Travel diary. Day 1

Travel diary

28th September, 2016

My morning began at 5:40 am, I am not a morning person, even when excited. But it was nothing a smoke and a cup of coffee, lovingly made by my mother couldn’t sort out.

Taxi arrived on time and I had a jolly driver who, after teaching me his knowledge of the Swedish language consisting of the words ‘Hej’ and ‘Hej da’ (Hello and Goodbye) then began talking to me about alcohol. At 6:30 in the morning.

Journey to the airport took longer than expected with the national express, which at that time of the morning wasn’t as jolly as it suggests in the song. We went to Manchester via Runcorn, going over the Runcorn bridge. I am a proud Liverpudlian, but I have to admit, I did draw an ugly comparison of the glum industrial looking bridge of Runcorn to that of the majestic Oresundsbron that I will be crossing later.

Flight was Lovely. The sun was shining intensely through the window, and it afforded me a nice pleasant sleep. Coming into land in Denmark was horrendous however, we were warned prior to taking off that the plane would encounter turbulence upon arrival, but nothing compared me for what happened. The lady next to me was angry, I found it amusing. Who was she angry at? The wind? People have far to much anger inside themselves. Emelie's dad would later experience the same winds on a later flight to another part of Sweden.

Emelie’s dad had sent me a text mid air to tell me he would be picking me up, so at arrivals I waited and got speaking to a Danish guy. He asked me where I was from, so after boring him with my Danish ancestry, I told him I was from Liverpool. Bizarrely he asked me if I supported Everton, I corrected him and told him I was a Liverpool fan. ‘What about you?’ I asked, following it up with ‘Kobenhavn, Aalborg?’ knowing by his discomfort in his face that the answer was likely going to be Manchester united, and it was.

Luckily on queue, Emelies dad rescued me with a burger king...again, and a ride to Malmo to Emelies house.

I was greeted by Uno, the cat who ran and hid, but had to wait 2 hours for human company, firstly Emelies brother, who greeted me with a Subway, then Emelie, then her mom, who cooked me dinner. Uno had thankfully warmed to me again by then, and even brushed against me like cats do.

These lovely Swedish folk really like to make sure you don’t go hungry.

Emelie got bored of me pretty quickly, as I was trying in vain to convince her of the brilliance of kodi and it’s ability (albeit slightly on the illegal side) to be the app that Netflix wishes it was. She was soon to be convinced and, we spent the evening watching ‘Keanu’, a brilliantly made fun story about two regular guys who have to pretend to be ‘gangster’ in order to infiltrate a gang in order to save their kitten.

Was Shakespeare really that good?

So, this morning at around 7am I sat at my laptop and full of enthusiam I opened word and began to write a novel.....for 20 minutes.

See, on my laptop I also have football manager and I was two games away from winning the league with Malmö ff for the sixth consecutive season. So a pause in writing to play a couple of games wouldnt do many harm, I could plan some character development in my head while playing. I won the league. Hurrah.

It can be tough being a football manager, so I decided to watch a movie. I have tons of movies on my hard drive I keep planning to watch, so I put on 'Alien'. As this this blog is partly about reviewing I shall be honest and say I didnt really enjoy it. I find with old sci-fi/horror movies that if you missed the hype at the tine, then digital and technological advances of our current time make them difficult to enjoy.

About 2 and a half hours had past and I was getting hungry.

After a quick sausage sandwich I decided to let my stomach settle while reading a book. For 4 hours.

My girlfriend will be calling soon (which if you're reading, I assure you I can't wait) but with so many distractions in life how can I be disciplined enough to get to chapter two?

So was Shakespeare really talented, or just really really bored?

Of course I know he was talented, but I have developed a newly found respect for modern day writers (or all self employed people for that matter) who must be incredibly disciplined to avoid the modern day distractions we have at our disposal.

My hat's off to you all.

Nearly time for X-factor.

Thomas

My step 12, in action.

I stalled a little after my step 11, through fear more than anything. I wanted to keep what I had, and felt that if I found myself trying to be assistance to those people seeking what I had found in sobriety, then I could find myself in danger of joining them, rather than helping them.

How selfish of me. After all, I relied on the knowledge of recovered addicts to help me get to where I am, so why on earth did I feel so frightened to pass on what I have learned from these people in order to assist others. I heard it said 'You've got to keep what you have got, by giving it away' and how right that proved to be.

One of my best friends is an alcoholic, I wont name her, but yesterday she had found her rock bottom and called me for help. It was something I had to do. I offered to take her to a meeting, or meet up for a walk, but she couldn't do that. She just couldn't face going out of the house, so she invited me around. I had never found myself in this situation before, and I am extremely grateful that my addiction never led me down the path of alcohol, so before seeing her I tried to gain some knowledge. I spoke to my sponsor and called into rehab who were all really honored to help. I can't thank them enough. 

So, I went to my friends, confident in myself that I had the knowledge and power granted to me by god, to help my friend. After the quantity she had drank, which again isn't appropriate to share, I was advised by almost everyone to get her to hospital.

Upon seeing her I was shocked, she had aged dramatically since I last seen her, she was frail, and had lost the spark in her eyes. From seeing her, I completely understood why she just couldn't go out. So, after the first challenge of facing her was out the way it was quickly onto the second challenge. She asked me to get her alcohol. I honestly didn't know what to do. In my mind I knew it was the right thing to do, but I just felt so uncomfortable buying alcohol for an alcoholic friend who means so much to me. My addiction brought me to my knees mentally, not physically so it was so hard seeing someone who ACTUALLY needed to consume her demon, in order to function.

Again, strong sponsorship helped me. I called my sponsor, asked if I should buy her alcohol and he told me that yes, it would actually be recommended by alcohol services.

So I did, and thankfully my friend did, after a small quantity of alcohol agree to come the hospital with me. Now the last three times I've been in the emergency department were due to suicide attempts, so it was the last place i wanted to be for what turned out to be almost 4 hours, but I was selfless, patient and tolerant.

She got the help she needed and agreed to a detox. I accompanied her home, made her a cup of tea and tidied up for her, I also made sure there was no alcohol in her house. And thankfully today, she is still sober.

This experience, although I would have preferred it to have not been someone so close to me has been utterly rewarding. In helping others I have helped myself. Which is exactly what the 12th step is all about.

Thanks for reading.

Thomas

'Into the darkest corner' by Elizabeth Haynes

I have just finished reading this fantastic novel by Elizabeth Haynes. What struck me most was when i came to the final page, was how hard it was for me to read. Not through quality or deliverance, but through the content, which was at times downright unsettling. It really touched me.

This was a story, despite being a work of fiction that needed to be told and needs to be told more often. The writer should be proud of herself for not shying away from any aspect of domestic abuse, whether it be physical violence, mental torture or rape. The writer says in an interview at the end that she will have 'fewer friends once people read the book' I wholeheartedly disagree.

The story follows Catherine, an ordinary woman who finds herself in the arms of an abusive partner. The novel is skillfully written, instead of chapters it is seperated by time, the past and future. The past being the horrific relationship, and the future being Catherine trying to build a new life. This makes the story a real page turner, as despite the terribly abusive past, there is always the hope for the reader that Catherine recovers.

Elizabeth refused to do what many writers would have done - to create a happy ever after, rosey future. Instead, the future for Catherine was plagued by mental illness for many years, giving the story a heartbreaking realism of what millions of women (and men) go through on a daily basis following the trauma of domestic abuse. This was clearly well researched, showing the work that Elizabeth put into creating this novel.

Despite the difficult subject, this is a really thrilling novel to read. The writer manages to create physical feelings of emotion in the reader, which is the sign of a tremendous author.

I will definately be heading to my local bookshop to look for more of the authors work. And if you want to find out what happens to Catherine then I recommend you do the same.

Thanks for reading

Thomas

The serenity prayer, and its meaning

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.

I've been around cocaine anonymous for a while, so I've said this prayer 100's of times. But today I have understood it's true meaning to myself.

So, what does it mean? And why is it important to the suffering alcoholic addict?

I had a difficult morning today, I was accompanying my family to the hospital for results on the growth of my brothers brain tumour. I was plagued with fear and anxiety. And really wanted to just run away and hide.

But hiding is what I have done in the past. I have used such appointments as an excuse to use and be wreckless. Making such situations all about me.

Today I found myself saying the serenity prayer lots.

I was praying to accept the things I cannot change. The outcome of the decision was already pre determined before my fear and anxiety kicked in. I had to develop an acceptance that this outcome was not in my control, and no amount of running, hiding and using would change this outcome.

I was praying for the courage to change the things I can. Now instead of running and hiding which is what I would have done in the past which would have been no help to anyone, despite my intense fear, what I did have the power to change was being there for once for my family at this difficult time. This was a new experience for me, and there was times when I was close to telling my parents that I would go home and wait for the news, or that I would wait in the car.

But I did it. I had the acceptance that I wasnt in control, and I had the courage to support my family.

The news was fantastic, the tumour hadn't grown.

.....and that's what the serenity prayer means to me.

Thomas

Did doctors enable my opiate addiction?

I was having my daily dose of twitter before and came across a retweeted article from 'the guardian' about a man from the United States who is taking the doctor, hospital or whatever it was to court, on the basis that he was aware he had an 'addictive personality' and that the doctor got him hooked on opiate based painkillers.

As a man who has been through the same issue, I wish to give an opposing side to the argument.

First of all, if this lawsuit is successful it could have a detrimental effect on effective pain management.

As highly addictive as it is, and as much as it practically ruined me, it is without doubt the most effective way to treat moderate to severe pain. In fact, nothing else comes close. What we don't want to see as a result of this lawsuit, is medical professionals living in fear of their career in the rare case someone gets hooked.

Secondly, and again this is my opinion. As an addict, who follows the 12 step program, I believe that the only person who is qualified to give me the diagnosis of 'addict' is myself. If I went to see my doctor with a broken leg, and he refused to give me pain relief because I was an addict I would be extremely angry and upset, and obviously in a lot of pain.

I have a prolapsed disc. I was in a lot of pain and went to see my doctor. He prescribed me opiate based tablets and they eased my pain, however I enjoyed the effects and they helped ease cocaine comedown. When the monthly prescription ran out, I went back, and told the doctor my pain was still really bad even though with the help of the tablets it had become manageable. Pain threshold is unique to the individial. One persons maximum level of pain can be another persons moderate. The doctor kept giving me stronger, and stronger and stronger pain killers, until my next possible prescription would have been liquid morphine.  The doctor simply trusted me that I couldnt manage the pain that I was in.

I accept full responsibility that the seeking of drugs made me a convincing liar, and extremely manipulative. I do not, even slightly blame my doctor for the trust he put into me.

In fact, my doctor was to become very helpful when I admitted to him that my use of opiates was out of control. He gave me a reduction plan to assist withdrawal, and a mark was made on my medical file to say that I was a potential seeker.

Now when I see my doctor, if there is a potential need to prescribe medication, we chat about it. We talk about if there is a necessity for it, and if anything could be done as an alternative to the medication, then we explore different avenues first before narcotics.

However, if I ever go to the hospital in excruciating pain, then they better hook me up to that morphine drip. And once I am free of pain, the responsibility of saying 'no doctor, I no longer need it' is all mine.

Thomas.

An article awaiting review for a magazine

When I was young and carefree I loved books, I could get lost in reading and writing. It was my biggest passion.

This passion has remained in my life ever since, but I had a problem. A very bad problem.

I suffered with really low self esteem. I believe it was this self esteem that led me from occasional use of cocaine, to daily. The insane thing is, that use of cocaine did absolutely nothing to assist my self esteem. In fact it was to make it a whole lot worse. I've heard it said in meetings, that addiction wants you to lose everything in your life and then take your life away. I nearly ended my life. So in effect, my self esteem was so low, and my hope of recovery at the time was so absent, that I wanted to die.

During my addiction, I wrote. Although reading was almost impossible as my attention span whilst using was absolute zero. 

The things I wrote were as morbid as my outlook on life. And the stories and poems I wrote were not for the purpose of therapy or enjoyment, it was because I was motivated by money. However I would never show anyone my work, because my self esteem was that low that I knew I wasn't good enough. So my ego would tell me I am going to be like the writers I admire, yet my self esteem wouldn't even allow me to show anyone. That kind of internal conflict used to drive me insane, and continue me using, and using, and using.

So last year, I went to rehab and I battled my demons. I done a lot of work on my self esteem. After rehab I got engaged with the 12 step program, I'm clean and serene.

My self esteem is now at a fluctuating level of acceptable, good and superb. And through the 12 steps I've developed a lot of acceptance about who I am, and what I suffer with. But I still had this desire to read and write.

I am no longer plagued with delusions of grandeur. My ego has been smashed. I am a humble and appreciative of what I have in life. I have working eyes and the use of my hands, I was blessed with an illness of the mind not body. An illness that can be cured.

I decided to write again. 

I started a blog, I bought 70 books and I signed up to twitter. 

I decided I don't have to be the next Bob Dylan, there is already one. I decided I don't have to be the next John Lennon, there is already one, I decided I don't want to be the next Pete Townshend.....you see where I'm going.

I decided to be me (after all, there is only one of me), and do something within my capabilities which in turn satisfies the hunger inside of me, so I simply decided to read lots, and review what I read. 

Simple, but I can assure you it's so far been very very effective.

Thanks for letting me share my story.

'Lust money and murder' Book 1, by Mike Wells

https://www.amazon.com/Mike-Wells/e/B004MCEC1U/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1472913457&sr=8-2-ent
Twitter @mikewellsauthor

I have just this weekend finished reading Mike Wells thrilling start to his series of books entitled Lust Money and Murder.

Mikes use of dialogue in part one is nothing short of brilliance. Through this expertly written dialogue you get a real sense of each characters personality, which draws out physical feelings of emotion in the reader. I really found myself feeling physical feelings of frustration during a conversation between our heroine Elaine and the annoyingly brilliant Ms Crawford.

There is no doubt this story is a thriller, and one that will keep you on the edge of your seat. But it is much more than that. It's a story of one womans fight for love and revenge, but will her desire for love make her faulter in her quest for vengeance? I am heading straight to book two to find out.

If you want to read a thrilling series, with a fantastic plot and some excellent characters. Which is often funny, tragic and thrilling in equal measure. Then I strongly recommend giving book one a read. Like myself, you'll head straight for book two.

It's a short book, and currently free on amazon. I guarantee you will not be disappointed.

Just as a final note, if Mike was to ever lose passion for writing novels, I think he has a career in food reviews. The 'Torta Pasqualina' had me calling up all the local Italian restaurants in my city. Sounds fantastic.

Thanks for reading.

Thomas

Regaining trust is possible.

Here's a bit of positivity to start recovery month.

In case you've not read my 'about me' section, or my life story I will sum something up for you, I have been a long term cocaine addict, it led me to steal a substantial amount of money from my mum in late 2014.

Understandably, I lost quite a lot of friends and family, and I lost the trust of my mum and my brother.

In rehab I was told by a councilor that I can only control what's inside of my hula hoop, I struggled with this for a while and in earlier recovery I was too focused on changing peoples opinions of me, rather than change the opinions and beliefs of myself. I would tell my mum I've changed, which in fact I had, I had no inclination to steal from her ever again. But my words were kind of a self protest, I was too desperate to try and prove to her with words instead of actions.

It mentions in the big book of AA that as addicts we want to run the whole show, we want to direct it, produce it and take the lead role. This is exactly what I was trying to do, despite having put down the cocaine.

In the last 7 months or so, I've changed my attitude. I've took control of my hula hoop instead of controlling other peoples. When I am at my mums, and she takes her handbag to the bathroom with her, or locks me in the garden while she leaves the house for an hour, I accept it. I don't protest anymore and convince her with words. I am helpful, I ask her if I can do anything in the house or garden, instead of isolating in my room on my own.

And my hard work has PAID OFF.

I am at my mums right now, on the eve of minding my younger brother for the whole day while my mum has a well deserved coach trip with her friends. I am absolutely delighted with myself, it's been a long hard struggle to get to this point, and the feeling I have right now is better than any stimulant I've ever consumed.

She had even gave me a key.

So if you're struggling or new in recovery and you've lost some friends or family, worrying about changing peoples opinions isn't healthy, but taking action and changing your opinion of yourself is.

I have lost friends and family, sadly I think for good. And the hurt and resentment you feel is hard to get over. But once your mind becomes healthy and you accept yourself for who you are and what you've done, you will also get acceptance about the loss of people in your life.

Thanks for reading, stay clean.

Thomas

Don't forget my offer FREE BOOKS

FREE BOOKS

Don't forget, any book I review on my page that aren't on ebook format, I am willing to send free of charge to anyone in the UK who is struggling financially due to addiction or mental illness.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I really really really can't stress enough how picking up a book has saved me from some dark days.

If you are interested, send me a comment, or more discretely send me an e-mail or follow me on twitter @reading2recover and I will arrange to send you any that I finish.

Don't forget to subscribe to my blog for updates on when books become available.

Next up will be a fantastic thriller by Peter James called 'Dead Simple' review possibly be online tomorrow. I'm onto the last few chapters where they all get killed (joke)

Thanks,

Thomas

The story of my life.

It might seem a bit egotistical to write a life story, and after being asked to write one in rehab I felt awkward and uncomfortable not only writing it, but having to read it to my peers. But the experience was so rewarding.

To put your life in black and white, emptying your soul and freeing yourself of emotional bondage in front of a group of people is a truely magical experience, which is why I am about to do it again.

My story

I was born in the 80's in Liverpool. I was born to a loving family of a mother and father. The area to Liverpool in which I belonged was a place called dingle just on the border of toxteth. You may know about toxteth from the press, in the early 80's before I was born huge riots took place, some of the largest riots the UK have ever seen. After I was born the rioting stopped, but there was a necessity to aquire a 'thick skin' in order to grow up in such a poverty stricken, neglected area such as toxteth and dingle. It wasnt until 2008 when Liverpool won capital of culture that development in the area seemed to happen. Thanks to EU money, and not our government in their ivory towers down south. Even then it was suggested that the only reason development happened in Dingle and Toxteth was due to it being the main vehicular route from Liverpools John Lennon airport and the tourist hotspots of the city centre. Despite the description I did find it a great place to live. There is something about living in a daily struggle that really makes a person. The solidarity of the people of my home in the south of Liverpool is as such that if ever I went to war, I would take the people of my hometown with me before any army.

I remember a happy childhood. Even after my brother was born with a horrific brain tumour and his life estimated at being very short, the love and support my family gave me ensured I never missed out. Either my mum or my father would be at James bedside 24 hours a day, and I would be looked after by the other parent either at home, or in the hospital. I remember at a young age drawing strength at my peers in the family room in the hospital who were going through the same fate, the possibility of losing a sibling to Cancer. I was too young to remember the next facts, and its too painful to ask mum or dad. But I know the tumour went, I believe the first time it was due to brain surgery. We thought we had him back for good. The tumour returned when he was two years old, and again we went throught the same heartbreak. But down to radiotherapy this time, he was again cured. It was at this period of my lifetime that I first felt the warmth of the people if toxteth. When news spread of James's estimated life span, the people of toxteth really pulled together. Jean, and her lovely family from Macs newsagents on park road and Stan and Fran from merseyside police became major fund raisers and sent us on two trips to Florida and various days out, including a high speed drive in a police car, a ride on a police horse and manning the controls of a police helicopter, albeit with the engine turned off. It unfortunately wasn't my last ride in a police car.

I was understandably quite an emotional kid. Instead of crying for missing toys, and throwing temper tantrums about not being able to play outside I was plagued with a grief that my young mind wasnt prepared for. Throughout James being sick I never missed school as far as I can remember. Credit to my mum and dad they never put James first, which must have been difficult for them at the time. In school I had lots of friends, but circumstances made me emotionally vunerable. Children were naturally curious, and they would ask me when he is going to die ect, and I remember crying lots at an age when boys arent supposed to cry. I wouldn't say my peers were mean, they were in fact the opposite, but my young brain just wasnt prepared to answer questions about death and it took it's toll on me. I used to hang around with the tough kids at school, so if anyone said anything mean about James, they would never get the chance to say it again (that sounds like they were murdered, I assure you, they weren't)

By the grace of god James is still alive, and it was now my turn to worry him.

I was easily led at school, I think because if my early school years and the comfort blanket my friends provided in a difficult time that I was always desperate to cling onto them by any means, this included simple 'laddish' things like messing about in class, not anything too serious like breaking the law. But even so, I left school with grades I knew I could have improved upon had I not been so influenced by others.

Despite my grades, I was determined to make a career for myself and started an apprenticeship as a painter and decorator. Instead of being taught in schools I was suddenly inside painting them. It made me feel proud, and the fact I was at this point working in a school rather than sitting behind a desk at one even if it was just sanding down radiators and skirting boards it made me feel like a man.

It was at this time I started being motivated by greed alone and lost ambition. My friends worked in shops and warehouses, and while such jobs wouldnt have insured a long term career such as being a qualified painter and decorator, I looked on their pay packets with envy. Apprentices arent paid much, it was around £60 a week if I remember. My friends were affording to party once, maybe twice a week. I was lucky to get out once a month. So, I quit painting and went to work in a department store.

I was going out with my friends the  at least once a week, and I loved getting drunk and dancing to house music and trance until the small hours of the morning. At that point I was no different to anyone else. I didnt drink excessively, and there was only one night that I went out which I have no full recollection of. A night where I had somehow phoned my dad to pick me up, then went missing for a couple of hours only to turn up at the house wondering why my mum and dad were in such a panic. Me, having no recollection of the phone call to come and collect me.

It was at this time working on a menswear department that I started to feel insecure and self loathing. I have never hated my naked image, in fact I would even admit that I am not a bad looking lad, and if you disagree, then thats your issue and not mine. That has, and will always be my attitude. My problem was clothes. I would look at friends, and the way they dressed with envy. It wasnt so much a case of me longing for designer. It was more a case for me longing for clothes that fit right. It sounds ridiculous, but I envied how my friends could wear tshirts that didn't ride up at the back, or jeans where the bottoms of the legs fit well over their footwear. Mine never did and it used to really bug me. It made me feel inferior, and I still have problems with styling today, although not as much.

Again, like in the past I sought after a way to fit in and be like one of the cool kids. Going out clubbing quite often at this point, I seen the admiration DJ's got. I had already had a mixer and a set of turntables which I bought off a school friend, a guy who is now doing really well on the club scene DJ Zeke, but what started out then as a passion and enjoyment soon became a necessity for me to be liked. I bought more expensive equipment, and became fanatical over buying records and started making mix CD's and passing them around the young fashion departments of the first floor of lewis's. Infamous for it's glamorous girls. I realize now that I wasnt doing it for a passion, I was doing it for my peers to notice me. Quite sad really.

Another way for me to fit in, I was soon to discover was ecstasy. After swallowing my first half a pill in club 051, it was to become a love affair that lasted years. It made every weekend complete. It completely erased my self esteem issues temporarily. It made me forget about my ill fitting clothes, it made me forget about the neediness of being liked. Because in those 4-5 hours I loved everyone, I loved myself, and everybody loved me. No weekend was complete without it.

Clubbing became my life. And despite the trouble I was to later find myself in, all for swallowing that tiny tablet of MDMA I look back on it with fondness, after all it was a passion I shared with two friends Craig and Lisa who I cherished dearly. Craig also had a set of turntables and we would go to each others houses and do mix cd's almost on a nightly basis.

My drug taking and drinking was still at this point moderate. It was a weekend indulgence, a reward as a means to escape the working week. But it was soon to take a nasty hold. It crept up on me without warning. I had moved jobs at this point to work for telewest, soon to become virginmedia. I met a guy who worked there who offered to sell me ecstasy pills for about 50 pence each. And I bought 50, with the plan to save them for weekends and kept them in a drawer in my room hidden in a sock. If any addict is reading this you dont need me to tell you what happened next. I consumed them within about the next four days. I was out of my brain in work and watching tv with my parents. It was a warning sign. But my ego told me not to worry, I was ok.

I was soon to try cocaine. That blew me away, then chewed me up and then spat me out in the gutter. Again, like ecstacy it started on nights out. On cocaine I felt like the man. Unlike ecstasy which made me forget my self esteem problems, cocaine told me I never had any. I was Tony Montana, I was pablo escobar, I was Jesus Christ. My shirts were cool, my shoes were cool, I was the funniest and craziest guy at the party.

NONSENSE.  I was a wreck.

My problems were still there in the morning, but they were amplified. Cocaine raises the dopamine levels in your brain, but when the effects wear off, the dopamine sets at an even lower level as it was prior to using. A ticking timebomb for someone with poor self esteem issues.

I was, and still am quite a funny guy. But this drug made me think I was funnier than I am. I would do wreckless things on nights out, nothing to the scale of Keith Moon and Oliver Reed, but they were my heros and if fate would have handed me a rolls royce parked by a swimming pool I probably would have emulated the famous story, whether it is a true story or not. It was all an act. I almost became a character in my own play. I was affectionately called 'Bungle' and a common phrase that was to be spoken on every night out was 'oh bungle' I just couldnt be myself using this drug, and using it fooled me into thinking I enjoyed being the person I was. Despite having good times with Craig, lisa and others at concerts, festival's and parties which I dont regret, part of me wishes I could do it all again as Thomas, not Bungle.

I have already got the dopamine science out of the way, so when I would wake up the next day I wouldnt be bungle, I wouldnt even be Thomas. I was even worse than I had been initially. My self esteem was worse, I developed a depression (if you take cocaine, you will) and I developed severe anxiety. But I just couldnt stop. I would sleep off a night out on a Sunday morning and upon waking would be calling a dealer. And like the conclusion of the ecstasy story, I ended up using while watching TV with my parents.

Eventually, after a prolonged use of cocaine the chemical effects on the brain altered. It was no longer the drug that made me chatty and feel like king of the world. It would make me isolate, taking to snorting in my room. My parents became suspicious and I came clean one night. I had had enough.

My parents and I went to a place called addaction, but it didnt work. I was willing to talk about how much powder I put up my nose, but I wasnt ready to bare my soul and get to the deep underlying issue of my problems. I would often have dealers waiting for me outside the councilling building for me, which is absolutely tragic.

Many years of drug taking followed. Cocaine is an expensive drug. 'Pound for pound costs more than gold' as the song says, and you can never get enough. Thus meaning once my pay packet had been wiped out, I had to find something else. Now I suffer with a bad back, which the diagnosis was given as a herniated disc. This to me, at the time was a ticket for free drugs. I would manipulate doctors into giving me pain killers and muscle relaxants and consuming a months supply within days. It was at this time I am ashamed to say I still looked down on heroin users. Yet the amount of pain killers (which contained opium) was equal to a dose of heroin. But my ego once again told me I was fine, after all the doctor gave me them. When money ran out for cocaine, and my prescription ran out for dihydrocodien it was onto over the counter medicines. I took to the internet to a process where you extract paracetamol from cocodamol. This is not a safe process. It often made me sick. The descriptions you find on the internet explain the science behind it, but there is absolutely no way at all to know how much paracetamol was left in. At this point of my life however I didn't care. If I was to die then I died. I had already attempted my own life twice.

Some say to recover you have to hit rock bottom. I dont believe that, I think recovery is posible whether you are starting out in active addiction or you have lost everything. In my case though, I had to hit rock bottom.

It began in 2014, I was desperate for a fix and I found about 6'000 pounds hidden in my then home, with my mum and brother. Apart from one prior occasion, I had never stolen, from a shop or from family. If i found a wallet in the street i would have handed it in. However, all morals that I had desperately clung onto disappeared when I discovered this money. It started off with the odd £20. Every fibre of my body knew the consequences, and every fibre of my body didnt want to do this to my family. But cocaine was my power, and I was powerless to it. A guy in a meeting I go to often says if you have your family in one hand, and a gram of cocaine in the other which one do you love the most. Every addict will say the same, the hand with the family, but what we choose is the drug. It borders on insanity. Anyway, to cut a long story short the £20 became £50, the £50 became £100. I was living each day with the fear of her finding out and the family disowning me, yet instead of stopping, and paying it back as sneakily as I took it (yes I was spending a wage as well as stolen money) I continued to steal.

I was found out and kicked out, my whole family found out what I had done, again the insane thing was I had just been paid quite a lot of money. I had, I think (memory not too good around this time) been paid sick pay and holiday pay from my last job in insurance so instead of getting my act together and stopping taking drugs, using the amount of money to secure a flat I took myself to a hotel for 3 nights and spent the lot on cocaine.

Well I didnt spend the lot. I had enough money in my bank account for a train fare and last meal. I had become facinated by the film 'quadrophenia' and I felt I related a lot to the character Jimmy. It was set in brighton, so I took myself to Lime street train station, and I was waiting on a train to brighton. I was going to go, have a nice meal and then end the pain I was in. I didnt tell anyone my plans, as it wasnt an emotional cry for help, it was the real thing. A bit of devine intervention came my way at that point, and I recieved a call from Lucy my drug worker. She could tell something wasnt right, and worked out I was at a train station. She begged me to go in and see her and I did.

Hours later I was in hospital, begging to be sectioned under the mental health act. Even that was a struggle. I had to return twice, spending 13 hours in total in a waiting room. Even then I was that desperate to be admitted I told the professional on duty that if she doesnt section me I will wait for her at staff entrance and slice my own throat in front of her. Needless to say I was whisked off in an ambulance to the broadoak unit. Broadoak helped me abstain from cocaine, but my drug seeking ways were still evident as i always wanted the strongest sleeping pills. I was dealing with drug psychosis after consuming so much cocaine in the days prior to my admittance that I was hearing voices, and seeing the devil and bats, leading me to spend a lot of the time hiding under the covers like a small child. I stayed there for a couple of months, my depression got slightly better. I was advised by my doctor to stay, but having help saved a friend from suicide, and being tormented by this lost soul from syria who was convinced everyone was going to behead him I felt enough was enough, I was about to leave hospital with no fixed abode.

Liverpool has a huge homeless problem, but before I had to have a night on the streets I recieved some fantastic help from a charity called whitechaple centre. There was two venues, one for meals, one to hang out in, and then at night they drove us to a 'sit up' place in a salvation army building. It wasnt fun, but it also gave me comfort and hope. They arranged with a landlady to get me a room, and after 3-4 nights in a shelter I had my first ever place of my own.

I still needed to combat my demons, and somebody, I cant remember who, told me about the ,brink of change', a therapy group held in a fantastic alcohol free venue called the brink. It was ran by two fantastic people called Paula and Dave who were addicts just like me. It was then I first learnt about the life saving benefits of telling people that you're not ok. After several weeks in the brink of change they could tell I wanted this recovery so bad they sent me to rehab. It was there I met a wonderful councillor called Alan. Group therapy continued in rehab, and Alan quickly established my self esteem was a major issue. And with his help I battled it. I graduated from rehab a different man, but I knew there was still work to be done.

I step foot in a cocaine anonymous meeting for the first time after rehab. It was absolutely terrifying. My ego, still causing me problems, was telling me that I am going to be entering a room full of tough cocaine cocaine users who will want to fight me or sell me drugs. The truth couldnt have been further off. Yes, some of them looked tough, some of them intimidated me, but after a while I realised, 'why would they be all sitting here on a friday night if they didnt want the same as me?'

At the end of the meeting, all these intimidating men and women came up to me, welcomed me and hugged me. I couldnt believe it. I felt I belonged for the first time in my life. I couldnt believe that him with the smart shoes, and him with the smart fitting t-shirt had the same problem as me. I got myself a sponsor and started to share often. Whether I had had a good day or a bad day, it all helped.

I struggled a bit at first. I didnt want to admit that I had no power over this drug, I didnt want to accept that a god of my understanding could relieve me from the bondage of self and I certainly didnt want to give up alcohol, after all I wasnt an alcoholic. But I seen this 12 step program work for others, others who taught me that god doesnt have to be in the form of a man with a beard. I trust in the power of the universe to help me stay sober, and I trust that if I take a drink of alcohol I risk losing my newly found spiritual self and return to dark days.

In my dark days in January 2015, I somehow managed to charm a beautiful swedish girl called Emelie who has watched me grow. Her family have seen the 'real' me, and thankfully avoided seeing me at my worst. I thank god for waiting till the right time to bring Emelie and family into my life and I thank them all for their lack of judgement. Despite the heartbreak of losing many family and friends sobriety has helped me form new bonds and friendships that I am going to fight to keep forever.

I have since been able to pay rent, keep plants, enjoy being with family, enjoy being outside, cook, clean, be a trustworthy partner to Emelie and most importantly, stay sober and happy being sober.

I have even more recently been able to enjoy festivals and a wedding without taking a drink and a drug.

Early recovery is tough, you will think of your drug of choice on a daily basis, tormenting you to the point of serious temptation. But if you are like me, just think to yourself 'is this slight feeling of discomfort anywhere near as bad as I will feel if I put that first drug or drink in me?'

If anything like me, drugging led you to the insanity of spending time alone in a room with the curtains closed thinking every car outside the house was people spying on you, or the insanity of collapsing in a heap on the floor only to come around and have another line, then I am sure no matter how tough the cravings get, nothing compares to the hell of using.

Thanks for reading.

Thomas.

'Red desert - Point of no return' By Rita Monticelli

Being my first review, I was hoping not to have to be too critical of an author. Thankfully for me, the author in question, who offered me my first book to review was Rita Monticelli, and the book in question was the quite beautiful novella 'Red Desert - Point of no return'

The first novella in a series follows Swedish astronaut Anna Persson, who is a member of the first team Mars inhabitants. The first thing that captures me is the realism in the authors description of the planet, it's almost as if she took a vacation there to apply her research. However, she never ( i don't imagine) so I give the author immense credit and applause for the research she has applied in producing this story and creating a description of the red planet that almost makes it sound like she is describing a walk through London, Paris or Rome.

The second thing I notice is the immensely lonely atmosphere she manages to produce. We tend to think of astronauts as real life supermen. With Anna Persson however, we feel a connection, like she's one of us. A 'normal' human being with loved ones, feelings, and the same everyday struggles that affect all of us in our lives. The story focuses on the exploration of the planet, but there is an equally thrilling side story which focuses on Anna's prior life on earth which will make the story appeal to those readers who are maybe a bit reluctant to read because of the sci-fi genre.

The switches between the main story and the flashbacks are impeccably timed, leaving the reader gagging for more, and making it a real page turner (excuse the reviewers cliche)

If you want a story with an atmospheric feeling, excitement, and a couple of major edge of your seat incidents, then I recommend giving this story a read, you wont be disappointed.

Get in touch on twitter for links to download, and information on the next in the series.
@ladyanakina
@AnnaperssonDR

My name is cocaine.

'My name is cocaine'

This is a great piece of work, which was handed to me on one of my first days in recovery by a good friend Paul. He wrote it, but almost two years on I still read it to remind myself of the evils of the drug, and the reasons I can never EVER forget as to what it can lead too.

My name is cocain - call me coke for short
I entered this country without a passport
Ever since then I have made lots of folk rich
Some have been murdered and found in a ditch
I'm more valued than diamonds, more treasured than gold
Use me once and you too will be sold

I'll make a schoolboy forget all his books
I'll make a beauty queen forget all her looks
I'll take a renowned speaker, and make him a bore
I'll take your mother and make her a whore
I'll make a school teacher forget how to teach
I'll make a preacher not want to preach

I'll take all your money and yoi'll get evicted
I'll murder your babies, they will be born addicted
I'll make you rob and steal and kill
When you're under my power you lose all your will
Remember my friend, my name is 'big C'
If you try me once you may never be free

I've destroyed actors, politicians and heroes
I've decreased bank accounts from millions to zeros
I make shootings and stabbings a common affair
Once I take charge you wont have a prayer
Now that you know me, what will you do?
You have to decide it's all up to you

The day you agree to sit on my saddle
The decision is one that no one can straddle
Listen to me, and please listen well
When you ride with cocaine you are heading for hell.

Free books.

I understand that a reading hobby can be quite expensive, and I more than understand that to those in active addiction all expense goes to satisfying your addiction.

So let me help, to those interested, if you suffer from addiction or mental illness I will be more than willing to pay postage (to the uk) and send you some excellent reads which will hopefully help you in escaping yourself for a while.

Message me on twitter for more info.

@reading2recover

Thomas

Why I believe reading helps.

First of all, I am not saying the answer to addiction, anxiety and depression lies in simply picking up a book. It doesnt. It takes a lot of hard work, faith and courage. I will be posting more about my journey through drug dependency in later posts, but for now I am going to remain focused on the reading.

Alcoholism and addiction is a disease that centers in the mind and spirit, the big book of alcoholics anonymous describes it as a 'spiritual malady' and the answer in the big book is to have a faith in a higher power, which I have done, and it works.

But when all that is done we have to live life, that unfortunately means that as human beings, there are times when we will feel low, alone, and struggle with the thoughts that are in our own heads. In the past we have used drink or drugs to escape these thoughts and feelings, but now we have to find other ways to deal with 'life on lifes terms'

What a magical way to escape the thoughts in our own heads than to get lost in the thoughts in someone else's mind. A lot of great authors have used alcohol and stimulants and put pen to paper in order to escape, so I urge you to put your eyes to paper and explore the ideas that have come out of the minds of some wonderful writers.

Thomas

Reading for recovery

Hi,

My name's Thomas, I reside in Liverpool, England.

I have a passion for reading and writing. Whilst I don't have the skills to write a novel, or even a short story it came to me at 3am on a monday morning the answer to my question 'how can I give something back to these ancient past-times?'

The answer came to me like a light bulb being switched on. I can read a book, and share my experience to other people.

Now my reasons for doing this is not to become a feature in a magazine or newspaper. It's to share a positive message to people like me with whom reading could make a positive change in thier life like it has done in mine.

'People like me'
I'm an addict, I used to take cocaine and pain killers on a daily basis. It rendered me hopeless, I lost everything, family, a roof over my head, friend's, jobs and self pride. Thankfully, I now have most of them back, I am not here to tell you that the answer to being in a hopeless state of mind and body is to pick up the latest Harlen Coben novel and to escape your troubles. I needed rehab and a strong fellowship in Cocaine Anonymous to aid my recovery. But once you have the stepping stones to stay clean, then having a passion in your life, whether it be reading, which I will try and help promote, or something else, then it can really help to avoid picking up the potentially deadly 'first drink or drug'

Obviously my most recommended book is the big book of alcoholics anonymous. But once you have that in your life then hopefully I can help you over the coming weeks, months and years by recommending some lighter reading which you can enjoy with the piece of mind that the 12 steps can give you.

Obviously, this blog is not solely intended for addicts, I hope many fellow readers can gain access to many of the books I read, enjoy and share on this page.

Regards,

Thomas