Some people claim that the twelve step program of recovery is “a bridge to normal living”. Bully for them, is all I can say. I have no idea what constitutes normal living, but I know it’s not what I ever wanted – the very thought of it was enough to send me scurrying rat-like towards the bottle; to drink myself into a state of terminal hopelessness as fast as was humanly possible – and it’s just as well, because my post drinking life has turned out to be anything but. Its resemblance to “normal” is – to say the least – slight. If I wanted normal living, I wouldn’t need a bridge; I’d need a rocket.
As time’s gone by I’ve become wildly eccentric. I don’t care anything about social convention or - if I’m honest - the world. The beliefs that dominated me over the first half of my life have been destroyed, and I am less and less bound by fear and desire. It has been a spiritual journey which has led me to this: teetering on the edge of the unknown, with no other choice than to jump.
I was always going to jump.