdered by the end of next week? Well, you can’t be sure of anything in life. Nothing spontaneous would ever happen if we were all worried about the potential risks all the time. As far as I can tell, Robin is an extremely nice, trustworthy guy. I like to think I’m a good judge of character now, and if it really doesn’t work out in Manchester, I can always leave.

Slowly but surely

I think the clouds finally began to clear today. My anger and anxiety levels have reduced, as I hoped they would. I decided to say the step 3 and the step 7 prayer when I got up this morning, for the first time in weeks. It oddly seemed to help. I remembered someone saying the other day that praying took some of their fear away – it was a newcomer, actually – so I tried it, despite part of me thinking I know better by now. I felt some residual fear and anger from the weekend during the morning and most of the afternoon, but then I forced myself to engage in what I would consider ‘healthy routines’, such as reading and writing, and by the evening my head was reasonably normal again. I headed into town for the step meeting, arrived early and sat in Starbucks for a while reading my latest library rental. I spent the entire summer doing that kind of thing, and it was nice to have the energy and the money to do it again. I went to the meeting and made the tea like I always do, not especially resentful like I would have been if it was yesterday. So, I suppose this means that a depression has passed.

 If I was to apply the program to this whole experience, I might ask myself what I’ve learnt from it. Easy question: I’ve learnt that I still have issues around sexual and emotional intimacy. I still lean towards self isolation when things are bad, I have huge anger issues and my sobriety is as fragile as it was when I was a week sober. I don’t want to drink any more, so my chances of reaching sixteen months this weekend are currently higher than they have been for a while. What worries me is that last week happened at all. I was absolutely insane for a week, ready to give up on AA and life. That’s not supposed to happen to someone who’s sixteen months sober and practising the steps.

 I know that it could easily happen again at some point, which really sucks. Life is still life – even if I had a job and money and a loving boyfriend my moods would probably still get wildly out of control at the drop of a hat. This is what frightens me, the fact that I am so at the mercy of my emotions to this day. I couldn’t have stopped last week from happening if I’d wanted to. When the darkness comes on me like that, that’s it, all bets are off. Fair enough, that was the worst I’ve felt in sobriety and I might not feel quite so awful for another year or two. But with my head, it’s almost certain to happen again eventually. I’m not sure if the steps will ever solve this existential dilemma of mine. Perhaps therapy will, but it could take years. All I know is, I have to stay sober to have any chance of getting better. I don’t particularly like the thought of sitting out another week like that without any chemical help, but I have to take heart from the fact that I’ve just done it and I’m still sober. It doesn’t seem great now but maybe it will in time.

Still

Still in a bad space tonight. Went to the Covent Garden gay meeting that I’ve tried to avoid all year because ‘the clique’ is always there, in the middle of the room, laughing and chatting loudly as if there’s nothing wrong with the world. It didn’t make me feel much better. I liked the chair, but a lot of the sharing annoyed me. Someone had a go at other fellowships, mentioning SLAA and Sexual Anorexics and how none of them are as good for the problem as AA. His narrow minded attitude annoyed the hell out of me, as did everyone’s laughter at the fact that sexual anorexia actually exists. I didn’t want to be there and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I only stayed because my sponsor was there. Afterwards a few of us went for dinner, which was OK.

 As the time to go home approached I became increasingly depressed, though, and I realised that I didn’t want to have to be alone. Now I’m home and I can’t bear to be here. I want to go out, meet someone for easy sleazy sex, get drunk. Anything to not be here right now. There’s nothing on the television that I can tolerate for more than a few seconds; my mother’s here but as always she just seems to be getting in my way. I felt exactly the same eight years ago, during the worst depression of my life, when I was seemingly trapped within these four walls without any outside interests to take me away. I never thought I would feel this way again.

 Despite having AA and SLAA and a program and friends in my life, I am as depressed and lonely as I ever was. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m getting tired of fighting these feelings. I want to drink so badly. I shouldn’t be alone. I don’t want to pick up the phone - I want to go and see someone, anyone. But there’s no one around. I could so easily go across the road to the off license and spend £5, which would buy enough to get me wasted in my bedroom tonight. What good would it do? Absolutely none, but I don’t care. I’d have the worst hangover of my life in the morning, but I don’t care. I’m just so, so tired of feeling these feelings. I can’t take another day of waking up and feeling this way. I’m not grateful for sixteen months of sobriety right now, it means nothing to me. All I can think about is how fucking alone and angry I am. I wish I could curl up in a ball and disappear. Actually I wanted to do that throughout the meeting earlier.

 Who’d miss me if I went out and left AA? Sure, people would be disappointed, but I don’t think it would hurt anyone. And that’s why I really want to relapse, to hurt everyone who’s tried to help me because I’m so fucking angry I have to make someone feel some of my pain. It is my oldest defence mechanism: make others feel the pain so I don’t have to feel it entirely by myself. I can’t remember where I learnt that behaviour, but it is the reason why all my relationships have been fucked up. I can’t stop doing it, I can’t change it. I don’t know what else to do, how else to protect myself.

Stuck

My mood continues to be a source of concern and irritation. I can’t seem to shake this depression; it’s the worst I’ve experienced in several years. I go from sad to frightened to angry every few minutes. Today I’m mostly feeling anger, and everything is annoying me, from the television to the computer to my mother just breathing. The neighbour upstairs is screaming at her young children as usual and I want to go up there and rip her head off. I’ve logged onto my bank account to find that they’ve applied yet more punishing charges for no particular reason, so I want to go down there tomorrow and firebomb the bank branch. I’m stuck in fury and rage and there’s nothing I can do about it. When I wake up feeling a certain way, I’m destined to feel that way for the entire day. If I try and explore the anger I find nothing but sadness and fear underneath it, and it’s too painful to go far with that.

 I am sad and scared because I have no money, no job prospects, no healthy sexual relationships, no reason to get up in the mornings and no identity. I don’t know what to do with my life any more. I have all the questions but none of the answers. The only thing I can think to do that seems right is go to loads of meetings. I attended two yesterday: a Sex & Love Addicts Anonymous meeting in the afternoon and my regular Alcoholics Anonymous group in the evening. I have been to two SLAA meetings this week and although they seem to have opened up an emotional can of worms inside me, I feel like I am in the right place there. SLAA is very different to AA - people talk about sex and relationships and the pain associated with those things to an extent that I’ve never heard in AA. The meetings I’ve been to have focused on sexual anorexia, which basically refers to a compulsive avoidance of sexual and emotional intimacy. For my entire life I’ve probably been sexually and emotionally anorexic. I avoid intimacy not because I want to, but because the prospect of approaching it scares the shit out of me.

 My traumatic sexual experience with Martin last weekend proves that my sexual problems are profound. Beginning to deal with this is the most painful thing I have ever done. I want intimacy and love so badly, but I have no idea how to go about finding it, because there are people like Martin around, liars who make you believe that they care when really they just want to spend the night screwing you. When I appear to get close to people, like I got close to friends such as Dean in the fellowship, I find myself backing away subconsciously because the intimacy hurts too much. I don’t know how on earth I can solve this dilemma – so far in SLAA I’ve heard a lot about the problems and not much about the solution. I suppose it ought to be given time. I just want to hear something that makes sense, like the useful and profound things I heard when I first started going to AA, but this particular issue is I guess a lot deeper than alcohol and will take a lot longer to resolve.

 It’s like I’ve removed a stopper from a pressure valve inside my head and all the pain and anguish and sickness is now flowing out. I feel so stuck in my life; reality is hitting me and there is nowhere for this pain to go. I’m sharing about it constantly, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Last night at AA I felt comfortable enough to say exactly what was going on for me – I talked at length about my near relapse on Tuesday and the suicidal thoughts that I’d been having. Afterwards friends came up with soothing words of comfort, as they always do, but for the first time their sympathy sickened me. I can’t stand the feeling of people feeling sorry for me any more. Years ago I probably would have loved it, but last night every word of comfort made me feel ashamed of myself, because I should be comforting myself. I’m 25 years old and I should be able to take care of myself, I shouldn’t need people to tell me that everything’s going to be all right, but I do. One person kindly lent me some cash for the week because I had mentioned my dire financial situation. I really wish I hadn’t taken the cash because it’s a sign of how desperate and weak and needy I am. I don’t want people’s charity – it’s very kind of other alcoholics to offer their help in this way, but their charity makes me feel so ashamed of myself. The truth is that I need their charity because I will probably never have the means to support myself. No one is going to employ me so I will never have a regular income, will I?

 It makes me fucking sick that we live in a society where you have to have job to have an identity, where you have to work ridiculous hours for ridiculous wages just to feel like you’re worthy of the air that you breathe. This is the reality of unemployment: it’s an absolute fucking nightmare. Anyone who thinks it’s easy needs shooting. Right now I wish I was dead. I’m scrounging off anyone who will help me because I have no way of helping myself. I’m so angry with all the employers who have rejected my numerous applications this year, I wish I could line them up and fire shots at them. If I ran my own business, I would give a job to anyone who really needed one, not to the candidate with the flashiest fucking CV. I have two University degrees which, as far as British employers are concerned, are worth shit. What a fucking joke.

 After the meeting last night part of me felt like taking my AA friend’s cash and going out clubbing. I don’t know if I would have drunk – but I would certainly have ended up in a dark place, with some sexual stranger in some situation that had very little to do with intimacy. I would have wanted to be felt, held, desired; it would have been the only thing that could satisfy me. Then I would have come home this morning feeling more dirty and weak and ashamed than ever, so I suppose it’s a good thing I came straight home from Notting Hill last night.

 It’s true to say that my sobriety is very precarious at the moment. I had another drinking dream the other night, and this time I could actually taste the alcohol in the bottle of Smirnoff Ice that I was dreamily sipping on. Smirnoff Ice was a drink of choice for me in the old days. I know what these dreams are telling me: that my physical sobriety is in danger, because I’m certainly not emotionally sober at the moment. I’m on a black cloud, waiting for the pink cloud to come back. Will I ever see it again? Oh I hope so.