I went out dancing with AA friends on Saturday night for the first time in ages, after being randomly asked along by one of the guys at my old Saturday home group in Notting Hill. I wasn’t going to go there this weekend, planning instead to revisit a meeting in my local area that I hadn’t been to in two years. On the spur of the moment I decided to go to Notting Hill, feeling in the mood for the long walk, and I tend to think that when it comes to decisions of that nature, the best policy is to go with what I feel on the day.

It was nice to be back at Notting Hill after a week’s break, though not being secretary any more was weirder than I expected it to be. Being able to sit wherever I wanted to sit in the room, as well as having no official duties at the meeting, took away some of the thrill that I used to get out of having responsibility there. I think I will keep going back nonetheless. Afterwards I went for coffee with everyone and this is where I was asked out to dance by some people who I would never have expected to ask me out.

I was feeling a little awkward in the coffee shop when they asked me; like the last time I felt awkward there, I had chosen to sit at the end of the table away from most people rather than in the middle, where I might have felt more securely part of the group. Anyway, the invitation to dance came as a pleasant shock and I was even more thrilled when the person who invited me said he would pay for my entrance fee to the club as well (I was completely broke that day.)

So we got the tube to Vauxhall, which is seemingly the first choice location for sober clubbers these days. Sitting and laughing with friends on the tube has always been a favoured pastime. When we got to Vauxhall I was in a far better mood than I had been all week. Inside the club the crowd  was looking particularly gorgeous that night, a fact that increased my spirits even further. Part of me thought there might be a chance of some hot action, something I’d consciously avoided for the past few weeks. As the night wore on the argument between the desire for sex and the need for celibacy raged louder and louder in my head. By the end of the night I was not surprised almost to find myself in tears about it. Despite having a great night out with friends I could not stop tearing myself apart with this obsession that seems to have dogged me for years.

I really wanted to go  home with one of the many good looking bearded men in the club that night – bearded men really do it for me these days, more so since I identified where that little peccadillo might have come from. But the split second I begin to think about that desire, numerous doubts about why it would be a much better idea to go home alone would pop into my mind and taunt me. None of the guys I’m interested in would want me anyway, and I can’t bring anyone home because what would my mother say? And I still have problems functioning in bed so it would be really embarrassing, and I’m not looking for casual sex any more because I want something deeper and more spiritual.

But in spite of the glaring obviousness and truth in all of those doubts, there is still this seeming need to be wanted sexually. When other people see guys they like in nightclubs they seem to just be able to go for it or forget about it. When I see someone that I like, I always fall in love a bit.

And yeah, all of that does make me a strong candidate for the SLAA program, but I’ve talked before about why I don’t think SLAA works for me. So I went home alone on Saturday night, resigned to continued celibacy which I might as well be calling sexual sobriety now. I wasn’t quite depressed, but there is a definite boredom with this ongoing struggle that happens every time I see someone or something that turns me on.

What I really needed to take my mind off it all was a friend’s request to look after his flat for two weeks while he goes away on holiday; it’s a good job then that that is exactly what happened. On Sunday I moved to Tottenham, to the flat belonging to the man who took me to my first AA meeting two years ago. He’s gone to France for a fortnight for a friend’s wedding, so here I am, on my own in a nice flat overlooking a river with a cat for company. It is practically a dream come true; if only it was forever.

Leading up to yesterday there were the natural paranoid fears that he would have to cancel his holiday at the last minute, meaning I wouldn’t get my two weeks of freedom from living with mum after all. When I got here and got shown around the flat the paranoia continued; when we first discussed the arrangement weeks ago he had said that he would reimburse my extra travel costs into London for meetings and so on, but by late last night there had still been no word about the exact details of the reimbursement. Then when I got up this morning I found £180 on the computer desk and a note from my friend saying ‘I hope you enjoy the fortnight ahead, here’s a little something to say thanks’. I could have cried; the whole thing is a gift from God. Everything that I’ve been praying for this year, almost.

I’m not so worried now about the fact that it’s only for two weeks. A fortnight is quite a long time in my life; last year when I stayed in Manchester for a week it felt like a perfectly timed break, and by the end I was quite happy to come home. I don’t know how I’ll feel about moving back in two weeks, back to dependent, noisy living; it might be OK. I might have some miraculous spiritual awakening between now and then which enables me to find a way of living comfortably with my mother again. Who knows?

What’s true is that this is a necessary experience for me. It’s a higher power thing, it’s got to be. Later in the year I will be travelling to the north of England for a week long creative writing retreat, paid for entirely by an organisation that’s given away 40 free places on its 2009 retreats to mark its 40th anniversary. I didn’t expect to get one of those places but thanks to a stroke of luck (a.k.a. a higher power moment) I did. That week will give me another taste of independence, far away from home where I won’t know my surroundings or anyone that I’m staying with.

I’m assuming that these experiences will be preparation for the real life independence that I have craved so badly for so long. I’m fully aware that to gain that independence I’ll have to make some sacrifices that I haven’t made yet – getting a full time job springs to mind. As I’ve said before, I need someone somewhere with power to give me a chance at employment. I am putting all the footwork in now to find that job because this is the life I want.

I know it isn’t easy taking complete charge of one’s life. I got the chance to do it before when I went to Norwich for three years, and I failed because I was too young and far too unprepared. This time I think (I hope) I am better prepared. If I need to find out how prepared I am, I guess these two weeks in Tottenham will be a good way of seeing.