Short blog today as I'm just in and it's been a long old day.
Not a bad day. Meditated this morning, went to work, got busy, then a good meeting tonight.
Weirdly at around 2pm, after a business meeting I started to get terrific fear around my job. Low self esteem kicked in and I started to have major doubts about my performance. I started to get overwhelmed, feel inferior and it felt odd.
I carried on regardless, but I really noticed how much I am governed by fear and low self esteem. How it can strike at any given time.
If I'm honest it has been with me deep down all my life. It has driven my actions. I still have it now.
I have gone into relationships, screwed around, run marathons, changed jobs and lived my life driven by a deep rooted fear of not being good enough or afraid to let go. It's so deep most people wouldn't ever see it.
My actions and life could be described as a series of events, but if I'm honest most of it has been a desperate attempt to run away, bury or hide from the fear.
But how long can you run? How many outside forces can you keep chasing to fix the inherent low self esteem inside?
When I'm busy with life, I'm usually OK. You haven't got time to think about it. But when you realise the whole life has been one long avoidance of responsibility due to fear you start to get the picture.
Fear of commitment, fear of settling down, fear of being trapped, fear of letting go, fear of being alone, fear of not being good enough, fear of being skint, fear of rejection, abandonment. And so it goes on. FEAR.
When this is coupled with the polar opposite, a higher ego and sense of expectant entitlement then it is on a collision course to run your life. That is how one creates the life one has. I have got exactly what I deserved. All the relationships, the sex, the women, the acting out, the health, the eating, the body dismorphia, the endurance events, the lack of planning for the future. All of it is as a direct result of my actions to try and manage the chronic fear.
You would never know it when looking or speaking to me. I am out going, sociable, cocky sometimes. I come across as ultra confident. Fear cannot be detected. But deep down, holy fuck I'm terrified and this keeps me believing i'm not a proper man because I have avoided responsibility. It cuts deep. It's a painful place to be, unwilling to face the fear and unable to admit defeat. Pride and ego running the show. Not a lot of time for a higher power in that set up is there?
This is all deep rooted stuff. Things I haven't dared to look at or visit and to be fair, at 10.45pm, when I've just got in and Minder is on ITV4. It can wait for another day.
Just thought I'd bring it up
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Day 105 - Looking at the alcoholic ego in the cold light of day
The day after the raging storm.
Yesterday was not one of my proudest. Storming out of anywhere is both needless and dramatic. I may as well have left my dummy behind. King baby.
When you get rage and act out on it, there is almost always a come down afterwards. Whether it be telling a call centre operative some home truths (only to have the phone put down on you) an argument, violence or road rage. Once the sense of injustice settles you almost always regret doing it.
Rage never gets anywhere.
I'm not sure what was more embarrassing. Storming out of a meeting with a parting shot of 'this is bullshit you can all fuck off' or nearly slipping over during the outburst.
I have seen people fall over when in the midst of shouting and it just makes the utter public humiliation even worse. Of course the perpetrator could never laugh at oneself. We are far too busy taking ourselves far too seriously for that.
Some of my points may have been valid. The feedback I've got from people seems to show that, it's the manner which I seem to execute it. The danger is getting myself labelled as 'anti God', 'anti happy' or 'anti AA'.
Everyone has a right to be who they want, say what they want and do recovery as they want. It would be a dull old world if we were all the same. It's also dangerous to get into a 'us versus them' type situation. Then I'm judging others as I would hate myself to be judged.
Just because I was having a bad day I don't expect everyone else too. Just like if I find it hard to connect to a higher power I don't believe other's shouldn't share about theirs.
It's true that like attracts like. We find enablers that will either agree or encourage us to be a certain way as it allows them to stay in their own behaviour. People who like being in the illness, will justify it, get others on their side to make it justifiable. Make sense?
I know I have to be careful about doing that. How many people are sitting in a pub tonight demolishing endless pints whilst running down AA. It's dangerous territory.
But it's also good to challenge. To question. To rattle a few cages. Part of me likes that and feels OK to do so. There is appropriate ways though.
Trouble is when you nail your colours to the mast, you get labelled as a hater or non believer or miserable. I have to try and have an open mind. I have to try and believe there are other ways other than my own.
This is difficult for an alcoholic, because we're all so utterly ego centric and all think we're right. Well I do anyway.
Reading some of the AA literature today made me think about the disease. I was struck by how many phrases there were which described the ego maniac alcoholic personality;
"We could feel superior to all of them."
"Defiance is the outstanding characteristic of many an alcoholic"
"we were far too smart for our own good"
And finally in Step 12 an absolute belter;
"When AA was quite young, a number of eminent psychologists and doctors made a study of a good-sized group of so called problem drinkers. They sought to find whatever personality traits, if any, this group of alcoholics had in common. These distinguished men had the nerve to say that most of the alcoholics were still childish, emotionally sensitive and grandiose."
Fucking boom!!!!! How funny. How true. It totally nails the alcoholic. It makes me laugh every time. Because that's why my ego runs off with me sometimes and that's the reason why sometimes I sit in rooms and listen to people who are not like that. They claim never to have been like that and that's when I start to get twitchy.
If I feel like an outsider or I don't belong in an AA meeting. I'm in big trouble and I start to get edgy.
Then when I read that literature, listen to people sharing honestly how they do not act like that or what they do to change it and go the other way, or their challenge in changing that's where I get the identification, experience and hope. I guess in a nutshell I didn't get that last night and over reacted.
I see that now.
In fairness. I got calls from 3 people at the meeting. They were very sweet and caring. I love alcoholics, I love the fellowship. It's big and old and ugly enough to hold lunatics like me and I'm lucky to have it.
God bless AA and all the other 12 step fellowships. I'm not quite sure how this little lunatic would manage without them.
Together We Are Stronger.
Nicholas E Evans
Yesterday was not one of my proudest. Storming out of anywhere is both needless and dramatic. I may as well have left my dummy behind. King baby.
When you get rage and act out on it, there is almost always a come down afterwards. Whether it be telling a call centre operative some home truths (only to have the phone put down on you) an argument, violence or road rage. Once the sense of injustice settles you almost always regret doing it.
Rage never gets anywhere.
I'm not sure what was more embarrassing. Storming out of a meeting with a parting shot of 'this is bullshit you can all fuck off' or nearly slipping over during the outburst.
I have seen people fall over when in the midst of shouting and it just makes the utter public humiliation even worse. Of course the perpetrator could never laugh at oneself. We are far too busy taking ourselves far too seriously for that.
Some of my points may have been valid. The feedback I've got from people seems to show that, it's the manner which I seem to execute it. The danger is getting myself labelled as 'anti God', 'anti happy' or 'anti AA'.
Everyone has a right to be who they want, say what they want and do recovery as they want. It would be a dull old world if we were all the same. It's also dangerous to get into a 'us versus them' type situation. Then I'm judging others as I would hate myself to be judged.
Just because I was having a bad day I don't expect everyone else too. Just like if I find it hard to connect to a higher power I don't believe other's shouldn't share about theirs.
It's true that like attracts like. We find enablers that will either agree or encourage us to be a certain way as it allows them to stay in their own behaviour. People who like being in the illness, will justify it, get others on their side to make it justifiable. Make sense?
I know I have to be careful about doing that. How many people are sitting in a pub tonight demolishing endless pints whilst running down AA. It's dangerous territory.
But it's also good to challenge. To question. To rattle a few cages. Part of me likes that and feels OK to do so. There is appropriate ways though.
Trouble is when you nail your colours to the mast, you get labelled as a hater or non believer or miserable. I have to try and have an open mind. I have to try and believe there are other ways other than my own.
This is difficult for an alcoholic, because we're all so utterly ego centric and all think we're right. Well I do anyway.
Reading some of the AA literature today made me think about the disease. I was struck by how many phrases there were which described the ego maniac alcoholic personality;
"We could feel superior to all of them."
"Defiance is the outstanding characteristic of many an alcoholic"
"we were far too smart for our own good"
And finally in Step 12 an absolute belter;
"When AA was quite young, a number of eminent psychologists and doctors made a study of a good-sized group of so called problem drinkers. They sought to find whatever personality traits, if any, this group of alcoholics had in common. These distinguished men had the nerve to say that most of the alcoholics were still childish, emotionally sensitive and grandiose."
Fucking boom!!!!! How funny. How true. It totally nails the alcoholic. It makes me laugh every time. Because that's why my ego runs off with me sometimes and that's the reason why sometimes I sit in rooms and listen to people who are not like that. They claim never to have been like that and that's when I start to get twitchy.
If I feel like an outsider or I don't belong in an AA meeting. I'm in big trouble and I start to get edgy.
Then when I read that literature, listen to people sharing honestly how they do not act like that or what they do to change it and go the other way, or their challenge in changing that's where I get the identification, experience and hope. I guess in a nutshell I didn't get that last night and over reacted.
I see that now.
In fairness. I got calls from 3 people at the meeting. They were very sweet and caring. I love alcoholics, I love the fellowship. It's big and old and ugly enough to hold lunatics like me and I'm lucky to have it.
God bless AA and all the other 12 step fellowships. I'm not quite sure how this little lunatic would manage without them.
Together We Are Stronger.
Nicholas E Evans
Monday, April 28, 2014
Day 104 - I'm tired of the bullshit - Angry Nick Reappears
Tonight saw me storm out of an AA meeting for the first time in 12 years. I got tired of the bullshit and Angry Nick reared his raging head.
Usually one leaves a meeting with the serenity prayer peace in their head, not the words, "this is bullshit. Fuck you." Not much serenity there Nick!!
I can't tell you how angry I was in my early days (first 5 years). I was in people's phones as Angry Nick. I got barred from Bikram Yoga and M&S Balham for fucks sake. Proper angry.
It has calmed down over the years, however sometimes it appears and the white hot rage emerges. Usually it's around romance or finance but today it happened in a meeting.
To qualify I always get emotionally edgy around the anniversary of my father's death. I really listen hard about alcoholism and tend to get angry when I don't hear it in meetings or if I detect soft bullshit being spoken.
If I add the fact I am facing up to some really deep uncomfortable truths about myself. Abandonment, adult child of an alcoholic, family of origin, Alanon, commitment, fear, honesty, acting out, low self esteem. There is a lot of shit being whirled around the cracker factory.
Then on top of all that I've being undergoing relationship issues (who doesn't?) and suffering from a really heavy cold and candida. The conditions are not exactly conducive to feeling at ease, peaceful, happy, content and calm.
In short, a force 9 hurricane is on a near constant state of red alert in my head. Anger is never far away from. It's a comfortable uncomfortable emotion. It fits like a glove.
I know underneath it's fear. I know it's because I'm not comfortable with myself. I know I'm the problem and it's so easy to get angry at other things than face up to your own stuff.
But what if it's hard too? If it was so twee and easy then nobody would be angry. We'd all be so serene and peaceful if the answers I'm being given were so easy. Why the fuck are people so reluctant to share open and honestly about the pain of the journey and the difficulty to change?
I went to the meeting not wanting to be there, in a bad mood, feeling ill, edgy and tired. I got there late, I was not in a good place. So when people started piping up about God and Higher power and saying the usual cliché shit about how amazing their lives are, how wonderful it is to have a higher power I immediately started polishing the machine guns in my head.
The leg started twitching, the ears began burning, the head started racing, the hatred began to rise to intolerable levels. The bullshit detector beeped loudly. I l loaded the bullets and off I went.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. I should have kept my trap shut but my mouth seemed to open and out it all came. Tumbling into the open like a torrent of bile. Some of it was well meaning. All of it aimed at myself. But some of it around the God lot.
All I hear sometimes are sanctimonious self serving, back slapping bullshitters sharing what they think spirituality should sound like. They share how amazing it is to have climbed the mountain. They try and say it's so amazing you should try climbing it too. They share how incredible the view is, how happy they are with it, how wonderful life is from up the mountain. But they NEVER share about the pain of getting up there. They NEVER share how many attempts it took. They NEVER seem to openly say when they didn't want to climb, when they wanted to give up, how much help they had or indeed offer many clues in HOW they climbed it.
They may well be happy and if they are, good luck to them. I don't begrudge people that. All I want is the truth. it's as vulnerable to share the pain as it is the good stuff. Sometimes it's even harder to share when we're feeling good for fear of it turning bad. But if you've climbed the mountain, tell me about the view but offer me a hand to get up there too.
Don't spend all the time congratulating yourself and staying up there alone. That's called ego but you just cannot see it.
That is what I was talking about. I cannot identify with those people. I haven't climbed it. I'm on the journey. Its debatable if I've reached base camp, but just because I'm not sharing about how amazing it all is doesn't mean to say I'm not on the same mountain as them.
I know for a fact some people I hear share who are saying it's all wonderful either hate their wives, lives, jobs or have problems. That's OK. I haven't got a problem with any of that. It;'s called life and we're all working through our own shit. But for fucks sake please can we have a bit of honesty about it all so I don't feel like I'm going insane here?!!!!
As I was sharing someone butted in, which pissed me off. Like some kind of game show for a laugh. When I annihilated them and finshed, someone else piped up they were feeling happy, "sorry Nick".
At this point I snapped. What those dozy cunts didn't appreciate is that I don't begrudge anyone if they are happy. That's their business. In a meeting we share for ourselves. We never cross share in a meeting. I only ever mention my own name never anyone elses. So when someone directly name checked me based on my sharing, as far as I was concerned the meeting had crossed any kind of boundary., was sick and I was having no more part in it.
Fuck it, if people cannot take brutal honesty then they should go back to their spiritual mountain and go and break their own back from patting themselves on it. They're so busy pushing their agenda they miss the people crying in pain. What the fuck do you think my share was?
It was a man saying I'm in pain. And what did I get? I put down and people laughing at me. Fuck them I thought, which is when I got up, stormed out (nearly falling over which would have been a huge blow to my ego -you know when your angry and taking yourself so seriously, falling over is the last thing you want to do) said, 'that's out of line and bullshit and fuck this' and off I went.
At this point, no doubt people in the programme, the sanctimonious cunts who have little or no empathy or even understanding of alcoholism or emotional trauma will quote the book,
"acceptance is the answer to all my problems. It is not their problem it is mine." of course they would be quite right. It is my problem. My life, my decision. But it's HOW it is applied is the real issue. Don't just judge someone, who approach them with a throw away comment or quote.
Spend time with them, understand their pain, then you maybe able to offer suggestions. That's called love and care.
Someone came up to me after the meeting and effectively said that. They may have meant well, but it was not delivered with any feeling. It was empty words. Automatic. Someone who is in the state I was in is clearly in pain. Surely you would spend time and ask that person. Cut through the fucking made up cliché words you hear time and again in AA and actually listen to someone.
Luckily I had a pal who followed me out, took me for a tea, we talked, I calmed down. I realised it's not the meeting, or the people or anyone other than me. Finally
Yes they may have been talking bullshit, or cliches but am I going to take it out on everyone?
In the end we went to the alanon meeting and I heard lots of courage and what I needed to hear.
I heard about the courage of facing up to the fear of yourself inside. Facing up to the pain and the deep rooted deep insecurity and inadequacy I have buried behind ego and camouflaged all my life that when challenged makes me go directly into Rage.
That's what's at play here but half of the people in AA who walk around quoting the book have absolutely no idea the depth and extent of the alcoholic condition and if they think a few platitudes and prayers will automatically change a juggernaut of a disease they are either deluded or not alcoholics.
Oh and another thing. Whilst im owning up to my side of this and looking at causes rooted in my own life for such behaviour. I didn't look after myself . I ate chocolate until late. I got home from work, I ate shit cheap processed food, pork scratchings and made the worlds filthiest sandwich. I actually replaced bread with corned beef to make a pate, pickle sandwich between corned beef.
Fuck me do I actually disrespect myself that much I put that junk in my body and expect to feel OK. see what I'm up against here folks? There's more nutrition in
Oh and PS, a friend of mine sold their house today for £700k. Another reason in my low self esteem misaligned head space to beat myself up that I'm not A proper man because I haven't owned my own home or made money on the property trail. It was another example of the chronically negative beat oneself up head telling me I'm not a man.
This limiting inner belief goes deeper than I thought and man did it come to the surface today. Still, that is what The Inside Job is all about. Confronting these limiting beliefs and coming through them. and you know what I really will. Interesting stuff.
Sort it out Evans
Together We Are Stonger
Nicholas E Evans
Usually one leaves a meeting with the serenity prayer peace in their head, not the words, "this is bullshit. Fuck you." Not much serenity there Nick!!
I can't tell you how angry I was in my early days (first 5 years). I was in people's phones as Angry Nick. I got barred from Bikram Yoga and M&S Balham for fucks sake. Proper angry.
It has calmed down over the years, however sometimes it appears and the white hot rage emerges. Usually it's around romance or finance but today it happened in a meeting.
To qualify I always get emotionally edgy around the anniversary of my father's death. I really listen hard about alcoholism and tend to get angry when I don't hear it in meetings or if I detect soft bullshit being spoken.
If I add the fact I am facing up to some really deep uncomfortable truths about myself. Abandonment, adult child of an alcoholic, family of origin, Alanon, commitment, fear, honesty, acting out, low self esteem. There is a lot of shit being whirled around the cracker factory.
Then on top of all that I've being undergoing relationship issues (who doesn't?) and suffering from a really heavy cold and candida. The conditions are not exactly conducive to feeling at ease, peaceful, happy, content and calm.
In short, a force 9 hurricane is on a near constant state of red alert in my head. Anger is never far away from. It's a comfortable uncomfortable emotion. It fits like a glove.
I know underneath it's fear. I know it's because I'm not comfortable with myself. I know I'm the problem and it's so easy to get angry at other things than face up to your own stuff.
But what if it's hard too? If it was so twee and easy then nobody would be angry. We'd all be so serene and peaceful if the answers I'm being given were so easy. Why the fuck are people so reluctant to share open and honestly about the pain of the journey and the difficulty to change?
I went to the meeting not wanting to be there, in a bad mood, feeling ill, edgy and tired. I got there late, I was not in a good place. So when people started piping up about God and Higher power and saying the usual cliché shit about how amazing their lives are, how wonderful it is to have a higher power I immediately started polishing the machine guns in my head.
The leg started twitching, the ears began burning, the head started racing, the hatred began to rise to intolerable levels. The bullshit detector beeped loudly. I l loaded the bullets and off I went.
I couldn't hold it in anymore. I should have kept my trap shut but my mouth seemed to open and out it all came. Tumbling into the open like a torrent of bile. Some of it was well meaning. All of it aimed at myself. But some of it around the God lot.
All I hear sometimes are sanctimonious self serving, back slapping bullshitters sharing what they think spirituality should sound like. They share how amazing it is to have climbed the mountain. They try and say it's so amazing you should try climbing it too. They share how incredible the view is, how happy they are with it, how wonderful life is from up the mountain. But they NEVER share about the pain of getting up there. They NEVER share how many attempts it took. They NEVER seem to openly say when they didn't want to climb, when they wanted to give up, how much help they had or indeed offer many clues in HOW they climbed it.
They may well be happy and if they are, good luck to them. I don't begrudge people that. All I want is the truth. it's as vulnerable to share the pain as it is the good stuff. Sometimes it's even harder to share when we're feeling good for fear of it turning bad. But if you've climbed the mountain, tell me about the view but offer me a hand to get up there too.
Don't spend all the time congratulating yourself and staying up there alone. That's called ego but you just cannot see it.
That is what I was talking about. I cannot identify with those people. I haven't climbed it. I'm on the journey. Its debatable if I've reached base camp, but just because I'm not sharing about how amazing it all is doesn't mean to say I'm not on the same mountain as them.
I know for a fact some people I hear share who are saying it's all wonderful either hate their wives, lives, jobs or have problems. That's OK. I haven't got a problem with any of that. It;'s called life and we're all working through our own shit. But for fucks sake please can we have a bit of honesty about it all so I don't feel like I'm going insane here?!!!!
As I was sharing someone butted in, which pissed me off. Like some kind of game show for a laugh. When I annihilated them and finshed, someone else piped up they were feeling happy, "sorry Nick".
At this point I snapped. What those dozy cunts didn't appreciate is that I don't begrudge anyone if they are happy. That's their business. In a meeting we share for ourselves. We never cross share in a meeting. I only ever mention my own name never anyone elses. So when someone directly name checked me based on my sharing, as far as I was concerned the meeting had crossed any kind of boundary., was sick and I was having no more part in it.
Fuck it, if people cannot take brutal honesty then they should go back to their spiritual mountain and go and break their own back from patting themselves on it. They're so busy pushing their agenda they miss the people crying in pain. What the fuck do you think my share was?
It was a man saying I'm in pain. And what did I get? I put down and people laughing at me. Fuck them I thought, which is when I got up, stormed out (nearly falling over which would have been a huge blow to my ego -you know when your angry and taking yourself so seriously, falling over is the last thing you want to do) said, 'that's out of line and bullshit and fuck this' and off I went.
At this point, no doubt people in the programme, the sanctimonious cunts who have little or no empathy or even understanding of alcoholism or emotional trauma will quote the book,
"acceptance is the answer to all my problems. It is not their problem it is mine." of course they would be quite right. It is my problem. My life, my decision. But it's HOW it is applied is the real issue. Don't just judge someone, who approach them with a throw away comment or quote.
Spend time with them, understand their pain, then you maybe able to offer suggestions. That's called love and care.
Someone came up to me after the meeting and effectively said that. They may have meant well, but it was not delivered with any feeling. It was empty words. Automatic. Someone who is in the state I was in is clearly in pain. Surely you would spend time and ask that person. Cut through the fucking made up cliché words you hear time and again in AA and actually listen to someone.
Luckily I had a pal who followed me out, took me for a tea, we talked, I calmed down. I realised it's not the meeting, or the people or anyone other than me. Finally
Yes they may have been talking bullshit, or cliches but am I going to take it out on everyone?
In the end we went to the alanon meeting and I heard lots of courage and what I needed to hear.
I heard about the courage of facing up to the fear of yourself inside. Facing up to the pain and the deep rooted deep insecurity and inadequacy I have buried behind ego and camouflaged all my life that when challenged makes me go directly into Rage.
That's what's at play here but half of the people in AA who walk around quoting the book have absolutely no idea the depth and extent of the alcoholic condition and if they think a few platitudes and prayers will automatically change a juggernaut of a disease they are either deluded or not alcoholics.
Oh and another thing. Whilst im owning up to my side of this and looking at causes rooted in my own life for such behaviour. I didn't look after myself . I ate chocolate until late. I got home from work, I ate shit cheap processed food, pork scratchings and made the worlds filthiest sandwich. I actually replaced bread with corned beef to make a pate, pickle sandwich between corned beef.
Fuck me do I actually disrespect myself that much I put that junk in my body and expect to feel OK. see what I'm up against here folks? There's more nutrition in
Oh and PS, a friend of mine sold their house today for £700k. Another reason in my low self esteem misaligned head space to beat myself up that I'm not A proper man because I haven't owned my own home or made money on the property trail. It was another example of the chronically negative beat oneself up head telling me I'm not a man.
This limiting inner belief goes deeper than I thought and man did it come to the surface today. Still, that is what The Inside Job is all about. Confronting these limiting beliefs and coming through them. and you know what I really will. Interesting stuff.
Sort it out Evans
Together We Are Stonger
Nicholas E Evans
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Day 103 - A Bad Head Day but Learniing to sit with uncomfortable feelings - YUK
Hello readers. Are you having a good day? How's your weekend? Are you up to much? Whatever you're doing I hope you're enjoying.
It's Saturday evening and I'm sat at home writing this blog.
I wasn't feeling it today. I must admit I'd rather be doing almost anything else than writing this. I was almost tempted to clean my filthy windows, it was that bad.
Why am I so reluctant to write? The sun is shining outside, it's a spring evening. I could be doing almost anything. Cinema, friends, meeting, walk, meditate, movie.
My girlfriend is away for the weekend, we usually do stuff on Saturday night so I have a free night. In the past this would have meant filling it with meaningless sex, dates or other kinds of dubious behaviour. Instead I am struck with such an enormous feeling of apathy that in truth I cannot be arsed to do anything. I feel isolated.
I woke up in an iffy mood. A sort of disconnection from life. No drive, no desire, no get up and go today. Why I'm not sure. I felt OK last night.
I'm not feeling physically great this week, my body hurts today and the head is most definitely on me. It's telling me quite a few negative messages loudly. I've tried to avoid it, nip it in the bud, shit it off and counteract it, but it is relentless and I just feel like curling up, isolating and keeping a low profile tonight.
That's why I didn't want to write. Pride. I want to write great stuff, positive pros, reports of doing extraordinary things, vitality, joy of life.
Instead I have retreated into the head and am locked in. I am writing this to break free.
I want to write that I am finding solutions, that I'm not living in the problem. I feel embarrassed and guilty today that I'm not.
My head was on me when I got up. The indecision. The disconnection. The gloom. The emptiness. The isolation. All nonsense of course but oh so real.
Then the attempt to change the thinking. Prayer, meditation, a meeting, tea with a friend, the gym , then meet another good mate for a couple of hours of brutal sharing. It was good. It worked I wasn't in my head. The feelings of before weren't there.
Then I got back home at 7pm and back they came. Flooding in. Negative thoughts cascading in like a river of shit. 'Your still smoking, your still drinking DC, your neck hurts, you're not changing, you haven't got anything interesting lined up, you don't know what you want, you haven't rung your sponsor, you haven't checked in, not many people have rung you, your unable to commit to a relationship fully, your damaged.
I even started to doubt this blog, what I write, my recovery. The whole shooting match. It was all going on. The door had opened and negativity kicked it down.
I put on The Secret and listened. The bit where it said 'you control your thoughts. Only you can change the dynamic of your life." I turned it off. Dynamism can come tomorrow.
Instead I chose to do something I avoid. I sat with it. really horrible, uncomfortable feelings that a 10 mile run, 200 press ups, a wank, interest from a woman or other forms of attention/avoidance can do to help take you away from this head. I didn't do any of these things. I sat in my kitchen, in silence, writing this.
As I write it I could feel myself lifting. I could feel the negativity lift (slightly) but just enough to notice. I could peek into the irrational thinking and say, 'It's OK. It's not going to kill you. It's just FEAR (False Evidence Appearing Real). I could tell I needn't 'fix' on something to change the way I feel.
It may seem small, insignificant or routine for you reading this but for me? It's colossal (my favourite new word). I cannot begin to describe what kinds of weird and wonderful ways of avoiding uncomfortable feelings I have come up with. I'll save that for the book.
I'm too tired anyway. I have no desire for any of that shit. Instead I will allow my feelings to come...........and go. Just like the tide.
Some days are better than others, the important thing is to know when you're tired, ill, in pain or life situations, it's easy for the head to latch on and run away with itself. Catastrophising everything.
Yes, it maybe true that I can change my thinking. That right actions will help to create fulfilment.
But some days you just have to shrug your shoulders, acknowledge you're not feeling amazing, shut the curtains, switch on (Insert crap TV here....) and just say;
"Thanks for today God. I didn't drink, I didn't cheat, I didn't piss anyone off, I didn't argue, I didn't get arrested, I didn't hurt anyone.Yes I judged a man in the meeting this morning for wearing sunglasses inside, but he deserved it, what kind of show off cunt does that? Not even me in my most attention seeking ways does that kind of shit, but on the whole my scorecard read + today. I may not have set the world on fire. This may not be the best ever blog but you've done OK. Give yourself a break young man. Apparently that's the start to loving yourself. Cheers God"
Enjoy the rest of your weekend and come on Liverpool FC
NE
and so it went on.
It's Saturday evening and I'm sat at home writing this blog.
I wasn't feeling it today. I must admit I'd rather be doing almost anything else than writing this. I was almost tempted to clean my filthy windows, it was that bad.
Why am I so reluctant to write? The sun is shining outside, it's a spring evening. I could be doing almost anything. Cinema, friends, meeting, walk, meditate, movie.
My girlfriend is away for the weekend, we usually do stuff on Saturday night so I have a free night. In the past this would have meant filling it with meaningless sex, dates or other kinds of dubious behaviour. Instead I am struck with such an enormous feeling of apathy that in truth I cannot be arsed to do anything. I feel isolated.
I woke up in an iffy mood. A sort of disconnection from life. No drive, no desire, no get up and go today. Why I'm not sure. I felt OK last night.
I'm not feeling physically great this week, my body hurts today and the head is most definitely on me. It's telling me quite a few negative messages loudly. I've tried to avoid it, nip it in the bud, shit it off and counteract it, but it is relentless and I just feel like curling up, isolating and keeping a low profile tonight.
That's why I didn't want to write. Pride. I want to write great stuff, positive pros, reports of doing extraordinary things, vitality, joy of life.
Instead I have retreated into the head and am locked in. I am writing this to break free.
I want to write that I am finding solutions, that I'm not living in the problem. I feel embarrassed and guilty today that I'm not.
My head was on me when I got up. The indecision. The disconnection. The gloom. The emptiness. The isolation. All nonsense of course but oh so real.
Then the attempt to change the thinking. Prayer, meditation, a meeting, tea with a friend, the gym , then meet another good mate for a couple of hours of brutal sharing. It was good. It worked I wasn't in my head. The feelings of before weren't there.
Then I got back home at 7pm and back they came. Flooding in. Negative thoughts cascading in like a river of shit. 'Your still smoking, your still drinking DC, your neck hurts, you're not changing, you haven't got anything interesting lined up, you don't know what you want, you haven't rung your sponsor, you haven't checked in, not many people have rung you, your unable to commit to a relationship fully, your damaged.
I even started to doubt this blog, what I write, my recovery. The whole shooting match. It was all going on. The door had opened and negativity kicked it down.
I put on The Secret and listened. The bit where it said 'you control your thoughts. Only you can change the dynamic of your life." I turned it off. Dynamism can come tomorrow.
Instead I chose to do something I avoid. I sat with it. really horrible, uncomfortable feelings that a 10 mile run, 200 press ups, a wank, interest from a woman or other forms of attention/avoidance can do to help take you away from this head. I didn't do any of these things. I sat in my kitchen, in silence, writing this.
As I write it I could feel myself lifting. I could feel the negativity lift (slightly) but just enough to notice. I could peek into the irrational thinking and say, 'It's OK. It's not going to kill you. It's just FEAR (False Evidence Appearing Real). I could tell I needn't 'fix' on something to change the way I feel.
It may seem small, insignificant or routine for you reading this but for me? It's colossal (my favourite new word). I cannot begin to describe what kinds of weird and wonderful ways of avoiding uncomfortable feelings I have come up with. I'll save that for the book.
I'm too tired anyway. I have no desire for any of that shit. Instead I will allow my feelings to come...........and go. Just like the tide.
Some days are better than others, the important thing is to know when you're tired, ill, in pain or life situations, it's easy for the head to latch on and run away with itself. Catastrophising everything.
Yes, it maybe true that I can change my thinking. That right actions will help to create fulfilment.
But some days you just have to shrug your shoulders, acknowledge you're not feeling amazing, shut the curtains, switch on (Insert crap TV here....) and just say;
"Thanks for today God. I didn't drink, I didn't cheat, I didn't piss anyone off, I didn't argue, I didn't get arrested, I didn't hurt anyone.Yes I judged a man in the meeting this morning for wearing sunglasses inside, but he deserved it, what kind of show off cunt does that? Not even me in my most attention seeking ways does that kind of shit, but on the whole my scorecard read + today. I may not have set the world on fire. This may not be the best ever blog but you've done OK. Give yourself a break young man. Apparently that's the start to loving yourself. Cheers God"
Enjoy the rest of your weekend and come on Liverpool FC
NE
and so it went on.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Day 102 - To thine own self be true...
I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/self.html#PKPGBzBmHFO09L0r.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/self.html#PKPGBzBmHFO09L0r.99
I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/self.html#PKPGBzBmHFO09L0r.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/self.html#PKPGBzBmHFO09L0r.99
I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/aristotle117887.html#M11uLhvIfPzqa1xr.99
Self, self, selfRead more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/aristotle117887.html#M11uLhvIfPzqa1xr.99
I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/self.html#HPRzUoMaeVrrfPrj.99
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/self.html#HPRzUoMaeVrrfPrj.99
"I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self." - Aristotle
I was told, I spent all day in self, then I went to a meeting to share about self and left the meeting thinking about what I was going to write, self and then went home to actually write about, wait for it, yes you guessed it, self!!
Christ when it's pointed out like that, it really is pure self isn't it? But is it a fair point? After all, as Aristotle pointed out above, the hardest victory is over self.
For me, when negative self takes over it is a bad thing. But, when in pursuit of a positive self, in the sense of who you are, what you believe in, what you want to do, where you want to be. That pursuit of self can only be a good thing. This blog is a view into my battle to get over self and all that comes with it. (with a few days of nonsense thrown in)
It did raise my shackles a bit when it was suggested (in a gentle way) that when I am thinking about self, planning what I'm going to write and actually writing this blog that I am missing what is actually going on with the world. I am missing life.
It smarted a bit to hear. But I can understand the point. I can see how it may come across. But let me explain why I don't necessarily agree. In the past 2 days I have made a mental shift, where I am determined to examine my own behaviour and stop pointing the finger of blame at others.
I am entirely responsible for my own life and decisions and I spend too long criticising or judging others whilst conveniently overlooking my own shortcomings. Yes I have owned up to them in this blog but on a deep gut level I've still been quick to point the finger.
I have written this before of course, but if I'm honest I've not really felt it. But today I feel it and it is refreshing to look at my role in life and the part I play. Some of it is uncomfortable. It doesn't stop others being out of order or doing things I don't agree with, but there is a great source of freedom and space in letting go of other people's harm or problems and concentrate on your own.
I suppose it can be argued this is self but in a good way. After all clearing away your own wreckage allows more space for the good stuff right? How can one enjoy and participate in life if your full of anger and resentment towards the world and it's ways? This is a peculiar kind of soul sickness,
So why do I disagree I am missing out on life by writing this?
Number 1
I'm bound to disagree as a justification of writing it. Members of my family complain they only learn what's going on with me through reading the blog but in writing one can share more freely as you don't have the pressure a conversation can bring, in the sense you sometimes have to edit what you say or not express yourself in a way that writing or indeed sharing at a meeting brings. It is a much rawer truth I enjoy.
Number 2 - I really enjoy the process of creativity in writing. Especially when it's about raw truth. Granted it is about me. It can possibly get too samey and self obsessed but trust me there is a reason behind it. There is a bigger picture at play. I may not have found it yet, but believe it or not this blog is not just to massage my ego or self obsession.
Number 3 - I feel this is my calling. It is not for effect I write this. After all I'm only pulling in between 40-100 readers, but it's more a sense of duty and purpose I feel in throwing open the alcoholic personality and ego and explore the ways it tries to derail me. I see it more as a social experiment and search for the solution and truth, which I hope others can identify with.
That to me is life. It is a life I am interested in. In a slightly wank, arty way I feel I'm being pure to myself and displaying artistic and creative integrity. Of course, if it means missing out on some things in life then I'm prepared for that. In truth some of life bores the shit out of me anyway. What he did, what she did etc etc. I can watch that in Eastenders. Some days I just want to get under the bonnet, observe what's there and try to get rid of the bad stuff. You have no idea what a good response to my writing does for me. It is a source of deep joy when people like and connect.
So I guess I am very protective of my work, whilst retaining a healthy respect for the observations of people close to me. I like feeling that way for today. I feel rather free and much easier in my own skin. I feel I am doing what I believe in, what I enjoy and what I feel is right.
"To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." - William Shakespeare
These are the themes I am interested in. What is lacking in some of us that we need these things to define us. Why can I not stop at one? Why do I wallow in self or pity or fear?
These are all fascinating questions and ones for tonight I don't have any answers to, but I will be exploring them this year. I suppose that's why I've only got 50 regulars. It takes patience, diligence and a raw courage to read this let alone write it.
Most blogs or self help pieces are easy to digest. Those who have read this all the way through are the hardcore. The elite. You should congratulate yourself as I genuinely believe this is the best blog in the world. Perhaps not the best written and possibly the hardest to read but the best material, so I commend you. We're all in it together and just for today I feel really good we are.
To thine own self be true is surely the way to happiness. That, £23 million and a 12 inch cock. I guess I'm going to have to pursue the former. Far more attainable.
Together We Are Stronger
Aristotle and Shakespeare quotes in one blog and mention of a 12 inch cock. Doesn't get more eclectic than that does it?
Nicholas E Evans
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Day 101 - Men who made a mark in the world
Firstly, what's going on for me;
I have a streaming man cold. Not an ordinary cold, a genetically mutated one, when combined with male chromosomes and DNA it becomes a Nazi super cold turning me into something akin to the Third Reich. Good job I'm not one to complain.
I'm having a terrible lack of sympathy from the world though, and I cant believe my girlfriend hasn't been round every night with an emergency pack. How dare she have her own life and responsibilities. Doesn't she know who I think I am?
Talking of which, I suddenly came to the realisation today that my entire life has been dedicated to the pursuit of total self seeking and absolution from any responsibility. Not something to beat myself up about today but seeing as I'm knocking on a bit at 41, perhaps it's about time I grew up?
The bad new is I feel a stirring inside (no its not what you think) that I'm changing. I'm not going to lie, my ego battles it but those of you with kids/families/responsibilities will no doubt be shaking their heads and thinking, 'you just wait Evans, you have no idea what's ahead of you'. We shall see, more will be revealed.
Due to the heavy cold I spent most of the day in self, thinking about what's wrong with me. This is guaranteed misery and I managed to wallow in it for 2 hours after getting back from work.
I had to drag myself to my meeting, it felt like my sofa was made of treacle. However within 90 mins sanity had been restored, I got out of my head, got some perspective and can breathe easier. I am now human again. Thanks AA. Nice one. Another example of my ego trying so desperately hard to make me unhappy and not do what is good for me. I get a daily bulletin of that.
Now to other news. I read the paper today and 2 stories jumped out at me.
Two people to commend;
1 - Stephen Sutton - A 19 year old, completed 36 tasks of 46 on his bucket list after being diagnosed with terminal cancer. His last one was to break £1million for the Teenage Cancer Trust. What a legend. His last message posted on his Facebook page yesterday was 'Cancer sucks, but life has been brilliant. That's it from me but life has been good, very good." Holy fuck what an amazing character. If I can get even a smidgen of that boys heart, life force, gratitude, humility, sense of adventure and spirit I'd be doing well. Makes me feel embarrassed and guilty to be so far up my own arse sometimes and gloomily ungrateful in the passage I wrote above. I commend you Stephen. What a man who has made his mark on the world. Inspirational;
You can donate here if you fancy - http://www.justgiving.com/Stephen-Sutton-TCT/eurl.axd/f3b8e2b8d324834eb9813df16d168837
2 - Luke Cameron - A shop manager from Gloucester set up Raknominate as a daily diary in direct response to Neknominate. He despaired at the use of social media to promote binge drinking, so he set up the same nomination process but in doing Random acts of kindness. He set himself a task of doing a good deed every day this year, and then others have joined in and nominated others to do the same. It has taken off hugely.
He started it by buying a woman behind him in the queue at KFC a £16 meal (arguably that's cruelty). He said "We all need help sometimes and giving someone an extra hand to those people who need it is the aim of the diary. I started to good deed diary after going through a lot as a child with my own heart surgery and then having lost someone close to cancer. It's really nice to see it's catching on."
Good for him. What a great story. He is doing it for good reasons and has tapped into something special and got a shit load of publicity from it. As part of our AA programme, it promotes 'do someone a good turn and not get found out. It will not count if you tell someone." I cant tell you how frustrating that is, as my ego wants the world to know when I've done a good turn. That is true humility which I fail on regularly.
Some days though I have no thought for another human being let alone helping them with a random act of kindness so anything that promotes thinking of others is a good thing in my book. And a good antidote to my selfish ego.
I commend you Luke, though rather amusingly I caught my ego instantly reacting with jealousy that his diary made it to the Times and 1000's of people on Facebook. Thank god I have that Ego in check, just for today. (sniggers all round)
Nice one Luke.
(PS - does writing this blog count as a random act of kindness as apparently it helps people in the sense that I say shit that's in their head but they don't get a chance to say it, so by hearing me express it, it makes it OK to think that. Make sense? OK I'm talking shit. I helped an old girl open a door today though - does that count? Oh fuck, it doesn't because I didn't keep my stupid trap shut over doing it. Tits. Try again tomorrow.
Together We Are Stronger
NE
I have a streaming man cold. Not an ordinary cold, a genetically mutated one, when combined with male chromosomes and DNA it becomes a Nazi super cold turning me into something akin to the Third Reich. Good job I'm not one to complain.
I'm having a terrible lack of sympathy from the world though, and I cant believe my girlfriend hasn't been round every night with an emergency pack. How dare she have her own life and responsibilities. Doesn't she know who I think I am?
Talking of which, I suddenly came to the realisation today that my entire life has been dedicated to the pursuit of total self seeking and absolution from any responsibility. Not something to beat myself up about today but seeing as I'm knocking on a bit at 41, perhaps it's about time I grew up?
The bad new is I feel a stirring inside (no its not what you think) that I'm changing. I'm not going to lie, my ego battles it but those of you with kids/families/responsibilities will no doubt be shaking their heads and thinking, 'you just wait Evans, you have no idea what's ahead of you'. We shall see, more will be revealed.
Due to the heavy cold I spent most of the day in self, thinking about what's wrong with me. This is guaranteed misery and I managed to wallow in it for 2 hours after getting back from work.
I had to drag myself to my meeting, it felt like my sofa was made of treacle. However within 90 mins sanity had been restored, I got out of my head, got some perspective and can breathe easier. I am now human again. Thanks AA. Nice one. Another example of my ego trying so desperately hard to make me unhappy and not do what is good for me. I get a daily bulletin of that.
Now to other news. I read the paper today and 2 stories jumped out at me.
Two people to commend;
1 - Stephen Sutton - A 19 year old, completed 36 tasks of 46 on his bucket list after being diagnosed with terminal cancer. His last one was to break £1million for the Teenage Cancer Trust. What a legend. His last message posted on his Facebook page yesterday was 'Cancer sucks, but life has been brilliant. That's it from me but life has been good, very good." Holy fuck what an amazing character. If I can get even a smidgen of that boys heart, life force, gratitude, humility, sense of adventure and spirit I'd be doing well. Makes me feel embarrassed and guilty to be so far up my own arse sometimes and gloomily ungrateful in the passage I wrote above. I commend you Stephen. What a man who has made his mark on the world. Inspirational;
You can donate here if you fancy - http://www.justgiving.com/Stephen-Sutton-TCT/eurl.axd/f3b8e2b8d324834eb9813df16d168837
2 - Luke Cameron - A shop manager from Gloucester set up Raknominate as a daily diary in direct response to Neknominate. He despaired at the use of social media to promote binge drinking, so he set up the same nomination process but in doing Random acts of kindness. He set himself a task of doing a good deed every day this year, and then others have joined in and nominated others to do the same. It has taken off hugely.
He started it by buying a woman behind him in the queue at KFC a £16 meal (arguably that's cruelty). He said "We all need help sometimes and giving someone an extra hand to those people who need it is the aim of the diary. I started to good deed diary after going through a lot as a child with my own heart surgery and then having lost someone close to cancer. It's really nice to see it's catching on."
Good for him. What a great story. He is doing it for good reasons and has tapped into something special and got a shit load of publicity from it. As part of our AA programme, it promotes 'do someone a good turn and not get found out. It will not count if you tell someone." I cant tell you how frustrating that is, as my ego wants the world to know when I've done a good turn. That is true humility which I fail on regularly.
Some days though I have no thought for another human being let alone helping them with a random act of kindness so anything that promotes thinking of others is a good thing in my book. And a good antidote to my selfish ego.
I commend you Luke, though rather amusingly I caught my ego instantly reacting with jealousy that his diary made it to the Times and 1000's of people on Facebook. Thank god I have that Ego in check, just for today. (sniggers all round)
Nice one Luke.
(PS - does writing this blog count as a random act of kindness as apparently it helps people in the sense that I say shit that's in their head but they don't get a chance to say it, so by hearing me express it, it makes it OK to think that. Make sense? OK I'm talking shit. I helped an old girl open a door today though - does that count? Oh fuck, it doesn't because I didn't keep my stupid trap shut over doing it. Tits. Try again tomorrow.
Together We Are Stronger
NE
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Day 100 - It's so Exhausting Knowing Everything
Can you believe it? This weekend my girlfriend had the temerity to call me 'a know it all'!! "A know it all?" Yes, she replied, "A know it all!"
My reply to her? "I know I am."
It's hard being a know it all. Know it all ism is an affliction I've had to endure all my life. It's exhausting knowing everything. Yes it may piss people off and cause revulsion and distaste but think of the isolation us know it all's face every day.
It takes an awful lot of energy not to give advice, to keep your trap shut and not point out to people what they should be doing. A know it all has constant commentary in their head and the effort it takes to keep it there is colossal. It's exhausting.
The people you see walking around this earth talking to themselves are classic know it alls. They've just taken the insanity it a bit further than the rest of us. My father would talk to himself, having imaginary arguments with his bosses and it would nearly always end with the phrase, 'you fucking wankers'. He was a know it all. Arrogance is a family trait.
Of course a good know it all will express opinions and thoughts without accumulating the necessary experience first. I'm never short of an opinion or solution to a problem on parenting (never had kids), marriage guidance (never been married) selling/buying property (never owned a house) long term relationships (longest is 3 years) women (I wont go there)
The sad truth for a know it all, is that we are frequently right, Most know it alls have a high level of intelligence and sensitivity. Trouble is when mixed with an alcoholic ego, we never see when we're wrong, display enough humility to wait to be asked for an opinion or wait to get the full facts in first.
It pisses people right off and then we get hurt when we're not listened to or you see people making the mistakes you predicted in the first place. A frustrating place to be.
Know it all ism is pure ego. Out of control ego mania. What else could it be? If you think you know best all the time there is little or no place for other people's opinions or facts. That is pure tunnel vision and us know it all's are masters of this annoying behaviour.
So, whilst it's a bit of a blow to be called a know it all, it's also helpful. After all we need to be pulled up somewhere along the lines. Then we need to put steps into place to try and change. If it means trying to practice patience, tolerance, love and understanding, then so be it. A know it all who doesn't want to learn then becomes a twat. There is no power in thinking your right all the time. Then you may as well become a politician.
All the great spiritual teachers and great men of our universe have practiced humility, open mindedness and love. How much is my ego out of control if I fail to take heed of such examples?
Meditation and prayer is an effective way of sating the ego beast and getting it down to a manageable size.
That to me is when I know I'm in my alcoholic ego. When it is roaring unchecked it is nearly always on a collision course with someone or something. The result is conflict of some kind and usually I invariably hurt either myself or others in some way.
It's all part of the learning process. I'm a slow learner but in my opinion it's no bad thing to own up to being an ego maniac. It's no bad thing to own up to know it allism. It's the ones who flatly deny it who are the real problems. They go for years undetected.
And it's not only the loud arrogant ones who display know it all ism. What about the people pleasers or the martyrs? Silently living in flat resentment or denial feeling they have been wronged or harmed against? Are those not living in their own know it all ism too. Unprepared to see another point of view or way of living?
There are so many layers to know it all ism/ego, I'm only beginning to scratch the surface. It's just so bloody exhausting knowing all this shit. Someday humility will kick in and I'll let it all go and just get on with my life and do my bit and let the big dog upstairs sort everyone else out. Apparently it's not my job, though sometimes that's news to me.
I've have worked out what I am though. Some days I'm an ego maniac with an inferiority complex others I'm an ego maniac with a superiority complex. It's just a flip of a coin. This means there's Plenty to work left to do on with this little alcoholic.
PS - I'm half man half chocolate today. I'm not sure what the world Easter Egg eating record is but I reckon I gave it a good go this weekend. I almost had to order Velcro fastening slip ons . I'm so full, good job I'm not a vein, self obsessed occasional body dysmorphia foodie isn't it?
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
My reply to her? "I know I am."
It's hard being a know it all. Know it all ism is an affliction I've had to endure all my life. It's exhausting knowing everything. Yes it may piss people off and cause revulsion and distaste but think of the isolation us know it all's face every day.
It takes an awful lot of energy not to give advice, to keep your trap shut and not point out to people what they should be doing. A know it all has constant commentary in their head and the effort it takes to keep it there is colossal. It's exhausting.
The people you see walking around this earth talking to themselves are classic know it alls. They've just taken the insanity it a bit further than the rest of us. My father would talk to himself, having imaginary arguments with his bosses and it would nearly always end with the phrase, 'you fucking wankers'. He was a know it all. Arrogance is a family trait.
Of course a good know it all will express opinions and thoughts without accumulating the necessary experience first. I'm never short of an opinion or solution to a problem on parenting (never had kids), marriage guidance (never been married) selling/buying property (never owned a house) long term relationships (longest is 3 years) women (I wont go there)
The sad truth for a know it all, is that we are frequently right, Most know it alls have a high level of intelligence and sensitivity. Trouble is when mixed with an alcoholic ego, we never see when we're wrong, display enough humility to wait to be asked for an opinion or wait to get the full facts in first.
It pisses people right off and then we get hurt when we're not listened to or you see people making the mistakes you predicted in the first place. A frustrating place to be.
Know it all ism is pure ego. Out of control ego mania. What else could it be? If you think you know best all the time there is little or no place for other people's opinions or facts. That is pure tunnel vision and us know it all's are masters of this annoying behaviour.
So, whilst it's a bit of a blow to be called a know it all, it's also helpful. After all we need to be pulled up somewhere along the lines. Then we need to put steps into place to try and change. If it means trying to practice patience, tolerance, love and understanding, then so be it. A know it all who doesn't want to learn then becomes a twat. There is no power in thinking your right all the time. Then you may as well become a politician.
All the great spiritual teachers and great men of our universe have practiced humility, open mindedness and love. How much is my ego out of control if I fail to take heed of such examples?
Meditation and prayer is an effective way of sating the ego beast and getting it down to a manageable size.
That to me is when I know I'm in my alcoholic ego. When it is roaring unchecked it is nearly always on a collision course with someone or something. The result is conflict of some kind and usually I invariably hurt either myself or others in some way.
It's all part of the learning process. I'm a slow learner but in my opinion it's no bad thing to own up to being an ego maniac. It's no bad thing to own up to know it allism. It's the ones who flatly deny it who are the real problems. They go for years undetected.
And it's not only the loud arrogant ones who display know it all ism. What about the people pleasers or the martyrs? Silently living in flat resentment or denial feeling they have been wronged or harmed against? Are those not living in their own know it all ism too. Unprepared to see another point of view or way of living?
There are so many layers to know it all ism/ego, I'm only beginning to scratch the surface. It's just so bloody exhausting knowing all this shit. Someday humility will kick in and I'll let it all go and just get on with my life and do my bit and let the big dog upstairs sort everyone else out. Apparently it's not my job, though sometimes that's news to me.
I've have worked out what I am though. Some days I'm an ego maniac with an inferiority complex others I'm an ego maniac with a superiority complex. It's just a flip of a coin. This means there's Plenty to work left to do on with this little alcoholic.
PS - I'm half man half chocolate today. I'm not sure what the world Easter Egg eating record is but I reckon I gave it a good go this weekend. I almost had to order Velcro fastening slip ons . I'm so full, good job I'm not a vein, self obsessed occasional body dysmorphia foodie isn't it?
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Day 99 - David Michael Evans - An alcoholic life and Inspiration in Death
Yesterday was the 4th anniversary of my father's death. He died a lonely, alcoholic death in a warden controlled flat in Parsons Green on Good Friday 2009. He was alone, 64 and left unfound for 6 days. His was a sad, alcoholic story of life and death.
His life was a classic alcoholic story. It affected a whole family, town and generation. His life wasn't in vain though. Through his sad death it inspired my Mother to go to Alanon and find recovery from a 40 year battle with alcoholism. It also galvanised a cause in me to campaign for my own and other people's recovery from alcoholism as a terrible, powerful destructive disease.
Only a man of his ego could be born on Christmas Day and die on Good Friday. And only a man of my ego could find a sober rebirth on Easter Sunday 2001. You couldn't make it up. I have taken on this family arrogance baton into sobriety. Like father like son.
I loved my father. he was my hero. A very funny, charismatic man. But he was afflicted by the disease of alcoholism and after he left the family home in 1985 when I was 13, he effectively lived a solitary life of a drunk until he died alone, in 2009. A 24 year suicide.
I share this because it is interesting on many levels. I am not owning the story to be sadder than others. Many people have got tragedy and sadness in their families/past. I am not using it to puff up my ego and make a point. I simply wanted to put the story of alcoholism down and how it affects a family and how in death life can begin.
It is a story of life and death, alcoholism and recovery. Sadness and light. It is a story about how David Michael Evans' life can inspire. Perhaps not in the way he thought or wanted. But in the way it was. I hope some may find solace, connection, identification or hope through reading it and have a couple of chuckles along the way. After all what is life without laughter?
I hadn't seen my father since I was 18, and then it was only for 30 minutes when my Niece was born in 1990. He had left my life when I was 13, due to his heavy alcoholism. He lived a life of a street drunk, popping up now and again. The odd phone call here, a card there. He was alive but not alive. The living dead type life that active alcoholism brings.
His life was a classic alcoholic story. It affected a whole family, town and generation. His life wasn't in vain though. Through his sad death it inspired my Mother to go to Alanon and find recovery from a 40 year battle with alcoholism. It also galvanised a cause in me to campaign for my own and other people's recovery from alcoholism as a terrible, powerful destructive disease.
Only a man of his ego could be born on Christmas Day and die on Good Friday. And only a man of my ego could find a sober rebirth on Easter Sunday 2001. You couldn't make it up. I have taken on this family arrogance baton into sobriety. Like father like son.
I loved my father. he was my hero. A very funny, charismatic man. But he was afflicted by the disease of alcoholism and after he left the family home in 1985 when I was 13, he effectively lived a solitary life of a drunk until he died alone, in 2009. A 24 year suicide.
I share this because it is interesting on many levels. I am not owning the story to be sadder than others. Many people have got tragedy and sadness in their families/past. I am not using it to puff up my ego and make a point. I simply wanted to put the story of alcoholism down and how it affects a family and how in death life can begin.
It is a story of life and death, alcoholism and recovery. Sadness and light. It is a story about how David Michael Evans' life can inspire. Perhaps not in the way he thought or wanted. But in the way it was. I hope some may find solace, connection, identification or hope through reading it and have a couple of chuckles along the way. After all what is life without laughter?
I hadn't seen my father since I was 18, and then it was only for 30 minutes when my Niece was born in 1990. He had left my life when I was 13, due to his heavy alcoholism. He lived a life of a street drunk, popping up now and again. The odd phone call here, a card there. He was alive but not alive. The living dead type life that active alcoholism brings.
You get used to the drama and chaos an alcoholic causes in a house but you just get on with it. The drama becomes the norm and that's all someone growing up in alcoholic/addict house is used to. You don't blink at arguments, police, court orders, domestic violence, fear, guilt, worry and violence. In fact normality seems rather dull in comparison.
The effect on a child growing up in this environment is profound. You don't think it of course as you just live your life, but for me it has resulted in a double life, people pleasing, dishonesty, feeling sorry for myself, feeling superior to others, incredible anger, frustration, impatience, lack of self esteem and a series of failed relationships. Of course, I'm not laying the blame for my life at my father's door. My own alcoholism did a great job of that, but now that I'm 40 I can see how some of the patterns of my upbringing has affected my life as an adult. Part nature and part nurture. That can be true of many people.
When I got the call in 2009 I was shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. You get used to not having a father. I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend. I was asked by my cousin if I wanted to take care of affairs, seeing as he had been out of our lives for so long. I didn't hesitate. Of course I did. He was my father after all and it was my duty.
I made calls to the coroner trying to find out the facts of his death and piece together his life. You have to take the role of a sleuth, trying to piece together the alcoholics final few years.
I found out he lived in a warden controlled flat. On welfare for years. He had apparently been in and out of hospital for years with liver failure and host of other alcohol related problems. He had a hemorrhage in his sleep and was found dead after Easter, he had been laying dead, in his flat for a few days. Last seen before Easter, so i figured a man as egotistical and grandiose as him, born on Christmas Day 1944, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that!
The effect on a child growing up in this environment is profound. You don't think it of course as you just live your life, but for me it has resulted in a double life, people pleasing, dishonesty, feeling sorry for myself, feeling superior to others, incredible anger, frustration, impatience, lack of self esteem and a series of failed relationships. Of course, I'm not laying the blame for my life at my father's door. My own alcoholism did a great job of that, but now that I'm 40 I can see how some of the patterns of my upbringing has affected my life as an adult. Part nature and part nurture. That can be true of many people.
When I got the call in 2009 I was shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. You get used to not having a father. I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend. I was asked by my cousin if I wanted to take care of affairs, seeing as he had been out of our lives for so long. I didn't hesitate. Of course I did. He was my father after all and it was my duty.
I made calls to the coroner trying to find out the facts of his death and piece together his life. You have to take the role of a sleuth, trying to piece together the alcoholics final few years.
I found out he lived in a warden controlled flat. On welfare for years. He had apparently been in and out of hospital for years with liver failure and host of other alcohol related problems. He had a hemorrhage in his sleep and was found dead after Easter, he had been laying dead, in his flat for a few days. Last seen before Easter, so i figured a man as egotistical and grandiose as him, born on Christmas Day 1944, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that!
The coroner was lovely stating that it would have been quick and he wouldn't have suffered. But he suffered for 24 years.
I went to where he lived and spoke to the warden who put some pieces of the jigsaw together, it was then the real details of the alcoholics demise were brought to life. He lived in an old peoples block for 3 years, looking disheveled and tramp like most of the time. Leaving early to go and drink with his pals on Sheperd's Bush Green and coming back late at night. He said he didn't have kids (3 of us) and had effectively blocked out his past. (I don't blame him or am angry or hurt, it's just the pain of alcoholism - imagine normal people saying how can you do that? Too painful for him i guess so much easier to say you didn't have any)
I got the keys to his flat. I needed to see where he died. How he lived and get any details, papers and articles. The warden warned it wasn't nice. That he had been dead in bed for days. I was with my Mum and girlfriend (a normal person who hadn't ever been exposed to alcoholism or addiction)
Nothing prepared us for that flat. A small place. We opened the door and the stench of death was overwhelming. The heating was on full blast, it was a mild Easter and it was just a horrible smell. Disgusting. On the left was the kitchen. Bare, no cutlery, plates or anything. Just an ironing board with a book on it. A Rebus book from Ealing hospital library and rather ironically a book on health. In the fridge was an old fish and chip dinner out of date by 5 weeks.
Then the living room. Bare. 1 chair. A guitar, Free newspapers. Hospital papers and that was it. Empty. soulless. In humane.
Then bathroom. Filthy. Covered in blood on the walls and toilet. Like he had been throwing up blood for years. A horrid state,
And finally the worst room. The bedroom. An utter synopsis of the end of the road for an alcoholic. Fuck Tracey Ermin's Bed installation. If I was to do one entitled alcoholism. I would reproduce the room. It was horrifying, upsetting, shocking, sad.
The stench was horrid. There was blood on the empty bed where he had died. There were clothes and knee deep rubbish all around the room. Empty bottles of vodka, cider and High strength lager strewn around. Cheap ones. When you reach that stage of alcoholism Smirnoff and other 'luxury' brands are long gone. Blood spattered paperwork was next to the bed. Shit and devastation everywhere. It was truly horrifying. But I guess the norm to him.
I had to look for his wallet, to try and get some details. I found his trousers on the floor. And this to me sums up alcoholism for those of you who don't understand it is a mental illness with a massive ego and self esteem divorced from reality. He had a pair of chinos (shit stained) with a dressing gown cord as a belt and in the pocket of these trousers which signified someone who had given up, were 2 combs. 2 combs! Clearly he still thought he 'had it' even at the end. That is the delusion of alcoholism, and always makes me smile when i think about it. Alcoholism is tragic funny. You have to see the humour to feel the sadness.
His wallet was a Freedom Travel pass and i found a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support payments please?) a picture of him, which we didn't recognise, yet did at same time. The arrogant menacing look and the nose broken and face ravaged with booze) and i found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. One was a woman he was with for a while but who left him to go to New Zealand, her number and the other, my name 'Nicki (as he called me) Evans (son) and my number. I think that got me the most. Clearly it was numbers to contact in case someone found him. Like he knew his fate, Prepared for it. He carried me around with him throughout. Makes me cry every time.
I took in the scene. Said a prayer. Talked to him. We took some paperwork and left. We were all stunned. Went for a coffee and sat in stunned silence, shock and sadness. My girlfriend never knew or met him, but she was so sad to see someone end up like that. If someone who doesn't know alcoholism or know the person at all, felt a connection and sadness on seeing that - then it can have a profound effect on people's attitudes to alcoholism. My Mum was so upset as she married this charismatic man, full of life and fun and stature. She had 3 children with him, she went through years of horrific alcoholism with him, yet for her to see his final years like this was massively upsetting for her. Tragic. It left a print in time on all of our minds.
For me? I don't know. He was my father. My hero. I looked up to him, Sought his approval. I was his son. I was upset of course, But i guess 12 years in AA, helping lots of newcomers or low bottom drunks, going to hostels etc - made me sort of used to what i had seen. I was also there to do a job, get my father buried with dignity and organise the details. I was shocked but i think i had better preparation than my Mum or girlfriend. I felt the connection of it being my father of course, but I also saw alcoholism, the rapacious creditor claiming another life.
Those were the circumstances. A few things stuck in my mind. The warden said my Dad was funny and joking that he discovered Charlotte Church. I emailed her management team and they had never heard of Mike Evans. I'm not sure she frequented Shepherds Bush Green much, though i admire his Grandiosity.
Those were the circumstances. A few things stuck in my mind. The warden said my Dad was funny and joking that he discovered Charlotte Church. I emailed her management team and they had never heard of Mike Evans. I'm not sure she frequented Shepherds Bush Green much, though i admire his Grandiosity.
The other was my brother Rob, organising the funeral directors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.
At the funeral there were 8 of us. Mortlake Crematorium. Nobody attending was from post 1987. Another example of how alcoholism robs you of life. A vivid example. It was a long slow suicide. A living death. A textbook case of alcoholism. The difference between active alcoholism and sobriety can be seen in funerals. My father pursued it to the gates of insanity and death. He had 8 people at the funeral. My friend Malcolm who dies last year 22 years sober had 300. The difference is stark.
It doesn't mean they are loved any less. It doesn't mean their lives are less worthy. It doesn't mean they are lesser people. It just means alcoholism will rob you of everything until it gets what it wants in the end. Your life.
It doesn't mean they are loved any less. It doesn't mean their lives are less worthy. It doesn't mean they are lesser people. It just means alcoholism will rob you of everything until it gets what it wants in the end. Your life.
I shall end this blog with the words I spoke at the funeral as we got him cremated to the Theme Tune to Minder. The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over.
If anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease read on. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of recovery read on. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then read on. He is an inspiration for me. The reason I do sobriety. The reason sometimes I'm so evangelical about the power of the disease. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. I don't want others to have to endure 30 years of pain. I don't want families to hide it, claim it doesn't exist. I don't want the ignorance to continue.
Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Sometimes I don't know what it is to be man. Sometimes my own alcoholic ego runs away with itself or I struggle with my purpose, my journey, my soul. But in this time i felt a man. It felt right.
Here it is; I knew what to do. I felt God. I felt compelled. I felt at peace. Here are the words from the funeral. Thank you for reading ;
If anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease read on. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of recovery read on. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then read on. He is an inspiration for me. The reason I do sobriety. The reason sometimes I'm so evangelical about the power of the disease. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. I don't want others to have to endure 30 years of pain. I don't want families to hide it, claim it doesn't exist. I don't want the ignorance to continue.
Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Sometimes I don't know what it is to be man. Sometimes my own alcoholic ego runs away with itself or I struggle with my purpose, my journey, my soul. But in this time i felt a man. It felt right.
Here it is; I knew what to do. I felt God. I felt compelled. I felt at peace. Here are the words from the funeral. Thank you for reading ;
David Michael Evans – 1944 – 2009 – My Father. Dad
My memories of my father are faded. I last saw him when his Grandaughter, Nadia Eloise was born 18 years ago in 1991, I was 18. He was dressed all in green, though I don’’t think you could call him the green goddess. I saw him for 20 minutes.
Before that, I last saw him when I was 13 years old in 1986. I was Just a boy, all Miami Vice pastel colours and acne.
It seems strange talking about my father as an adult. As a man, when all my memories I have of him are as a boy. The builders bum, the endless mutterings, the dodgy DIY, the stash of adult mags, the Farah's, the B&H, the Ford Granada's, the beard, the accent, the size of him, the nose, the eyes, the stare.
He was a big man, both in size and character. He was funny – but I used to draw the line at his corned beef hash and marrow fat peas.
He reminded me of a cross between a Welsh Regan and Carter from the Sweeney, all cheap nylon suits and stale whisky breath.
But he was my Dad and I loved him. When we lost him to alcoholism, I remember being so sad and asking why?
Me, Rob and Mark (my brothers) went to visit him in the Salvation Army to plead with him to sort himself out, to stop drinking and be our Dad again. He couldn’t and didn’t – he was ill. I remember feeling so sorry for him and so sad that it was tragic – and now years later that is the overriding feeling I have. Sad and tragic but with more empathy and understanding.
Then my thoughts of my father were as a boy but Now I am a man, and I still feel that hurt. To see his last few years and how he lived makes me sad. All that talent, all that love. Such a shame
He missed so much in that last 24 years. His son’s growing up, his granddaughters Nadia and Jade. His Sisters, 3 Welsh grand slams, my 1st comedy gig, London marathons and all the little life events that make it so special to share with the ones you loved.
In many ways he was a stranger, a distant Dad over the past 24 years. But he was my dad, our Dad. And in his sad death he becomes alive in us all – his family and friends.
Death is so sad. A loss, however it can do good things – and that can happen out of Dad’s death. It has reconnected us with him, with our past, it has put him back with the ones who loved him. Today we are here, together to honour, to remember, to pay our respects even when you didn’t know you had any to give.
He was ill, he was lost, he was alone and now he isn’t. He is here – with us, with his family and friends and will soon be with his father and mother -he is going home, to Llanelli, to Wales to be at peace.
So Dad, it has come full circle, all the things that we didn’t get the chance to say then – we can say now. I forgive you, We forgive you, I love you, We love you - you are my Dad and you will always be so in my heart, in my head and in my life. Stay with us Dad this time and never let go – you are missed even if you never thought you were – We never stopped loving you.
The pain is over for you. It is time to let go. To find peace – we are reunited and I hope and pray that we all pause for 1 moment to think of a good memory of David Michael Evans (or whoever you miss or have lost and loved), a funny moment that will make you smile………
I love you Dad. Goodbye – May God love you forever
RIP David Michael Evans
Together We Are Stronger
Nicky Evans
Together We Are Stronger
Nicky Evans
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Day 98 - Repairing the Alcoholic Ego (Step 10) and That Easter Bank Holiday Feeling
I felt so bad yesterday I resorted to doing a step 10 this morning to clear away all the shit accumulated in my brain. After meditating, writing my part over the past few days, praying (and smoking and drinking tea) I came to the simple conclusion I have been living in my alcoholic ego for the past few day, without realising it.
That is the reason I was on collision course with the world and in a near semi permanent state of anger, resentment, judgment, criticism and misery. Yes I haven't been well and in physical pain, but that's no excuse. It happens when you let the spiritual side slip. It happens ever slightly so subtly over a period of time. That is insanity.
The beauty of being sober a while Is the development of awareness and understanding of the disease and eventually you realise when you are in it. Self knowledge is nothing though without action. This only really happens to me when I speak to someone, or get in enough pain I am forced to commit pen to paper and make an honest self appraisal. Easy does it, but do it anyway.
I felt instantly better and my day became lighter. I could see more clearly and at least try to let a little of other people's life into mine. It felt good. So good in fact that when a guy on the train poked me and asked me to turn my music down on the Ipod, I just smiled, apologised and said "sure". Obviously my alcoholic ego immediately reacted internally, encouraging me to say, "Fuck you. Move carriage." Luckily that little fucker was under more control today. My mouth remained shut.
I'm off out for dinner tonight so wanted to keep it short.
Firstly it's Easter Bank holiday weekend. It's a hugely significant time for many. Obviously most people in this country are more into chocolate eggs than religion (have we got our spiritual principles the wrong way round?) so it's generally more a time to engage with DIY, The garden, overeating, spending time with family or waiting in traffic jams. There is no other feeling like a long bank holiday weekend feeling. It does odd things to people.
I have members of my family who are deeply religious so of course it is a massive time of the year. Out of respect I salute all those who worship at this time, it's just not quite for me but I dig the messages around it. Respect.
It's the first Easter weekend where I have been full time employed in a job with colleagues in the heart of London. I went out for drinks after work with them and I got that vicarious excitement feeling a bank holiday used to give me. The pubs were packed. People spilling out onto the streets in the spring sunshine. Everyone had 4 days off. I was almost rubbing my hands with glee at the thought of a huge session. There was a crackle in the air that is so special at this time of year. So exciting. Then I remembered I am 12 years sober, a recovering alcoholic and don't drink.
I had a diet coke with the troops and texted my girlfriend to say I would be a little later than 8pm. I meant 8.30pm, good job I don't drink because in the old days when I texted to say I would be, 'a little later', I usually meant around 8.30pm on Tuesday. I think sobriety's better for me (and everyone else, including the police)
Lastly Easter is a massive time for me personally. It's 4 years tomorrow since my Father died of alcoholism and 13 years on Easter Sunday since I rang AA for the first time and said 'help me'. The time of year and chain of events is not lost on me. I like to carry the huge ego and arrogance of my father into my own life. Carrying on the family tradition.
He died of alcoholism on Good Friday, I was reborn of sobriety on Sunday. Father and son. Rather self important isn't it - but deep down I do feel some kind of higher force at work there. Can it be that much of a coincidence?
All I know is tomorrow I'm spending it with my Mum, who is now a fully fledged black belt member of alanon and we will honour him by going to meetings, sharing and remembering him. Heavily shitted underpants and double comb and all.
Have a great Easter weekend and for Christ sake, do like Kate Carter my best reader does, and share this blog. Numbers are flagging. I need your help so tweet it, share it on Facebook, if you like it tell the world. This ego demands it.
Love you big
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
That is the reason I was on collision course with the world and in a near semi permanent state of anger, resentment, judgment, criticism and misery. Yes I haven't been well and in physical pain, but that's no excuse. It happens when you let the spiritual side slip. It happens ever slightly so subtly over a period of time. That is insanity.
The beauty of being sober a while Is the development of awareness and understanding of the disease and eventually you realise when you are in it. Self knowledge is nothing though without action. This only really happens to me when I speak to someone, or get in enough pain I am forced to commit pen to paper and make an honest self appraisal. Easy does it, but do it anyway.
I felt instantly better and my day became lighter. I could see more clearly and at least try to let a little of other people's life into mine. It felt good. So good in fact that when a guy on the train poked me and asked me to turn my music down on the Ipod, I just smiled, apologised and said "sure". Obviously my alcoholic ego immediately reacted internally, encouraging me to say, "Fuck you. Move carriage." Luckily that little fucker was under more control today. My mouth remained shut.
I'm off out for dinner tonight so wanted to keep it short.
Firstly it's Easter Bank holiday weekend. It's a hugely significant time for many. Obviously most people in this country are more into chocolate eggs than religion (have we got our spiritual principles the wrong way round?) so it's generally more a time to engage with DIY, The garden, overeating, spending time with family or waiting in traffic jams. There is no other feeling like a long bank holiday weekend feeling. It does odd things to people.
I have members of my family who are deeply religious so of course it is a massive time of the year. Out of respect I salute all those who worship at this time, it's just not quite for me but I dig the messages around it. Respect.
It's the first Easter weekend where I have been full time employed in a job with colleagues in the heart of London. I went out for drinks after work with them and I got that vicarious excitement feeling a bank holiday used to give me. The pubs were packed. People spilling out onto the streets in the spring sunshine. Everyone had 4 days off. I was almost rubbing my hands with glee at the thought of a huge session. There was a crackle in the air that is so special at this time of year. So exciting. Then I remembered I am 12 years sober, a recovering alcoholic and don't drink.
I had a diet coke with the troops and texted my girlfriend to say I would be a little later than 8pm. I meant 8.30pm, good job I don't drink because in the old days when I texted to say I would be, 'a little later', I usually meant around 8.30pm on Tuesday. I think sobriety's better for me (and everyone else, including the police)
Lastly Easter is a massive time for me personally. It's 4 years tomorrow since my Father died of alcoholism and 13 years on Easter Sunday since I rang AA for the first time and said 'help me'. The time of year and chain of events is not lost on me. I like to carry the huge ego and arrogance of my father into my own life. Carrying on the family tradition.
He died of alcoholism on Good Friday, I was reborn of sobriety on Sunday. Father and son. Rather self important isn't it - but deep down I do feel some kind of higher force at work there. Can it be that much of a coincidence?
All I know is tomorrow I'm spending it with my Mum, who is now a fully fledged black belt member of alanon and we will honour him by going to meetings, sharing and remembering him. Heavily shitted underpants and double comb and all.
Have a great Easter weekend and for Christ sake, do like Kate Carter my best reader does, and share this blog. Numbers are flagging. I need your help so tweet it, share it on Facebook, if you like it tell the world. This ego demands it.
Love you big
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Day 97 - Pre v Post meeting
Today is an experiment. I'm going to write pre and post AA meeting and see if it's any different.
Firstly these are all thoughts that usually stay in my head. I wouldn't be sharing these publicly in a coffee shop or to anyone else. These are all streams of consciousness. Stand by. Here goes;
Pre meeting - I'm sat here at 7pm. I don't want to write today. If I'm honest I'm not in a great mood. I don't feel particularly well. I have a cold that's gone to my chest, I am running low energy, my back and neck hurts and I'm in a negative state of mind. My chest and lungs are burning through ultra heavy smoking, yet I cannot/will not stop. I have had candida all week. I feel trapped. Fucking fuck fuck.
My physical is affecting my mental. My mental is affecting my physical and it's a vicious circle. My mother or others who love me, will probably read this and say, 'why don't you just stop all the fags, sweetener and make yourself feel better'.
If I'm honest the mood I'm in today I'll probably just want to tell people to 'fuck off'. Leave me alone to be in my own misery. Fuckity fuck fuck.
The AA meeting I usually go to tonight is less than 2 miles down the road. It may aswell be 222. Such is my lack of desire to go. Instead I want to sit in, do nothing, isolate, feel crap, think about how much my body hurts, castigate myself for not exercising today, how I'm powerless over stopping all the bad things I put into myself, castigating myself for all the Law of Attraction, positive thinking development I've been listening to and give myself a proper caning for not doing any of it.
Sounds gloomy right? Well you wouldn't have thought that at work. I put on my face and cracked on but inside I wasn't really at the races. Feel like I'm operating on around 40% this week.
I'm looking at everything through shit tinted glasses. The negatron is in full force so I'm going to go to my meeting at 8pm and see if it helps change my perception, my mood and my thinking. Lord knows I need it. I shall report back later to inform you.
Half Time
11pm back from the meeting. Spent the most of it in searing resentment, judgment, anger and on the phone. To say my mind wasn't on recovery is an understatement. I so didn't want to be there. My ego was in charge. I was Looking out for the differences, feeling I was doing something wrong, feeling judged, judging. Purely in ego.
The Result?
I'm the problem, nobody else and it's all just growing pains. Suck it up Nicholas, stop moaning, get some kip, meditate, pray and go again tomorrow. The world isn't as bad a place as your mood took you to today. My head is the enemy sometimes, it's just by sharing it is like a mental enema. I always feel better when I dump the poison out of the head. That's why when I drank my favourite expression was, 'lets get out of our heads'. I'm beginning to understand that better now.
Today has gone. I will feel differently tomorrow and these thoughts, writings would have passed. No dramas. No need to go into depth. Uncover, discover, discard. As Stephen Gerrard said at the weekend, 'This has gone. We go again tomorrow (Saturday) Together"
I always feel better after a meeting. Today was a great observation of how hard my ego will fight to keep me miserable, separate and isolated. Thank god I didn't give in to it. But fuck me I was a miserable sod when in it.
Together We Are Stronger
NE
Firstly these are all thoughts that usually stay in my head. I wouldn't be sharing these publicly in a coffee shop or to anyone else. These are all streams of consciousness. Stand by. Here goes;
Pre meeting - I'm sat here at 7pm. I don't want to write today. If I'm honest I'm not in a great mood. I don't feel particularly well. I have a cold that's gone to my chest, I am running low energy, my back and neck hurts and I'm in a negative state of mind. My chest and lungs are burning through ultra heavy smoking, yet I cannot/will not stop. I have had candida all week. I feel trapped. Fucking fuck fuck.
My physical is affecting my mental. My mental is affecting my physical and it's a vicious circle. My mother or others who love me, will probably read this and say, 'why don't you just stop all the fags, sweetener and make yourself feel better'.
If I'm honest the mood I'm in today I'll probably just want to tell people to 'fuck off'. Leave me alone to be in my own misery. Fuckity fuck fuck.
The AA meeting I usually go to tonight is less than 2 miles down the road. It may aswell be 222. Such is my lack of desire to go. Instead I want to sit in, do nothing, isolate, feel crap, think about how much my body hurts, castigate myself for not exercising today, how I'm powerless over stopping all the bad things I put into myself, castigating myself for all the Law of Attraction, positive thinking development I've been listening to and give myself a proper caning for not doing any of it.
Sounds gloomy right? Well you wouldn't have thought that at work. I put on my face and cracked on but inside I wasn't really at the races. Feel like I'm operating on around 40% this week.
I'm looking at everything through shit tinted glasses. The negatron is in full force so I'm going to go to my meeting at 8pm and see if it helps change my perception, my mood and my thinking. Lord knows I need it. I shall report back later to inform you.
Half Time
11pm back from the meeting. Spent the most of it in searing resentment, judgment, anger and on the phone. To say my mind wasn't on recovery is an understatement. I so didn't want to be there. My ego was in charge. I was Looking out for the differences, feeling I was doing something wrong, feeling judged, judging. Purely in ego.
The Result?
I'm the problem, nobody else and it's all just growing pains. Suck it up Nicholas, stop moaning, get some kip, meditate, pray and go again tomorrow. The world isn't as bad a place as your mood took you to today. My head is the enemy sometimes, it's just by sharing it is like a mental enema. I always feel better when I dump the poison out of the head. That's why when I drank my favourite expression was, 'lets get out of our heads'. I'm beginning to understand that better now.
Today has gone. I will feel differently tomorrow and these thoughts, writings would have passed. No dramas. No need to go into depth. Uncover, discover, discard. As Stephen Gerrard said at the weekend, 'This has gone. We go again tomorrow (Saturday) Together"
I always feel better after a meeting. Today was a great observation of how hard my ego will fight to keep me miserable, separate and isolated. Thank god I didn't give in to it. But fuck me I was a miserable sod when in it.
Together We Are Stronger
NE
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Day 96 - Hillsborough
Today is the 25th anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster. 96 football fans lost their life on this day in 1989 during an FA Cup semi final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest.
If that wasn't bad enough the 25 years of cover ups, criminal negligence, corruption and bureaucratic/systematic lies, deceit and avoidance of the truth adds to the utter disgrace upon this country's past.
At 3.06pm today I stopped and thought about all those who lost their life and the families who have fought so long for justice and the truth. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and anger they must have endured at the systematic lies and corruption they have faced on every level of the British establishment over the past decade and a half. Finally there appears to be light for them, it's just a shame it's 25 years too late.
Most of the victims were young. I was 16 at the time, playing cricket and we all came off the pitch and watched the horror unfold on TV. It was grim viewing. Some victims were younger than me. Their life barely starting. What must it have been like for the families to have to fight to even get the basic information about their sons/daughters/loved ones death. What anger they must have felt. What hatred towards the law, the government, the justice system. How did they survive?
It's incredible that a cover up and illegal activity on such a grand scale with such a monumental fuck up on so many levels happened for so long. I shake my head every-time. The system should be ashamed. Then it should be held accountable.
A big fucking disgrace. RIP the 96 today.
In other news DLT is recharged with indecent assault from 1995 - He's back in the Nonce Game once again.
Oscar lied his way through his 5th day of questioning from the prosecution. Nauseating self pity.
I received a lesson in how my stupid ego can run away with itself and cause me problems. Do I ever learn?
That is all today. If you don't know much about Hillsborough you should. It's the biggest systematic disgrace this country has seen in a good long while.
#Justicefor96
You Never Walk Alone
NE
If that wasn't bad enough the 25 years of cover ups, criminal negligence, corruption and bureaucratic/systematic lies, deceit and avoidance of the truth adds to the utter disgrace upon this country's past.
At 3.06pm today I stopped and thought about all those who lost their life and the families who have fought so long for justice and the truth. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and anger they must have endured at the systematic lies and corruption they have faced on every level of the British establishment over the past decade and a half. Finally there appears to be light for them, it's just a shame it's 25 years too late.
Most of the victims were young. I was 16 at the time, playing cricket and we all came off the pitch and watched the horror unfold on TV. It was grim viewing. Some victims were younger than me. Their life barely starting. What must it have been like for the families to have to fight to even get the basic information about their sons/daughters/loved ones death. What anger they must have felt. What hatred towards the law, the government, the justice system. How did they survive?
It's incredible that a cover up and illegal activity on such a grand scale with such a monumental fuck up on so many levels happened for so long. I shake my head every-time. The system should be ashamed. Then it should be held accountable.
A big fucking disgrace. RIP the 96 today.
In other news DLT is recharged with indecent assault from 1995 - He's back in the Nonce Game once again.
Oscar lied his way through his 5th day of questioning from the prosecution. Nauseating self pity.
I received a lesson in how my stupid ego can run away with itself and cause me problems. Do I ever learn?
That is all today. If you don't know much about Hillsborough you should. It's the biggest systematic disgrace this country has seen in a good long while.
#Justicefor96
You Never Walk Alone
NE
Monday, April 14, 2014
Day 95 - The Secret to Learning - Albert Einstein
I'm going to borrow today's blog from Brain pickings. A splendid website I urge anyone to look at. Why? Well, Two reasons.
1 - Today's theme was excellent.
2 - I'm not feeling writing today.
The theme for Brianpicking's site today was the key to learning. It borrowed an exert from a letter Albert Einstein wrote to his estranged son. In it he effectively pinpointed the best way to learn. It's brilliant.
When you do something with such enjoyment that you don't notice the time that passes. I love it.
Seems so logical and easy doesn't it? If you are engaged and into something it fires your brain. When it is duty and dull you do it on auto-pilot. When we take decisions and are masters of our own learning it is a joy. That is a great space to be.
Sometimes I hit that spot with this blog. My fingers can't tap out the words quick enough, It is not planned, structured or worked on for ages. It is pure and honest. That's when I don't notice time. That's when I love writing it.
When I over think things, When I try and be too clever. When I try and structure or think of the end product. Time goes slowly and I don't feel I'm learning anything. Makes sense to me Albert. Nice one.
On to more mundane news. Today I did mans work and mowed the lawn. Not just any old lawn but the front of my house that had remained untouched since last September. I looked like the only pikey house in the street. I swear to God people thought my house was abandoned. Nobody likes an unkempt bush, least of all me. Far too 70's. So today I finally stepped in and cut it. Now I am the proud owner of the tidiest bush in the street.
Oscar continues to weep and give out self serving lies in the witness box.
Some superb feedback from yesterday's rehash of my account of shitting myself during the marathon. I'm not going to lie it boosts my ego when people wrote, 'best bit of writing anywhere in 2013', 'brilliant', 'fucking funny', 'pissed myself laughing'. I know I only write for me but to get such feedback makes me very happy. I love to make people laugh. I love to get a reaction. But most of all I love praise!
Thing is it never lasts for long. I have a much better attitude to it these days. Before it defined me, now it just pleases me. I'm still OK without it. Though it's much better to have then abuse. It means you are affecting people and making them feel better. Not a bad human emotion that.
Lastly, I have to hold my tongue today and not offer advice/point out where someone went wrong as they are suffering. My natural inclination is to give advice and 'fix'. I'm just going to have to stand back and be supportive. I find shutting my mouth very difficult, especially when I can see the problems and reasons that person is where they are.
Christ this restraint of tongue and pen business is hard. Let's see if I can hold out...well, for tonight at least. As step 11 says, it is better to understand then be understood. Must remember to do that sometimes.
We are in this together.
NE
1 - Today's theme was excellent.
2 - I'm not feeling writing today.
The theme for Brianpicking's site today was the key to learning. It borrowed an exert from a letter Albert Einstein wrote to his estranged son. In it he effectively pinpointed the best way to learn. It's brilliant.
When you do something with such enjoyment that you don't notice the time that passes. I love it.
Seems so logical and easy doesn't it? If you are engaged and into something it fires your brain. When it is duty and dull you do it on auto-pilot. When we take decisions and are masters of our own learning it is a joy. That is a great space to be.
Sometimes I hit that spot with this blog. My fingers can't tap out the words quick enough, It is not planned, structured or worked on for ages. It is pure and honest. That's when I don't notice time. That's when I love writing it.
When I over think things, When I try and be too clever. When I try and structure or think of the end product. Time goes slowly and I don't feel I'm learning anything. Makes sense to me Albert. Nice one.
On to more mundane news. Today I did mans work and mowed the lawn. Not just any old lawn but the front of my house that had remained untouched since last September. I looked like the only pikey house in the street. I swear to God people thought my house was abandoned. Nobody likes an unkempt bush, least of all me. Far too 70's. So today I finally stepped in and cut it. Now I am the proud owner of the tidiest bush in the street.
Oscar continues to weep and give out self serving lies in the witness box.
Some superb feedback from yesterday's rehash of my account of shitting myself during the marathon. I'm not going to lie it boosts my ego when people wrote, 'best bit of writing anywhere in 2013', 'brilliant', 'fucking funny', 'pissed myself laughing'. I know I only write for me but to get such feedback makes me very happy. I love to make people laugh. I love to get a reaction. But most of all I love praise!
Thing is it never lasts for long. I have a much better attitude to it these days. Before it defined me, now it just pleases me. I'm still OK without it. Though it's much better to have then abuse. It means you are affecting people and making them feel better. Not a bad human emotion that.
Lastly, I have to hold my tongue today and not offer advice/point out where someone went wrong as they are suffering. My natural inclination is to give advice and 'fix'. I'm just going to have to stand back and be supportive. I find shutting my mouth very difficult, especially when I can see the problems and reasons that person is where they are.
Christ this restraint of tongue and pen business is hard. Let's see if I can hold out...well, for tonight at least. As step 11 says, it is better to understand then be understood. Must remember to do that sometimes.
We are in this together.
NE
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Day 94 - London Marathon - The Day I shat myself at last years marathon
Today was London Marathon day. A classic day on the calendar and one that is always special to me. I've done 6 of them. They are a marker of sobriety for me.
When I was drinking I would watch it on TV, hung-over and think to myself 'why the f**k would anyone want to run 26 miles. How stupid'. I never thought I could do one. I couldn't run 26 metres let alone miles. Then when I was 3 years sober I did my 1st one for St Barts breast cancer wing, dressed as a woman. I loved it and was hooked.
It was physical proof that my head feeds me bullshit. It told me I could never run 26 miles, but I did and it was evidence of the lies it tells me and I could indeed do things I convinced myself I couldn't.
Plus I love pain. Emotional, spiritual or physical. Bring it all on.
In true addict fashion I ended up doing 6 of them and 2 ironman triathlons. In true self will run riot style I did them on my own terms, in my own way, without joining a running club, employing a coach or taking advice. I did my kind of training whilst smoking heavily, caning diet coke, binging on food, staying up late and making it utterly hard for myself. I enjoyed people saying, "you run marathons and still do that." I made it so hard for myself but did them anyway in respectable times.
In my 30's I could get away with it, but now in my 40's my body has finally said, "sorry mate, you can't treat me like that, now it's your turn to suffer." My back, neck and body is injured. The discs and ligaments are buggered and I'm in constant low level pain and discomfort. Hence no marathon or triathlons this year.
I woke up this morning and watched the race. I felt a twang of regret as I saw the pictures of London and the 35,000 runners. Its such a great event. But I settled back to watch Mo Farah and marvelled at how easy they make it look. It isn't. Believe me.
So with a nod to my effort last year, I thought I would re-issue my blog from last year when I had the worst marathon experience ever and effectively shat myself. It's a good account and very funny so I'm happy to play it again. I hope you enjoy and congratulations to everyone who raced this year. You're all massive legends to me.
London Marathon. Sunday April 21st 2013. This is my account of the day from morning to night. Some parts are touching, some parts grim, some parts you may find boring, some parts full of vim. However you can guarantee one thing. It is a brutally honest account of my 6th London Marathon. It wouldn't be my style unless there were parts of it you wish I hadn't written. Here goes. Strapped in? Comfortable? To paraphrase the great Dylan Thomas, To begin at the beginning...
When I was drinking I would watch it on TV, hung-over and think to myself 'why the f**k would anyone want to run 26 miles. How stupid'. I never thought I could do one. I couldn't run 26 metres let alone miles. Then when I was 3 years sober I did my 1st one for St Barts breast cancer wing, dressed as a woman. I loved it and was hooked.
It was physical proof that my head feeds me bullshit. It told me I could never run 26 miles, but I did and it was evidence of the lies it tells me and I could indeed do things I convinced myself I couldn't.
Plus I love pain. Emotional, spiritual or physical. Bring it all on.
In true addict fashion I ended up doing 6 of them and 2 ironman triathlons. In true self will run riot style I did them on my own terms, in my own way, without joining a running club, employing a coach or taking advice. I did my kind of training whilst smoking heavily, caning diet coke, binging on food, staying up late and making it utterly hard for myself. I enjoyed people saying, "you run marathons and still do that." I made it so hard for myself but did them anyway in respectable times.
In my 30's I could get away with it, but now in my 40's my body has finally said, "sorry mate, you can't treat me like that, now it's your turn to suffer." My back, neck and body is injured. The discs and ligaments are buggered and I'm in constant low level pain and discomfort. Hence no marathon or triathlons this year.
I woke up this morning and watched the race. I felt a twang of regret as I saw the pictures of London and the 35,000 runners. Its such a great event. But I settled back to watch Mo Farah and marvelled at how easy they make it look. It isn't. Believe me.
So with a nod to my effort last year, I thought I would re-issue my blog from last year when I had the worst marathon experience ever and effectively shat myself. It's a good account and very funny so I'm happy to play it again. I hope you enjoy and congratulations to everyone who raced this year. You're all massive legends to me.
London Marathon. Sunday April 21st 2013. This is my account of the day from morning to night. Some parts are touching, some parts grim, some parts you may find boring, some parts full of vim. However you can guarantee one thing. It is a brutally honest account of my 6th London Marathon. It wouldn't be my style unless there were parts of it you wish I hadn't written. Here goes. Strapped in? Comfortable? To paraphrase the great Dylan Thomas, To begin at the beginning...
The Alarm went off at 6am. I woke to the most beautiful bright sunshine. Not a cloud in the sky. Everything was set for a truly iconic day. It was here. It was now. It was sunny. It was London Marathon day, Hooorayyyyy!!!
I had registered on Friday at the huge Expo at the rather annoying located Custom House. You get the buzz when you register. Lots of messages on the vast Adidas wall to do with Boston and personal messages of why people are running in memory of loved ones. That is when the sheer scale of the day really hits you and you get a special sense of emotion, excitement and adrenaline. This is what it's all about.
There are also stands and stalls selling everything from running products to massages. It's like a huge airport departure lounge except with fit women in Lycra. For me it's awful as i am the worlds most gullible impulsive spender. I'm not happy unless I've done £200 on something I may only use once. It gives me a proper thrill (I am an addict after all)
I came away from the Expo (bearing in mind having done loads of Ironman triathlons and marathons so I'm fully stocked with 'kit') with a new bag, running compression socks, shorts, hat, rock tape and sweatbands. I had to pull myself away from the compression shorts with in built ice pack for £85. God that was hard to do, however I left in good spirits & £200 lighter. I was in though. An officially registered starter. Number 33,480.
I was excited for the big day. I prepared properly. Cut out the diet coke, reduced my smoking from ultra heavy to heavy, ate clean, did yoga, stretched, slept and rested like never before. I felt good.
I was excited for the big day. I prepared properly. Cut out the diet coke, reduced my smoking from ultra heavy to heavy, ate clean, did yoga, stretched, slept and rested like never before. I felt good.
On Saturday night I feasted on salmon, veg and sweet potato.
Now having done loads of them you would have thought I knew exactly what to do. Except I'm insane and I behaved like a total rooky. Mistake number 1. I ate lots of things I hadn't eaten before and wasn't used to digesting. Flapjacks. Those little fuckers are like crack cocaine and boy did i tuck in. Before I knew it, this little over eater had done 6 of the sodding bastards and felt stuffed. No matter, i consoled myself with the fact they would give me lots of energy on the big day and slept like a log.
Now having done loads of them you would have thought I knew exactly what to do. Except I'm insane and I behaved like a total rooky. Mistake number 1. I ate lots of things I hadn't eaten before and wasn't used to digesting. Flapjacks. Those little fuckers are like crack cocaine and boy did i tuck in. Before I knew it, this little over eater had done 6 of the sodding bastards and felt stuffed. No matter, i consoled myself with the fact they would give me lots of energy on the big day and slept like a log.
And so to Sunday. I woke early to bright blue skies & immediately tucked into some porridge. Then mistake number 2. I finished off the flapjacks. Oh god those bastards were so good. I couldn't leave home for 90 minutes though. 3 goes on the khazi until i was satisfied i had completed the traditional marathon runners morning Constitution. I won't go further but it is a much under rated part of preparations. A full carb loading stomach means the propensity for stomach problems is rife. Little did I know this was to prove my undoing hours later. I had endured a massive #carbwank.
Mistake number 3. I wrote a clever dick ironic funny post on Facebook . "Please God let everyone who is running & watching have a safe day, to enjoy it and feel at one with each other. Oh and please god don't let me shit myself and ruin my self obsessed carefully crafted image". Oh how I invited trouble. Will I ever learn?
Then it was off to Greenwich Park for the start. I hopped on the tube and was immediately impressed with the London code of not saying anything to anyone on public transport. Even though there were other runners, we all ignored each other like it was a commute to work. Not a lot of Marathon spirit on my tube. I tried to strike up a conversation, but that was met with short shrift so i settled into listening to hardcore drum and bass to get myself hyped up. Mistake number 4. Never listen to pumped up music for a marathon. That should be for an explosive event. Instead i now realise i should have gone long and slow in my music. Something like REO Speedwagon. Instead the hardcore got me dancing around the train like I was on E and i couldn't wait to run. Needless energy expended.
Mistake number 5. I popped a couple of Ibuprofen and Lemsip Max to iron out my annoying cold and painful back. I'd taken some on my long run a couple of weeks ago and it was fine, but you should never mix medication.
I refrained from my usual routine of cramming in several cigarettes on the 10 min walk from station to start line. Once in the park it is a sea of mass hysteria and excitement. People rubbing, prodding, changing, warming up. It is a great sight. I changed and was ready to go. I changed next to a guy called Steve. He took a little longer than me but it pretty much summed up what the day was all about. Although I'd be gutted if he beat me.
Then you throw your bag into the truck, have several pees, jump over the barrier towards the front of the mass group (15,000 people) and wait for the countdown. This is when it hits home how big the race is. It's huge. An Incredible amount of people. We all put on our black ribbons in honour of those who were killed or injured in Boston and had a 30 second silence in their honour followed by 30 seconds applause. It was poignant and emotional. A moment I was proud to be part of. Solidarity to you Boston.
It was now 10am and the Virgina London Marathon 2013 officially started. Well the elite did. Mo and the boys went off first and my group took about 5 minutes to get over the start line.. We were off!! Let the fun (and pain) begin!
The start is always a nervy occasion. There are so many runners it's hard to get any kind of pace. I had left my watch at home so I decided to run 'on feel'. I had my previous best of 3 hours 37 in the back of mind. Someone had bet me £400 for my Charity if I could do it. I'd been injured for most of the winter, was under cooked in training but I felt good. I felt strong. I felt euphoric and I really enjoyed the first few miles. Taking in the scenes, the crowds, the sound systems. It really was a celebration of life. The crowds turned out in force, almost in defiance of what happened in Boston and it was the busiest I'd seen in my 9 years of doing it.
I kept a steady pace. Not too quick. Saw some friends on mile 2, fed off the crowd. Keeping my head down, doing the occasional High Five with a little kid on the side. Really the marathon doesn't start until Mile 13. The first half is all about pacing yourself and enjoying it whilst you can. Keeping energy in reserve.
I got through Greenwich on mile 6, Cutty Sark and the crowds were just enormous. Even through Rotherithe and Surrey Quays. The noise was so intense. Then you get to Tower Bridge on Mile 12 and you float across. I saw my family and had a quick hug and then it was eyes down to half way in 1 hr 54. I decided to slightly quicken my pace a little just to see if I could get ahead of the game. This is where it started to go wrong and so the story turns.
I had been getting a stomach ache from mile 10. Thinking it was a bit of wind, I carried on but it kept getting worse. Worried I may 'do a Radcliffe' I refrained from trying to shift it - the consequences were dire and I couldn't trust myself. I'd just have to live with it.
On mile 15 I found my energy draining, getting the sweats and stomach worsening. 'Oh god I'm in trouble now'. Here's where I made Mistake Number 6. I took an energy gel and ibuprofen to get through it. In hindsight, not a great move.
**WARNING. THIS FOLLOWING BIT IS GRIM. YOU MAY WANT TO LOOK AWAY **
By mile 18 at Canary Wharf I was in big trouble. I needed a toilet. I was definately going to shit myself.
Gurgling, cramping and pain shooting through me. I felt sick. I was ill.
"Oh fuck me no. Not here. Not in front of 30,000 people. Not with 8 miles to go." I thought about my Facebook update - Please God don't let me shit myself. Well here it was Nick. You were about to. Who's laughing now. With your self serving supercilious updates. Fuck you Facebook!
I looked around, people were lining the course. No toilets, no quiet places, no pubs or restaurants as the crowds were 20 deep. Oh god no, I'm going to be Googled as 'the bloke who shit himself at Canary Wharf'. I could see it now. I'd be trending on social media by midnight. #shitboy.
The carefully crafted self obsessed image. All the hopes of being taken seriously as a writer, comedian, compere, comedy club host, businessman, actor, David Beckham look-a-like. All dashed, I'd be forever pointed at wherever i went as that bloke that squatted in front of crowds, families and kids and shit a river.
Oh god, please no. "I can't do it in front of people" I thought. They've come to watch their families running, not my arse with torrents of brown laser".
I was in a world of pain, just about carrying on through Canary Wharf until Mile 19 then A miracle, A mirage. 10 portaloos!!!. Oh my God. It was like a mirage of green in a desert - I staggered up to them mouthing gratitude under my sickly breath.
Opening the first door I was confronted by a scene from turd hell. It was like a shit grenade had gone off in. I immediately recoiled in horror, slammed the door shut and tried trap 2. Exactly the same. "Oh fuck what if they're all like that?" Trap 3, 4 and 5 were rendered 'impassable', I was running out of options here and panic was rising. Then I saw a girl come out of Trap 6, "nice one, i thought, A girl is bound to only use a clean one". My theory was proved correct and in I went, Thank God. AHHHHHHH.
To give you an idea, I was averaging 8 minutes 40 a mile for the 1st 18 miles. I took 23 minutes for Mile 19. 14 minutes of that mile was spent in the portaloo. A World of pain.
I came out and started running, thinking, "well that's not so bad I'll still try and beat 4 hours, that's cleared the decks". I ran on for 1/2 mile until the stomach gurgle came back, the energy went and I felt sick. Oh god 6 miles to go and I'm in bits. I started cramping again.
The urge to shit my pants was so strong, but i held on. I did a world record clench. Then followed a slow run for the next few miles until i was forced to stop and walk on mile 22 for a few yards until I was forced to stop, I leaned over the barriers and began retching. I was in big trouble here.
I started running again, along limehouse onto the embankment. By now the crowds were fever pitch and huge but there was a sheet of glass between me and them. I couldn't engage. I couldn't take it in. I couldn't feed off them. I had nothing left. I was spent. Thoughts of quitting seemed so good, but then I couldn't face anyone then. No i had to continue. Another slow jog until mile 23 when another sanctuary in the Blackfriars Underpass. More portaloos. Oh fuck me YES! Thank you Lord of Portaloos.
Same scenario as before, but this time I wasn't so fussy. I would have shat in a sewage tank the state I was in. Another 10 minute pit stop and then out, chugging away. I saw people I knew but i wasn't really aware or able to communicate, heavily cramping and dehydrating i passed the London eye, (I was going slower than it) and saw the Houses of Parliament. Only a mile to go. Oh please help me make it. Please don't let me finish up the mall with turd down my legs. I'll never get on tellie then.
I turned into Parliament Square and the runner in front of me buckled and collapsed to the floor. Legs gone. Eyes rolling, he was delirious. I knew the feeling. For a moment I thought of joining him, but i stopped with another bloke to check he was alright, we gave him a gel, squirted some water on his face and then i have no idea why i said this or where it came from, but i heard the words come out of my mouth to the other guy 'lets carry him. We have to get him to the finish'.
We hooked his arms around us, flanking him either side, carrying his weight and trotted on. Fuck me the crowd went wild. All runners passing us saying 'well done' patting us on our backs. "good on you mate", "That's the spirit of the marathon"
"Oh fuck me yes. Of course. This is it", I thought. "This is the reason I've done it. This will pull this horrible marathon out of the bag. Forget about selfish personal bests. Forget about individualism and selfishness. This is human spirit. We have to get Josh across the line. It's going to be the enduring image of the marathon. It will be huge. Front page photo. Tellie. Interview with Johnathon Edwards.
The true meaning of humanity was right here, right now and then he started passing out. No!!!!
Nightmare. I talked to him, kept him awake, telling him it was OK, willed the crowd to shout for him but his legs stopped working. We were 600 yards short of the finish on Birdcage Walk. Less than half a mile to go. We could actually see Buckingham Palace.
"Fuck, don't wilt here Josh. You're our fucking saviour. Hang in there pal". I said. The other guy said 'no more', his legs had gone too. I considered for a moment carrying him on my shoulders, single handed. That would definitely make tellie and the media. I reckon I would get a few interviews and speaking tours out of it. Together we are Stronger would be my Mantra. I would be the spokesman for humanity and togetherness. Me, with a stomach bug, sick, dehydrated carrying a half conscious man over my head across the finishing line. That's a front page right there.
And then Josh started to fit. Fuck it was all over. The dream had ended. We got the paramedics, they sorted him out, wrapped him up, got him conscious. He was OK but his race was over. Mine had 500 yards to go and i was disappointingly forced to finish at a crawl anonymously, with no fanfare, no sick man on my back. No interview with Colin Jackson, no media photograph. Just me, my ill body and dodgy guts. Barely able to stand.
I staggered across the line, apparently had my medal hung around my neck, collapsed into the portaloo's (Heaven, they were sparkling fresh) My London Marathon was over and I didn't publicly shit myself.Thank God.
I collected my bags, got changed, staggered to the meeting point to see my family, collapsed into them and couldn't speak for ages. I was spent. Totally gone. No pictures, no videos, no joy. No euphoria. Just need to get home to a toilet.
I was ill for the rest of the night (and next day) and if I'm honest embarrassed by my time. I expected a lot quicker but on reflection it was probably one of my greatest achievements to actually finish. When you are Ill like that the place to do it is on your sofa in front of 'Loose Women' and 'Flog it'. Not with 8 miles to run on a marathon course in baking sun in front of Half a million people. It was harsh. Never again.
I made some stupid mistakes. I'm a right twat sometimes but never did i think i was going to get that reaction. In hindsight i wouldn't have taken anything, kept it simple and gone old school. Still never mind. It's over now. I raised £1500 for Action on Addiction, my superb charity who were there supporting. I enjoyed half of the occasion, I got called David Beckham 16 times on the way round and I helped another human being for 700 yards. Not all bad.
If only Josh hadn't whited out it could all have been so different. Instead 125 people will read this blog instead of 125,000. Oh well at least it's good for my ego. God knows best. I did learn though that deep down i am a good person and did practice what i preach in helping another human, but what is really fascinating is really deep down, so deep you wouldn't see, is an inherent selfishness and sense of delusion that is quite staggering. Only an alcoholic can think of speaker tours and TV under the guise of helping out a stricken runner. My selfishness makes me smile. Weirdly I can only see it when sober and that Ladies and gentlemen is why I ran it for Action on Addiction.
#TogetherWeAreStronger (that would have been world wide trending on my speaker tour Twitter page if only Josh hadn't fucking well passed out - he was so Selfish!)
Peace and Love
Nicholas Edward Evans
xx
The start is always a nervy occasion. There are so many runners it's hard to get any kind of pace. I had left my watch at home so I decided to run 'on feel'. I had my previous best of 3 hours 37 in the back of mind. Someone had bet me £400 for my Charity if I could do it. I'd been injured for most of the winter, was under cooked in training but I felt good. I felt strong. I felt euphoric and I really enjoyed the first few miles. Taking in the scenes, the crowds, the sound systems. It really was a celebration of life. The crowds turned out in force, almost in defiance of what happened in Boston and it was the busiest I'd seen in my 9 years of doing it.
I kept a steady pace. Not too quick. Saw some friends on mile 2, fed off the crowd. Keeping my head down, doing the occasional High Five with a little kid on the side. Really the marathon doesn't start until Mile 13. The first half is all about pacing yourself and enjoying it whilst you can. Keeping energy in reserve.
I got through Greenwich on mile 6, Cutty Sark and the crowds were just enormous. Even through Rotherithe and Surrey Quays. The noise was so intense. Then you get to Tower Bridge on Mile 12 and you float across. I saw my family and had a quick hug and then it was eyes down to half way in 1 hr 54. I decided to slightly quicken my pace a little just to see if I could get ahead of the game. This is where it started to go wrong and so the story turns.
I had been getting a stomach ache from mile 10. Thinking it was a bit of wind, I carried on but it kept getting worse. Worried I may 'do a Radcliffe' I refrained from trying to shift it - the consequences were dire and I couldn't trust myself. I'd just have to live with it.
On mile 15 I found my energy draining, getting the sweats and stomach worsening. 'Oh god I'm in trouble now'. Here's where I made Mistake Number 6. I took an energy gel and ibuprofen to get through it. In hindsight, not a great move.
**WARNING. THIS FOLLOWING BIT IS GRIM. YOU MAY WANT TO LOOK AWAY **
By mile 18 at Canary Wharf I was in big trouble. I needed a toilet. I was definately going to shit myself.
Gurgling, cramping and pain shooting through me. I felt sick. I was ill.
"Oh fuck me no. Not here. Not in front of 30,000 people. Not with 8 miles to go." I thought about my Facebook update - Please God don't let me shit myself. Well here it was Nick. You were about to. Who's laughing now. With your self serving supercilious updates. Fuck you Facebook!
I looked around, people were lining the course. No toilets, no quiet places, no pubs or restaurants as the crowds were 20 deep. Oh god no, I'm going to be Googled as 'the bloke who shit himself at Canary Wharf'. I could see it now. I'd be trending on social media by midnight. #shitboy.
The carefully crafted self obsessed image. All the hopes of being taken seriously as a writer, comedian, compere, comedy club host, businessman, actor, David Beckham look-a-like. All dashed, I'd be forever pointed at wherever i went as that bloke that squatted in front of crowds, families and kids and shit a river.
Oh god, please no. "I can't do it in front of people" I thought. They've come to watch their families running, not my arse with torrents of brown laser".
I was in a world of pain, just about carrying on through Canary Wharf until Mile 19 then A miracle, A mirage. 10 portaloos!!!. Oh my God. It was like a mirage of green in a desert - I staggered up to them mouthing gratitude under my sickly breath.
Opening the first door I was confronted by a scene from turd hell. It was like a shit grenade had gone off in. I immediately recoiled in horror, slammed the door shut and tried trap 2. Exactly the same. "Oh fuck what if they're all like that?" Trap 3, 4 and 5 were rendered 'impassable', I was running out of options here and panic was rising. Then I saw a girl come out of Trap 6, "nice one, i thought, A girl is bound to only use a clean one". My theory was proved correct and in I went, Thank God. AHHHHHHH.
To give you an idea, I was averaging 8 minutes 40 a mile for the 1st 18 miles. I took 23 minutes for Mile 19. 14 minutes of that mile was spent in the portaloo. A World of pain.
I came out and started running, thinking, "well that's not so bad I'll still try and beat 4 hours, that's cleared the decks". I ran on for 1/2 mile until the stomach gurgle came back, the energy went and I felt sick. Oh god 6 miles to go and I'm in bits. I started cramping again.
The urge to shit my pants was so strong, but i held on. I did a world record clench. Then followed a slow run for the next few miles until i was forced to stop and walk on mile 22 for a few yards until I was forced to stop, I leaned over the barriers and began retching. I was in big trouble here.
I started running again, along limehouse onto the embankment. By now the crowds were fever pitch and huge but there was a sheet of glass between me and them. I couldn't engage. I couldn't take it in. I couldn't feed off them. I had nothing left. I was spent. Thoughts of quitting seemed so good, but then I couldn't face anyone then. No i had to continue. Another slow jog until mile 23 when another sanctuary in the Blackfriars Underpass. More portaloos. Oh fuck me YES! Thank you Lord of Portaloos.
Same scenario as before, but this time I wasn't so fussy. I would have shat in a sewage tank the state I was in. Another 10 minute pit stop and then out, chugging away. I saw people I knew but i wasn't really aware or able to communicate, heavily cramping and dehydrating i passed the London eye, (I was going slower than it) and saw the Houses of Parliament. Only a mile to go. Oh please help me make it. Please don't let me finish up the mall with turd down my legs. I'll never get on tellie then.
I turned into Parliament Square and the runner in front of me buckled and collapsed to the floor. Legs gone. Eyes rolling, he was delirious. I knew the feeling. For a moment I thought of joining him, but i stopped with another bloke to check he was alright, we gave him a gel, squirted some water on his face and then i have no idea why i said this or where it came from, but i heard the words come out of my mouth to the other guy 'lets carry him. We have to get him to the finish'.
We hooked his arms around us, flanking him either side, carrying his weight and trotted on. Fuck me the crowd went wild. All runners passing us saying 'well done' patting us on our backs. "good on you mate", "That's the spirit of the marathon"
"Oh fuck me yes. Of course. This is it", I thought. "This is the reason I've done it. This will pull this horrible marathon out of the bag. Forget about selfish personal bests. Forget about individualism and selfishness. This is human spirit. We have to get Josh across the line. It's going to be the enduring image of the marathon. It will be huge. Front page photo. Tellie. Interview with Johnathon Edwards.
The true meaning of humanity was right here, right now and then he started passing out. No!!!!
Nightmare. I talked to him, kept him awake, telling him it was OK, willed the crowd to shout for him but his legs stopped working. We were 600 yards short of the finish on Birdcage Walk. Less than half a mile to go. We could actually see Buckingham Palace.
"Fuck, don't wilt here Josh. You're our fucking saviour. Hang in there pal". I said. The other guy said 'no more', his legs had gone too. I considered for a moment carrying him on my shoulders, single handed. That would definitely make tellie and the media. I reckon I would get a few interviews and speaking tours out of it. Together we are Stronger would be my Mantra. I would be the spokesman for humanity and togetherness. Me, with a stomach bug, sick, dehydrated carrying a half conscious man over my head across the finishing line. That's a front page right there.
And then Josh started to fit. Fuck it was all over. The dream had ended. We got the paramedics, they sorted him out, wrapped him up, got him conscious. He was OK but his race was over. Mine had 500 yards to go and i was disappointingly forced to finish at a crawl anonymously, with no fanfare, no sick man on my back. No interview with Colin Jackson, no media photograph. Just me, my ill body and dodgy guts. Barely able to stand.
I staggered across the line, apparently had my medal hung around my neck, collapsed into the portaloo's (Heaven, they were sparkling fresh) My London Marathon was over and I didn't publicly shit myself.Thank God.
I collected my bags, got changed, staggered to the meeting point to see my family, collapsed into them and couldn't speak for ages. I was spent. Totally gone. No pictures, no videos, no joy. No euphoria. Just need to get home to a toilet.
I was ill for the rest of the night (and next day) and if I'm honest embarrassed by my time. I expected a lot quicker but on reflection it was probably one of my greatest achievements to actually finish. When you are Ill like that the place to do it is on your sofa in front of 'Loose Women' and 'Flog it'. Not with 8 miles to run on a marathon course in baking sun in front of Half a million people. It was harsh. Never again.
I made some stupid mistakes. I'm a right twat sometimes but never did i think i was going to get that reaction. In hindsight i wouldn't have taken anything, kept it simple and gone old school. Still never mind. It's over now. I raised £1500 for Action on Addiction, my superb charity who were there supporting. I enjoyed half of the occasion, I got called David Beckham 16 times on the way round and I helped another human being for 700 yards. Not all bad.
If only Josh hadn't whited out it could all have been so different. Instead 125 people will read this blog instead of 125,000. Oh well at least it's good for my ego. God knows best. I did learn though that deep down i am a good person and did practice what i preach in helping another human, but what is really fascinating is really deep down, so deep you wouldn't see, is an inherent selfishness and sense of delusion that is quite staggering. Only an alcoholic can think of speaker tours and TV under the guise of helping out a stricken runner. My selfishness makes me smile. Weirdly I can only see it when sober and that Ladies and gentlemen is why I ran it for Action on Addiction.
#TogetherWeAreStronger (that would have been world wide trending on my speaker tour Twitter page if only Josh hadn't fucking well passed out - he was so Selfish!)
Peace and Love
Nicholas Edward Evans
xx
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