The road of happy destiny

Looking outside the window today a fresh lot of snow is blowing though the air. I am desperate to get out in my garden and begin planting the seeds that promise new life. However, rather than being frustrated, today I can look at the cold breeze and the snowfall as a clean wind blowing through my head like the tingle of an extra strong mint banishing any of those stomach-gripping thoughts that I am sometimes still prey to if I don’t take care of myself.

I do not own a car anymore. I lost it shortly after my redundancy a few years ago. However, I am grateful that a pop-up greengrocers has just opened in our village once a week and I can walk to a station and jump on a train to take me to a supermarket if I need to. In fact, I walk everywhere now. I no longer need to shell out on gym membership to keep myself fit. Whilst walking, I find that every step I take releases any angry feelings which still occasionally occur. I can now recognise when they are entering my head and tell them determinedly to “Go away”. There is no place for them in the life I try to lead now.

My father is dying of leukaemia and is rapidly losing the use of his legs. Once a strong, attractive man ; the type who would hold company captured with his stories at dinner, organise wonderful children’s parties for us and attract women with his dark good looks; his memory is now starting to fail him, he is too depressed to think about planting his potatoes this year and he needs to be pulled up out of a chair. I have, however, made my peace with him. I no longer torment myself with feelings about how he cheated on my mum and pulled our family life apart. I no longer carry poisonous thoughts in my head about how he has spent the inheritance my grandfather handed down to him. My bearing is calm about him and I can honour him for the father he tried his best to be.

The firms I spent my working life with did not offer pension schemes and the private scheme I entered too late will pay out pennies. The state pension age seems to be constantly being put back and I somehow doubt I will ever make it to collect it. There appears to be unfairness all around. However, I have bread on the table today and a roof over my head. My husband paid for me to go to the dentist as a Christmas present as I had been unable to afford it. My pride, in not accepting help from others has fallen away and I can humble myself now. I have realised that most people are kind and somehow or other I will survive. I do not need to worry.

When my son was 2 years old, about 25 years ago, my brother broke some news to me during the course of a family row. “Yes, but you know all about, Peter and Mum, don’t you!” He proceeded to tell me of my first husband’s sexual relationship with my mother. My son was young and I didn’t feel I could leave the marriage. I was too ashamed to discuss the situation with anyone outside the family. When several years later I tackled my mum about the subject she said that she had done it to “save my marriage”. I read that to mean that as I wasn’t good enough to keep my husband happy, she had too. I carried this around in my head until the day Lehman Brothers went down and then the more and more it raised itself in my head, the deeper and deeper I tried to bury it in bottles and bottles of wine. I have today forgiven my mum and my ex-husband.

My alcoholism was not the fault of my mother, my father, my ex-husband, the “bankers” or even the motorist who cut me up and gave me road rage. As long as I went on blaming others for my life the worse and worse it got. The arguments inside my head were like a table tennis match batting backwards and forwards ever quicker and quicker until there was no space left for rational thought. I was consumed with anger and resentment. I was consumed with fear. The more I drank the more I began to suffer from paranoia until eventually I needed to drink to be able to get out of the house or even answer the front door. Unless, you have been in this place it is difficult to explain it so that it can be understood. I hope and pray that you never are.

Today, I class myself as a “recovered alcoholic”. I no longer drink alcohol or indeed take any anti-depressants. I have a structured way of life which enables me to deal with any demons in my head and to stop those horrible battles in my mind re-occuring. I can see the beauty in my life. The happiness in the eyes of my son when he recently told me that he and his fiancée had fixed a wedding date. The gratitude in the eyes of newcomers who have recently accepted that they are alcoholic when I explain to them that there is a way out. The peace in the breath of my husband when he returns to a calm home at the end of a long day at work. And, somewhere out there some buds just emerging on that cherry tree outside my study window, that promise me that any day soon I will not only get out in my garden to plant my seeds, but also into my dad’s garden to help him plant his potatoes.

There is a solution.

This is the final part of a touching and poignant journey.  

The Author wishes to remain anonymous.  

Links:

Alcoholics Anonymous helpline: 0845 769 7555

www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk