"I'm Tom, and I'm an Alcoholic"

Hi. I'm Tom. And I'm an alcoholic.

The time has come, dear reader, to delve into the pit of deep stories. Oh, you know the ones! 'Coming Out' and 'Not Coming Out' and 'The Guy Who Saved My Life' and so forth. Today, (or the past week) is the beginning of a new chapter.

I have said that a lot. If I had the time or the inclination to sift through the 638 preceding posts in this blog, I'll probably find 5 or 6 "clean slates". Except, on these occasions, the only weapon I have had is my will power. If you want to pit mental illness against your will power and nothing else, you won't win. If you want to pit alcoholism against your will power and nothing else, you will lose. On Saturday 16th September 2017, I fulfilled step one of the twelve steps to recovery.

"We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable."

Over the years, I have gained a reputation. I'm the guy who is always drinking at the weekend. Always. I'm the guy who's drunk by 6pm on a Friday, without fail. I used to like that reputation. I used to like the attention that came with it, but no more. The fun nights out turned into dangerous escapades and then into extreme scenarios where my life was on the line. I am not exaggerating when I say I should be dead.

But I'm not.

Step 2: "Come to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."

I walked into my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at 11:15 yesterday. I sat and listened to a group of 25 people, of all backgrounds, explain how their "higher power" had taken their problems and let them live. What concerned me was that the default setting for a "higher power"... was God. Now, I try to steer away from religion for many reasons, mainly because it's an unwinnable argument for either side, but also because I am a staunch atheist. I don't think there is a God, a deity, a spiritual being. I don't believe in higher powers. And that is where I've been going wrong.

You see, I am the centre of my universe. My ego is out of control and ultimately, no one else matters except me. I am my own higher power. At least, I was. The concept of handing over your struggles to a "higher power" every day is a concept that scared me, especially when religion was cited as the default setting, but your "higher power" can be anything. At 11:15 yesterday, I thought I had landed in some twisted religious cult. An hour and a half later, I walked out with zero weight on my shoulders. It's a blissful feeling. And I want more of it.

What's more, I think I have found my "higher power". I would explain what it is, but it would involve going into a story that isn't my story to tell and I don't want to betray the protagonist. All I'll say is a date. 9th October 2015. For those of you who know what that date signifies, that day is my "higher power". The extremities, the journey and the perfect alignment of the elements is my "higher power". The pain of what could (and should) have been is my "higher power" and I will cling on to that throughout this latest journey.

This journey feels different. I feel this journey has a path and I have an end goal. I want to be sitting here, on this date in 2018 and say, "I've been sober for a whole fucking year!" While the temptations still exist and there will be difficult times, I know what I want now. I want that feeling of zero weight on my shoulders. I have truly started afresh, and that has involved admitting some dark secrets to friends and family over the past week and I am damn proud.

But the hard work starts here. The past week has been the honeymoon of my recovery, it's been 8 days since I held a mug full of medication over my mouth and was one swallow away from death. Every day has been a blessing, but as the trials and tribulations of every day life rear it's ugly head, the battle will intensify. This isn't going to be easy.

So while we drift into a new week, with the thoughts of a Monday plaguing our minds, just remember this: Today is history. Tomorrow is a mystery.

I'm Tom. And I'm an alcoholic.

Grieving For Someone You Didn't Know

This morning, I learned about the death of LGBT+ journalist, Dean Eastmond. I wasn't a close friend of his by any means; I had only conversed with him a couple of times on the phone and online, but the affect he had on me and on the LGBT+ community was profound.

He was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma last year and his story has been well documented recently and for good reason. Throughout his cancer battle, he continued to fight for LGBT rights, including highlighting how same-sex couples can't access the others frozen sperm sample if the worst should happen. It's a horrifying and needless inequality that existed and I have to admit I had no idea about it, but Dean worked tirelessly to bring the issue to the public eye. All whilst fighting an aggressive form of cancer.

[You can read his article on the issue here : http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/cancer-diagnosis-young-age-20-being-gay-lgbt-infertility-sperm-freezing-didnt-expect-to-make-it-a7166311.html]

It feels very odd to grieve for someone I barely knew. I feel like I don't have a right to grieve as his friends and family do, but I feel very sad that Dean has passed away. He was a selfless man who had time for everyone, a very talented journalist and by all accounts a marvellous friend. It was a genuine honour of mine to write for the magazine he co-founded, HISKIND, which has become one of my favourite publications due to it's refreshing outlook on LGBT issues. It also featured our documentary on homophobia in football and ended up being one of my favourite summaries of the project.

There's not a lot more to say. Today is a very sad day and Dean leaves behind many loving friends and family. He will be hugely missed. Rest in Peace.