Farewell to Gunnebah

So that, as they say, is that. After nearly three months, I’ve left the Gunnebah Addiction Retreat to start the next episode of whatever happens next. It has by any measure been quite a ride. By ‘it’, I refer not just to my time in rehabilitation, but to everything else that went before it, the things that led me here. And in coming to the end of that four year rollercoaster of addiction-driven insanity, I hope to have reached a new beginning. Really, it couldn’t come soon enough. Whilst I’m not in the frame of mind to start a pity-fest (quite the opposite in fact), it’s worth reminding myself what addiction can do to a person’s life. In the last three years I’ve lost pretty much everything: a marriage, friendships, property, money, my sanity (temporarily), the will to live, my boyish good looks and just about anything else you care to mention. But here today, right now, I feel better than I have done in years and so I take that as a cue to move on.

I’ve spent a lot of my time at rehab swimming in the deep, still waters of therapy and sober reflection. If you give it a chance, and maybe have a bit of luck, rehabilitation allows you the time and space to take a longer, broader view of the things that have happened to you, the things you’ve done and the things you’d rather do instead. But not in the negative, ‘dwelling on the past and worrying about the future’ kind of way that is the cause of so much emotional disorder, but in a way that places the here and now as the focal point of the life you want to lead and the person you want to be. It asks you a lot of questions and invites you to answer in a structured, reflective and – hopefully – insightful way. It enables reflection and allows quietude. I mention luck here, because not everyone has it. I’ve seen some people struggle in rehab and have to leave, often because of an underlying mental or physical health issue or, more simply, because they’re just not ready to quit yet.

For the first two, it’s very hard to find a way forward at this stage. Unless the rehab is specifically equipped to cope with complex psychiatric or medical issues, then the guest is rendered more of a patient and in need of a different kind of intervention. Problem is sometimes people don’t realise, or don’t accept, that they have a mental health issue and so carry on as usual, often with chaotic results. As for physical health, again people may not realise how compromised they are and fall ill during treatment, with liver complaints or what have you.

So for some, rehab may not be the answer just yet, or even at all. Personally, I’d been resisting the idea for some time. I think it was first suggested to me by my increasingly baffled psychologists and later friends at AA, who recognised a hopeless case when they saw one. In fact AA have a special category for people like me, one you really don’t want to end up in, if you can possibly avoid it: ‘An alcoholic of the hopeless variety’, who, ‘have lost jobs, lost relationships or their families, lost their health, lost everything and became homeless, but through it all they continue to drink.’

Step forward yours truly. Short of death itself, no earthly force was going to stop me drinking or using. No consequence was too severe, no loss too keenly felt. I simply wanted to drink and drink and drink until everything stopped. That it did eventually stop, predictably enough in the back of an ambulance, but without the arrival of death or serious medical damage is nothing short of a miracle. Mentally things are a bit more fragile. Whilst I’ve regained a lot of the marbles I lost, I think it’s fair to say that my mental health isn’t quite as robust as it used to be. It’s taken a real battering to be honest, and may never fully resolve itself. But it’s intact well enough and, with self-care, honesty, medication and ongoing treatment, I expect to avoid a one way ticket to the funny farm for the foreseeable.

As for these posts, I started them in response to a threefold desire to keep my friends and family informed of my progress, to satisfy the rehab’s suggestion that I keep a journal and, perhaps most importantly, to keep myself from going completely barmy. It’s worked on all three fronts, but in line with my own changes, it’s time for this to change too. I’m going to keep writing about my experiences with addiction, but I’ll transfer most of it now to a dedicated blog, which will also serve as a platform for other writerly activities, including the book. I’ll keep posting about these matters on Facebook occasionally but, for now, it’s time to draw a close to this particular escapade. I’ll promote the blog and any other writing on here, when we’ve got it up and running.

But before I nip off, I’d like to say thank you to a few particular people. I wondered about naming people individually as there are so many people to thank, so first of all, thank you to all of you who have supported these posts with your comments, likes and loves, practical and financial help and your gifts. Thank you very much, you’re truly lovely people.

I’d like to thank all the staff at the Gunnebah Addiction Retreat particularly the team of brilliant therapists – Jock, Alexis, Alex, Angie and Andy – for saving my sanity and, quite possibly, my life. You’ve all been centrally involved in my recovery and I can’t thank you enough. If I’m well today, it’s because of you.

To the owners of Gunnebah, namely Warwick and Jenny Parer and their daughter Trinity, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness, generosity and common human decency. In a cynical world, it’s good to know that the very best of people are still out there, helping others, saving lives and contributing to a better society.

To my dear friends Katharine Khan, Wendy Pickthall and everyone on the funding committee for leading the organisational and financial initiative that got me into rehab, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys are stuck with me now…

And last but not least to my brothers and sisters in recovery, thank you for being some of the finest and strongest people I’ve ever met. You’ve all been an inspiration to me. I won’t forget you and I’ll never give up on you.

Thank you all again.