The Day I shat myself in the 2013 London Marathon

Hi guys

To celebrate London Marathon day I thought i'd share my blog from a couple of years ago about the day I did 'a Radcliffe'. It's funny, brutally honest and real. 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 full of vim. 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 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 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.

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.

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.

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 (35,000 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. 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. Josh was so fucking selfish, he ruined my future.

I staggered across the line, with no TV, no Publicity, no attention. Just another finisher,  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

David Michael Evans - Xmas Day 1944 - Good Friday 2009 - A Life and Death of Alcholism

I always post this same blog on Good Friday. I wrote it years ago, but it's always relevant this time of year. Easter is hugely symbolic to me. I consider myself more spiritual than religious but this time of year has extra emotional significance for me and my family. 
  
My Father, David Michael Evans died of alcoholism on Good Friday 2009. My Grandparents were married on Easter Saturday, my Grandmother the family matriach was born on the 13th April, my neice on the 14th and I had my moment of clarity and went to my first AA meeting on Easter Sunday 2001, setting in motion the journey to sobriety and recovery 18 years ago. Bingo!

If Easter is about death and rebirth, it's ridiculously symbolic David Michael dying of alcoholism on Good Friday and Nicholas Edward getting sober on Easter Sunday! I'm honestly not making this shit up!

I write this as a sober recovering alcoholic of 18 years. I write this as a passionate supporter and advocate of recovery. I write this as an adult child of an alcoholic. I write this to promote the education of alcoholism/addiction as a serious killer illness and family disease. It is mis-understood, largely ignored and completely under-rated. Whilst people die or spend years in misery (and I include family and friends of the alcoholic/addict too) the medical, political, treatment, social media world largely miss the true nature of the malady and problem and fail to find a solution because they have no idea what's wrong. I hope in some small way this following piece lays bare what the illness is, what it can do and the alternatives to it.

Today is the 10th 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, unfound for 6 days. His was a sad, alcoholic tale of life and death.

His alcoholic death affected a whole family, town and generation. Although tragic it inspired my Mother to go to Alanon and find recovery after a 40 year battle with alcoholism. It  galvanised a cause in me to campaign for my own and other people's recovery from alcoholism as a terrible, powerful destructive disease and it has helped many people through reading this story or hearing about his demise. He has acted as a powerful example of what untreated alcoholism does.

Only a man of his ego could be born on Christmas Day and die on Good Friday! He was an arrogant bastard with a great sense of humour. 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 large, 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 slow and lonely suicide. Suicide by instalments. 

I share this because it is interesting on many levels. I am not owning the story to be sadder than others. Many people have tragedy and sadness in their families/past. I am not using it to puff up my ego and make a point. (at least I hope i'm not)  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 and commitment issues. Part of me never grew up. 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 43 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.

The 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 typical alcoholic's at the end of the line. A slim plastic two piece Freedom pass pocket, folded in two. In it was a Freedom Travel pass, a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support payments please?) a recent picture of him,  (odd seeing as I hadn't seen him in years, yet he looked so familiar. The arrogant menacing look, the broken nose and face ravaged with booze)

I also found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. One was Cathy, a woman he saw for a few years, but she left him to go to New Zealand (You have to go that far to get away form the hardcore alcoholic) and the other, my name 'Nicky (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. It 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. We 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 8 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.

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.

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 well what do you think the above is?. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of recovery now you know. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then you've just read why. He is an inspiration for me. One of the reasons 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. It is real and it affects many people. It is the least understood and most ignorant disease there is.

I get messages, emails and requests from people all the time. Asking for help with their son, their partner or themselves. And you know what's most shocking? Rarely do they want to go to Alanon or AA. 'God it's not that bad is it?!!" Is the general thought.

Well, yes it is and in my experience and fundamental belief. Alcoholism and addiction is a family disease and the only true recovery from it as a family is through a 12 step fellowship. All the others are just window dressing or containing the disease. Almost like a Heroin addict taking methadone. It's just replacing. So if you have it, or are effected by a family member then for fucks sake please do not delay any further, leave your head to one side, quit the debating society and just go to a meeting. PLEASE! It may save your life. If you're willing and ready of course. If not and you think you can soldier on your own. Well, good luck but the disease wll take everything from you in stages one by one. Just see the decline of my father over many years. It's patient and cunning and baffling and the reason these 12 step fellowships exist.

Hospitals, treatment centres, therapists cant help you. They are full of shit if they claim to cure it. The only effective long terms treatment is 12 step. It even costs nothing and is fun. Fuck me it's so simple and clear most people don't want it!! We'd much rather pay £1000 a session with a professional than go to one of those dreadful meetings with those losers! Trust me, the opposite is true and the only thing keeping you out is pride, denial and ignorance. Give it a try. I implore and beg of you. Rant over!

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. And this year, in my 16th year of sobriety I'm starting to feel that more and more.

Death is part of life. Sad, devastating and painful. Grief has many forms and lasts as long as it wants. But it can also bring life & action. Bring people together. Rebirth and give lessons to future generations. That's how I see David Michael Evan's death. I also saw how my own disease railroaded my grief and allowed old feelings of self pity to make it last longer than usual and consume attention. I have to be very careful and brutal on myself to allow normal human feelings of grief and sadness but also the sick ones of self pity too. One must always be vigilant not to fall into maudlin defects. I see it in others but you're not allowed to call people out on social media or other forms because 'they're in grief' - I know the difference between genuine heart renching sadness and grief and selfish maudlin self pity or guilt. One must cut a severe distinction and I am lucky to have AA and a 12 step programme to give me that perspective. I'm sure Dad would have said 'fuck off you wankers' though. Fair play.

Recovery doesn't have to be sad or serious. My Dad was an insane rip roaring drunk with a massive personality. You can have this sober. You can have anything you want sober. Alcohol or drugs doesn't have to define your life and stopping drinking doesn't mean a life of dull and boredom.

You meet a lot of recovery experts around. In AA, in treatment, on Facebook. Some talk a load of shit, claiming to know answers, preaching at what we should do, leading a fake spiritual arrogant and sanctimonious life. I say fuck it. Fuck them, fuck what you are supposed to do. Be real, be human and be true to yourself. Just don't drink, don't die and don't be a c**t. Seems like a pretty simple set of spiritual codes to live by?

I often wonder what a low bottom drunk like my Dad would think of a lot of recovery models and shit being spouted sometimes so I tell myself to keep it real, keep it honest but keep it humble.

A sense if humour and a sense of fun is important. Stay clear of the experts telling us what to do. Stay clear of the doubters or negative criticism. Just read the end of his life, tell yourself is that what you want. If the answer is no then there is a solution and I went to it on Easter Sunday 2001. It works it really does and if you are a family member affected by someone with addiction/alcoholism there is also a solution for you too. Alanon helped change my mother's life it could help you too.

David Michael Evans 1944 -2009

Stop Smoking and Start life - how the hell did that happen?

I'm 44 years old, 15 years sober, 5 days smoke free and life has just begun. How the hell did that happen? And what does it mean?

Don't worry, I'm not going to turn into one of those sanctimonious reformed smoker/drinker health freak type wankers and preach the importance of kale.

I just can't quite work out what happened and why I feel so utterly different from the last time I wrote my blog. It's like day and night. I had no idea how much I was in the darkness until now.

What happened? Well on Weds I became smoke free for the 1st time since I was 18. I became so utterly sick of being sick. Unable to breath properly, pain in my chest, coughing up junk, permanent chest problems and a virus for ages. Finally I had enough and asked someone to help me stop.

I didn't think they could of course and deep down I suspected I would smoke again afterwards. I wanted to stop for health reasons but wanted to continue for life reasons. How could I live without it????
What I really wanted is to be healthy and smoke? Apparently it doesn't work that way. Bastards!!

So I went to a hypnotherapist (a bloody good one) who specialises in helping people stop smoking. He was in recovery too and I really liked and we got on well. He had a great sense of humour. I felt good with him.

In short, we did the whole process, he put me under and during it, released the attachment to smoking and unleash my true self and not put off life anymore. (He did loads of great stuff but I cant go into that all now)

Essentially at the end it was about 'Being the Best I've Ever been in 2017" - the fags were crushed, I was a non smoker, just like 17 years old before I smoked. The breathing exercises were recommended and off I went as a non smoker thinking 'This is a bit odd'.

What was interesting during the hypnosis was the strong destructive will (inner voice) trying to bastardise what he was saying. Helpful terms like 'you'll smoke after this, don't listen, you need a fag to drink tea" - True Gremlins and blockages to my health. It was strong within me but after a while I went beyond them.

I'm under no illusion I am up against my own lower self which wants me unhappy, unhealthy, addicted to smokes, drinking and all kinds if unhelpful shit. It wants me dead or at the very least unhappy and miserable. I have to accept it exists and move beyond that destructive force with the assistance of everything I've picked up in recovery in the last 15 years and other things I've learnt (especially on Weds)

This week I have been smoke free for the first time in 26 years. I feel Upbeat, optimistic, happy. I have felt free and like my eyes are open for the first time. I know what a pink cloud looks like in AA when people stop drinking and suddenly everything is 'amazing'. So i'm taking it one day at a time. But isn't everything Amazing!

It is as if I have a 'new pair of glasses'. I live in the same place, wear the same slightly too tight jeans and my cowboy boots need resoling. I probably place too much emphasis on the female form and I am still a recovering alcoholic needing regular attendance at AA. I still have other habits and attachments to help me through the day. I am not cured. I am not healed. I am not preaching.

But I AM healthy. I am present. I am excited by the future and I am in with a decent shout of doing what i'm meant to do in this life. I am Passionate in helping others get out of their darkness into the light. Why? Because I've been there for so long and didn't know how to get out of it, even though I kept saying I wanted to. In the end just for now I have and you know what. It's pretty bloody cool out here. Not half as bad as I thought it would be.

Keep at it if you're struggling. If you're one of the happy ones who feels good a lot of the time. Why did I wait so long? It's hard to hear people upbeat when you're miserable but as long as you don't look or speak down to people when you're feeling good I think it can be allowed. We must be authentic no matter what.

After all the human experience is about the good times as-well as the bad right? I don't have more money, I haven't landed anything amazing, my material life hasn't changed - but I feel so much richer and fulfilled and comfortable with myself this week.

The smoking stopped and I feel I've woken up to life and I'm still not sure how it happened though I get the feeling the higher power was throwing some subtle shapes behind the scenes to make it happen. Crafty sod!

Either way I'm very grateful and now about to turn into one of those wankers I hated when I first came to AA. All happy and shit. Yuk, Pass the sick bucket! TNE is feeling good! That will be ultimate irony, if I really do become one of those wankers and enjoy it. You know what, that doesn't sound such a bad gig after-all. Bring it on!!!

You are all magnificent bastards

Love you very much

TNE
xx

Message me if you want help in the giving up department or anything else. itsevo@hotmail.com

Let me tell you about Low Self Esteem

I want to talk about low self esteem. Some of you will identify. Others will not. It's cool either way. But I have it. So here it is.

Not the minor little niggle of low self esteem mind, but the huge juggernaut that tramples on good things and effects life. It's particularly bad today.

Sure, we all get days when we feel down, or doubt ourselves or suffer a confidence dip. That's perfectly normal. It's part of the human experience. But for low self-esteemers like myself, who suffer from it like it's a mental illness, it can really screw things up.

I'm always wary of posting this kind of thing, but then again that's a side effect of low self esteem. Being overly concerned how people view you and wanting to be liked, loved and praised all the time. it's called people pleasing.

This is not meant as a pity party. Nor am I trying to claim I have it worse than others. I am not trying to palm off low self esteem as worse than depression or other mental health issues nor am I trying to isolate low self esteem on it's own as the route of all problems. It can join forces with other extended family members like pride, fear, anxiety and high ego to become a super cluster fuck of negative forces. I know what wallowing in self pity looks like and it's difficult to listen and be around before you just want to say, "Oh for fucks sake."

Firstly what actually is low self esteem?

"Believing that there is something innately wrong with themselves, these low self esteem sufferers experience self-esteem attacks (often called panic attacks) when they do something they deem to have been stupid, something they think others have noticed, and something that confirms their own feelings of inadequacy"

But How do you know if you have low self esteem? What are the Characteristics of Genuinely Low Self Esteem. Here is a list from a Doctor who writes about low self esteem. I have some. Perhaps we all do?

1. Social withdrawal - Not really. But I do isolate at times. Even in crowds or I do what I need to do then slope off to be on my own. Why can't I be more sociable and feel comfortable with that?
2. Anxiety and emotional turmoil - not anxiety but mild emotional turmoil. At some points usually around romance or romance.  
3. Lack of social skills and self confidence. Depression and/or bouts of sadness - self confidence is fragile and can be gained from external forces. What happens when they disappear or turn on you? Fooked then!
4. Less social conformity - not really though I've always railed against conventional life.
5. Eating disorders - yup. On and off for around 6 years.
6. Inability to accept compliments - yup. Although I love the attention the compliments stopped working yeas ago.
7. An Inability to see yourself 'squarely' - to be fair to yourself - yup
8. Accentuating the negative - yup
9. Exaggerated concern over what you imagine other people think - yup
10. Self neglect - fuck yes
11. Treating yourself badly but NOT other people - I'm afraid so.
12. Worrying whether you have treated others badly - sometimes yes sometimes no.
13. Reluctance to take on challenges - not physical ones, but I wont do them as well as I can. Self sabotage.
14. Reluctance to put yourself first or anywhere. - yup, though it's a weird one mixed with alcoholism as the self centred behaviour is polar opposite.
15. Reluctance to trust your own opinion - yup
16. Expecting little out of life for yourself. - in some cases yes. Settling for second best

When it gets really bad, at times you think of yourself as the biggest piece of shit in the universe. Then of course you are lost in pure ego and pride and self pity. It is misshapen and the ego has taken over. You're not that important nor the centre of the universe but your mind is telling you that. That's maxing out on it. Then of course you're going to want to smash yourself to pieces. Self neglect or sabotage seems natural. It's heart-breaking to see and difficult to get out of this pattern if you're in it.

Low self esteem doesn't have to be so destructive and loud all the time though. it can be just a daily 'thing'. You become so used to self hatred it just becomes a fabric of your inner dialogue. Only sometimes does it get too loud & disable you. The rest of the time it's just low level noise in the background subtly controlling your thoughts and behaviour.

• Go for that job? "You'll never get it. You're not qualified" It will tell you.
• She's a nice girl and likes you. Perhaps you can have a relationship - "I'll only hurt her by sleeping around. Besides she's too nice and that's boring."
• You need to put some work in to your CV and business"Have another cigarette and cup of tea and put off doing that thing"
• Why don't you write a book? "Fuck that. That means you have to be disciplined and work hard. Watch porn instead"

The list goes on ad infinitum.

The reason I have done Ironman triathlons is to try and make myself feel like a real man and strong deep down. Nether which I've felt since I was young.

The reason I have womanised throughout the past 12 years in sobriety and acted in sex addiction was to make myself feel better about myself and boost my esteem.

The reason I tried to turn myself into the best lover in the world (ego) was to make myself feel better about me. It worked for a while. Not really so much now.

I have put myself in positions sexually to feel powerful and amazing. I've also put myself in painful positions that have fed my chronic low esteem and self hatred to show evidence it is real. Ever failed to get it up when the pressure's on? When you've staked your entire human esteem and ego on being a legendary swordsman and that happens. You are truly fucked.  That's a world of pain right there as male pride combines with self hatred to give you a battering. Even worse when she goes off to a lover more hung than you to get what she needs. That's a triple world of pain. Ouch.

The reason I tried to get a 6 pack and muscles was to make myself feel good and worthy and strong. It worked for a bit but I still felt weak and like a little boy inside sometimes.

I often say. I am 6ft 2 but frequently feel 5ft 7 inside. I just don't match up. Which is puzzling. Low self esteem

I've had it since I was young. I covered it up of course. But I never felt I matched up to my Dad and eldest brother from youth. I always felt less than them. Trouble is I was a legend in my Mum's eyes and the family's as the youngest of 3 boys. The baby. So I got used to attention. I felt I was entitled. When I didn't get it, the less than feelings became strong. It was conflicting and confusing. Still is.

At school I wanted to be number 1 but covered up feeling number 1000. But other days above everyone. Then the drinking and drugs started and made it all worse.

In sobriety I've learnt many things including this low self esteem. I've been happy at times, usually because of outside influences but underneath I knew a nagging truth. As if the low esteem was whispering. "You know you're a piece of shit. This is temporary sticking plaster. I'm patient. I'll get you in the end. Your fixes will only last so long."

Well, It feels as if they have come home to roost. The outside fix isn't working as-well as it did at 5 or 10 years sober.

I'm 44 years old. 15 years sober. Out of work, trying to figure out what to do with my life. No huge savings. No massive house with a mortgage. No kids. No wife. No book. No real 10 year plan how to reinvent my life. I'm 15 years sober and the fixes aren't working as they once did. I'm at a cross roads and I am finding it difficult to alter these. Deep down I don't want to and not even sure I can. But the alternative is this aching low self esteem devouring everything in it's path.

How long will I let it run me? How can it be stopped? Although I stress it's not like it every day. Just struck me today how much it has affected my life.

Yes I know. Cognitive behavioural Therapy can help. Reprogramming your brain. How you talk to yourself. What you eat, sleep, looking after the mental and physical health is important as is a way to talk about it, so one can make a change.

I can also as they say do esteemable things. This can work. I do plenty of service and help others, but as earlier, a common characteristic is sorting out others before yourself. Deep down i'm not a huge fan of myself and have spent all my life running away from myself or trying to 'fix' me.

I started The Inside Job, 5 years ago on this very subject. I didn't realise it would take me this long to realise. The pain now is trying to turn it round when my lower self and deep instinct is to stay as I am.

Scared to let go of the familiar. Can't live with it can't live without it. Its a painful place, but it will pass and re-doubling efforts and facing up to some stark painful facts about oneself is the first step on the journey of being comfortable with The Inside Job.

Who's with me on the journey?

TNE

x

How to Help Your Mental Health...Share Your Truth...

I was kicking around for a blog topic today when I met a girl in a spin class. Without knowing it, she kindly gave me the topic.

I woke up with the black dog on me. Fear and Negative thoughts prominent. Even going to my early morning meeting didn't shift it.

But one thing stood out. Someone shared about when they were going through a bad time, yet they pretended they were fine and kept it in. It wasn't until the pain got too much they opened up and shared their inner truth which helped change momentum. Obviously you have to put action in and do certain things after to help change mood/direction. But it was the initial splurge of the inner demons and the raw inner truth that helped him. I really connected with that. It's what I passionately believe in.

We live in a world where image is everything. Lives are displayed via filtered images on social media. The pressure for many to be fit, happy, successful or motivated is relentless. Some can't cope with this intolerable social pressure. We see so many mental health issues, young girls with social pressure to be thin, eating disorders, debt, depression, alcohol and drug dependency. Yet many find it hard to speak out. Where do you go with these issues? Are we really further advanced than before?

And what about the low level unhappiness? Not the headline mental health disorders but people who just become more grumpy, road rage, turn to bad food, fractured relationships, unhappy jobs. Slowly it unravels and creates a huge impact on our lives and those around us.

Me? I'm a sharer. I'm lucky. I go to a 12 step fellowship where I can share my truth daily. I am blessed with the gift (and curse) to express exactly how I feel whether it be sad, unhappy, angry, hard on my self, less than or more than. Whatever it is, I share it. Yes I have to seek a solution and action to change it but utimately I cannot keep it in. That was the shit I drank on. All the pressure and negative thinking being stored up with nowhere to go until the pressure got too much and I had to drink like a maniac. These days the pressure still builds but I let it out appropriately.(Mostly)

Yes exercise, good food, constructive action such as meditation and prayer is good for our soul and mental health. But sometimes a good old expletive laden rant or tear up is just so freeing.! Let it out folks it can save your life. Seriously.

In an age when it's fashionable to use scientific or 'therapy based' terms, a good old fashioned rant up can purge the soul and allow space for other stuff to come in. It really works.

I've seen people who cannot share their deep truth develop serious illness. I believe it rots the inner self when you cannot let it out. It can lead to serious things but also subtle things like passive aggressive behaviour. Either way it's difficult to be around or connect with a person clearly lost in the turmoil of self or their life.

We all have it. Life is like that. Things like work, money, finance, romance, status, family, health and happiness can all creep up and overwhelm us. A crap boss, a bad relationship or fear of the future can all have an effect.

Have you ever asked someone of they're Ok and hear 'I'm fine'. End of conversation. Just as their jaw is twitching. Supressed anger and worry flowing out of them, but of course, they're fine!!!

Fuck that. Let the inner truth out!!!! Let rip people it will help!!

Anyway, I left the meeting and went to a spin class. A brutal 80 minute sweat fest which I loved. It felt great to be back after weeks of illness (I still struggled to breath but fuck it I felt good)

I saw a girl I know and after class she had a pained expression on her face.

'What's up?' I asked
"I hated that" She winced
"Why my lovely?"
"I'm tired and stressed and I just hated it"
"Did you have a grump and strop in the middle of it? I enquired"
"Yes, I just wanted to cry and leave."
"I just swear at the instructor when I feel like that. They know me now and if i'm having a bad day it comes out in a massive strop. What's going on?"
"I'm busy, I have to study and work and do loads of exams. I have stuff to do now."
"Are you sleeping?"
"NO"
"Are you eating well?"
"No"
"What is work like?"
"My boss is a wanker, I have to 12 hour days and I have exams in 2 weeks. I'm so worried."
"Best to let it out girl. Give it to me."
"What?"
"Your raw inner truth. Give it to me straight. No filter. Fucking share it."
"I hate my boss, I hate my fucking job at the moment. I don't know why I have to do these stupid fucking poxy exams just to keep my job. It's fucking stupid. I hated the class. It was too hard and I usually love it. I even hated cycling here. It's usually the thing I love and I hate it. I feel terrible.
"Good girl. More."
"I hated the cycling over here. It's the wind.
"Oh that fucking wind. I bet it was in your face all the time wasn't it?
"Yes"
"And the fucking traffic. Bastards in your way."
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Because I feel like that sometimes. It's Ok it's just everything piling up on you."
"It is"
"let's do a game"
What?"
"Do a chant together?"
"How"
"well say with me a sentence"
"OK"
"fucking cunts. Fucking fuck fuck fuckity wankers, fucking twats."
"again"
so we said it three times. We looked at each other, burst out laughing and it was burst. The pressure bubble had burst.

"Go home. Call someone you trust and love. Ask them to give you the floor for 5 minutes and just rant. It's not how you really feel just empty the bile. Cook something and give yourself an hour", I said.

"OK I will, thanks Nick"

And with that I gave her a huge TNE hug and she left. Looking lighter, happier, easier and better than the demoralised, pained, contracted girl I saw after class.

She had unloaded. I understood. it comes out in many ways. But it was good for her to share before getting on her bike. Imagine her head on the way home without sharing? Messy.

So that is my topic. Yes there is much work beyond that. Sharing doesn't change all those situations but you never know, it may end up saving your life. I guarantee one thing though, you will look back and laugh at yourself if you do that. Not doing it will mean you continue to be locked in self and in a bad mood. I should know I've experienced it enough times.

A problem shared is a problem halved. Funny you won't hear that in a £10k a week treatment centre but it's true. Just not fashionable.

If you're sitting on a burning resentment, a deep secret easting you away, you're worried, frustrated or have mounting life pressure. Do me a favour find someone you trust and unload. Spare them the 2 hour version. Vent and move on. If it persists keep doing it with an appropriate person (me, therapist, coach, counsellor, sponsor, 12 step meeting, friend, support group) and it will lift. Of that I promise.

Hang tight crew and have a groovy weekend

Love you all

TNE

xx

Procrastination 1 - Productivity 0

It's a short blog today. Procrastination won. I didn't.

Try as I might (which wasn't very hard) productivity proved rather elusive.

Granted I didn't feel very well. This dam Virus/Nose/Chest/Throat thing was bad. Energy low. Seems I have a good day or two and think it's going then it comes back. The clinger.

But I had some energy. I could have done SOMETHING productive. ANYTHING?!!!! Surely Nicholas?!! The most productive thing I did today was send two bloody poxy measly emails. That's it. Two!! The took a grand total of 5 minutes. What the bloody hell did I do for the other 1435 minutes? (There are 1440 in a day) and why is procrastination so bloody attractive?

Let's take a look at today's schedule;

7am - Wake up. kitchen. Water and lemon. Cup of tea. Back to bed. Unwell. Bugger around on phone
8am  - Get up. Go downstairs. More tea and water. Medication. Bugger around on phone
9am -  Bugger around on phone. Must do morning prayers, readings, meditation and list for the day.
10am - Buggering around on the phone
11am - Morning prayers and list. Cross off morning stuff.
11.30 - shave hair and self haircut. Bored of myself.
12pm - Send two emails. 5 mins productivity. Reward myself with...
12.05pm - Bugger around on the phone. Tea. Constantly think about nose and chest.
1pm - sunbed - figure Vitamin D will help.
1.30pm - Gym. Stretch and core for back. Light weights for vanity. Sauna and steam with heavy Vics application. Phone not allowed in sauna. No buggering around on phone.
4pm - home - Bugger around on phone
5pm - phone call
6pm - Arrive at indoor cycling studio to teach
7pm - Teach cycling class
9pm - home - Write blog.
10pm - Bugger around on phone.
12pm - Bed.

Not a lot of productivity there is there? 1440 minutes. I could have begun a book. Applied for 20 jobs. Studied for level 4 Personal Trainer. Learnt a language. Although on the positive side;

• No daytime TV
• I am ill so I've got to cut myself some slack
• I taught a spinning class
• I sent an email directly asking for some work, perhaps (steady Nicholas)
• It's only a day
• I can do differently tomorrow.
• I wrote a blog.

Procrastination is a bastard and I come from a long line of procrastinators. It's one of my Achilles heels. The definition is - The action of delaying or postponing something.

Well, what a god send being ill for ages is. It means you actually have a Freedom pass to postpone life for a while. Justified procrastination.

When you have the Noro or flu you honestly cant to anything. But when you have some energy you can think and do. Then it's gone beyond ill resting. It's pure procrastination then.

But why procrastinate? Well, that's for another blog. But I suspect it's self centred fear and sloth combining together to keep the 'lower self' happy.

It's easier to put shit off and say or even think your going to do it than do it. Or do a part of it and reward yourself with several hours of doing fuck all. Or put your mind to something else completely irrelevant instead of productivity. If I would have invested an eighth of the time in writing as I have in chasing women or sex I would be on my 89th novel by now. Ridiculous. It's a complex topic and I'm a master practitioner. I will explore in more depth in another piece.

But just for today, it's 10pm. I've had a busy day and i'm so tired. This procrastinating business is exhausting. I'm off to bugger around on my phone.

The secret to happy life is to do the polar opposite to me today. No phone. No digital. Meditate, hot water and lemon and sleep. Will I do that now? What do you think........

Night everyone

TNE

xx

Peace Breaks Out....Finally and How a Child Nailed My Alcoholic Ego

How's your Monday been gang? Mine's been peaceful. Finally!

It's been a rocky time of illness and injury induced self centred misery. Lack of acceptance and alcoholic head running wild has made the past few weeks miserable.

I'm still suffering with this virus. The back is still excruciating. But today I woke up with a morsel of energy and a clearer head. Hooray!

I felt OK after a good reception to yesterday's blog. It was all over the news (the topic not my blog, sadly) and the piece I wrote seemed to stir much emotion in people. It was interesting that people who suffered other forms of trauma in their childhood, either through mental illness or other issues also connected with the blog. It made me feel good to create something that people liked and identified with.

The other thing that made me feel good was actually writing again. Being in self imposed misery/illness drains you of any desire to do anything. The negative energy is then in ascendancy. No writing. No creativity. No output. No fun.

This if course is pure ego. Many think Ego is walking around like Liam Gallagher and Danny Dyer with a self satisfied look on your face thinking you're the dogs bollocks. Well Ego is that of course.

But it also works in reverse. When you are locked in self. Anxiety, or self hatred, or self centred misery, or inertia, or comparing and despairing. That's pure Ego. It's just mixed with the low self esteem, negativity. I know. I've been there for weeks.

That's the deal sometimes. The problem with having an ego the size of a house is that sometimes it turns on you and tries to fuck you up. Today is the first time in ages I feel there's some distance from that and I can breath. It's beautiful to feel peaceful.

So what did I do differently today?

I woke up and had a good pray up. I read Step 3 in my AA book (if you're not in AA basically the premise is about handing your life to a higher power and getting the fuck out of your own ego and will - don't worry if you hate that or don't believe, but sometimes it's the only thing to shift this concrete Himalyan size ego thing that messes me up) and I basically made the decision to try and be mindful and employ the 12 step programme in my life today. Not in a weird, robotic, preachy way. Just quietly inside. After all The Nick Evans way wasn't working too well.

I went for a gentle walk by the river clocking up 9,000 steps. A change from running or mindlessly flicking through Facebook wishing I was someone else. I did a couple of hours work trying to source some income. Made a Nutri bullet full of goodness. Went to a potential work meeting, made some fresh food, went to an AA meeting and wrote this blog.

I took it easy on myself physically and mentally. I'm not well and I just have to take it easy. Yes I wish I hadn't smoked any cigarettes which isn't great for my chest and throat. But I'm mentally peaceful and i'll take that one today. All in all, a decent day and the ego is under control. Just. The Trick is to try and maintain the momentum day by day!

So, how did a child totally see through me today and sum up my massive head and huge ego?

Well there was a little girl with her mum in a meeting I went to. I loved this, seeing as yesterday in the media all the talk was about 2.5 million children suffering with parents with alcoholism in the UK. I listened to endless phone ins from people still drinking or grown up kids who's lives had been affected by alcoholic parents when they were young. Nobody talked of it as a disease. No-one mentioned recovery or 12 step fellowships (Don't get me started on that rant. It's anonymous not invisible and the fucking answer!!!) and here was a mum getting sober and her little 9 year old was drawing happily in the meeting. These two have a different future if she stays sober and in AA. What a heart-warming scene it was.

Anyway, she came over to me and said' 'Hello'. 'Hello' I replied. What's your name? "XXX" she replied (anonymity). "Can I draw you?" she asked. "Yes of course my darling". I replied. "But make sure you do a good job."

She set to work. Tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. Glancing several times. No doubt to get the angle of the quiff right.  After 10 minutes I said, "Have you finished yet?" She shook her head. "Nearly." Wow. She was a craftswoman this little girl. She changed pencils. Different colours. Her face a picture of study and perfection.

Finally she put down her pencils, went over to her Mum and showed her the masterpiece. Her Mum looked round, nodded at me and smiled. In fact she laughed. Not just a small laugh. But a massive snort. Like a Pig. The whole meeting looked round. It was a genuine show stopper.

My brow perspired a little. I felt the countdown theme tune, desperate to have a glance at her portrait of TNE. "Why did she laugh? Am I that ridiculous? Has she drawn a massive cock on me or something? Surely not. She's 9 for gods sake." Finally she came over, "Here you are Nick. I hope you like it." I said, 'Thank you my darling" and laid it out in front of me.

Oh my God, I thought. How can a 9 year old who doesn't even know me get it so right? She totally nailed me. Better than any artist. She saw right through my quiff, hairspray, bullshit and bluster and with 9 year old X Ray vision saw the real TNE with his huge head and massive ego. The girl is a genius and totally owned me. I salute you 9 year old girl. You made me day.

Here's her work. I love it and hope you do too.....alcoholic ego's of the world unite. (PS - Today's Daily Reflections reading was about laughing at yourself and not taking yourself too seriously. Funny how this happened today isn't it? God working through people? Especially a 9 year old one. Nice one Big G)

Love you all

TNE

xx

What it means to be an adult child of an alcoholic...

Last week was The Children of Alcoholics week (COA), It's aim, to increase awareness for children who are affected by parental alcohol problems and the support available.

1 in 5 children are currently living with a parent who has alcohol problems. It is a family disease and the long term affects are hidden and profound on the child. It is a silent problem and not something usually explored in society. The week was all about raising awareness and here's my piece about it.

As a an adult child of an alcoholic (ACOA) and a product of an alcoholic dysfunctional home, I wanted to write from first hand experience in the hope it gives both an insight and understanding as to the long term affects. If you are like me and a product of one, or even someone in recovery and suffered from alcoholism or addiction and have kids who witnessed it, this maybe helpful.

Firstly a disclaimer. Most of us have had some kind of trauma growing up. This piece is not designed to 'own' trauma more than others. Many people have suffered physical and sexual abuse as a child, or even lost their parents at an early age. Some have gone through divorce or been victims of neglect.

All of these of course are awful and have long term affects. However I know many people who have suffered such trauma and gone on to have fantastic lives.  Either through 'getting on with it', or working through issues. So this piece is not designed to be 'my life is worse than yours' or even 'children of alcoholics have it worse'. It's merely stating the facts of what it does to a young person and the long term affects in adulthood.

I don't speak for everyone of course, because every individual is different. I speak for myself. I know many people who are products of alcoholic homes who have not suffered in adult life. We are all different and I guess some of us are more sensitive to such long term effects than others. The best thing, in my opinion is not to deny it but to accept it as a 'thing', so we can do something about it.

I was 3rd son of 3. The baby of the tribe. My Mother was/is the best and most caring teak strong welsh maternal, caring matriarch you could wish for. Nurturing with the biggest heart. We were all 'darlings' and encouraged to express our feelings. She was always caring and a tremendous source of love and strength. There wasn't anything she wouldn't have done for her children. We were loved and lucky. A 5ft 2 (and a half) ball of Welsh energy and superhuman will. She, without knowing, was also an Alanon waiting to happen.

My father, was a 6ft 2 charismatic Welsh legend. Mike Evans. The big I Am. Funny, clever, generous, sociable, hugely charismatic, larger than life, funny and likeable. Like a welsh Jack Regan in my eyes. He was my hero growing up. Piercing eyes, huge gut, big beard and a Ford Granada Estate. God I loved that man. 'what a true man' I thought. He seemed about 12 ft tall and I wanted to be like him. (the feelings of not matching up to being a real man were already in place then)

He was also a raging alcoholic. An absolute stormer of one. Textbook rip roaring drunk.Nobody knew that of course, but over the years, the funny, charismatic and ultra-talented man turned into a monster controlled by Tenants Super and Whisky and was reduced to a terrifying violent and hopeless drunk who dominated the family for many years and finally left it to become a street drunk winding up dead at 65 years old, alone.

The early years were great. Fond memories of family outings & occasions, we were loved. It all seemed normal like most other families I knew. I was younger than my brothers, but my oldest brother, (again my hero) copped it the most from him. I was the sportsman so by all accounts his 'favourite'.

Then it began to change. My father would come home drunk a bit, then if I'm really honest most of the family occasions were instigated by my mother. Looking back, even when I thought everything was Ok he had begun his descent into the disease. He would argue with people who didn't exist, have conversations with imaginary people, always ending in the sentence 'you fucking wankers' and began to smell, look menacing (which I know now to be all his secret drinking) and he his mood would turn. I became edgy and scared of him. The house was then dominated by the mood of one man. The alcoholic. (See why it's a family disease now?)

I now know this to be the stages of alcoholism. The resentment, the self pity, the self centerdness. He became someone you had to walk on egg-shells around. The whole atmosphere began to change. There were fewer family outings and everything we did seemed to be with my Mother. He was there but wasn't there if that makes any sense. His mere presence menacing.

And then it really got messy. We moved house (as I learnt he drank the family house away and we had to move) and there followed 2 years of heavy alcoholism, madness and domestic abuse. Police were called, he attacked my Mum and brother several times, and any semblance of normality went out of the window.

He would drive me to football with 4 tins of Tenants Super on the floor and a can between his legs, sipping away saying 'don't tell your mother'. It was 9.30am. He was gone by that stage. To be fair though he still managed to criticise my performance even though he didn't actually see it. Thanks Dad!

The whole atmosphere was menacing, fear based and chaotic. This became normality. All the while life went on as normal. I went to school, had cricket trials, played football, hung out with friends (they would never come round though) - but you could never tell anyone what was going on at home. The knock on effect (and this is where the alanon comes in) was what it had to my ego. I hated normal kids at chool. I thought I was above them, because of the madness at home, when they had a simple normal balanced life. I felt superior to them with a secret hatred but chronic self pity and low self esteem at my position and who I was. The dice was cast. My own alcoholic huge ego and low self esteem combined with being a child of the alcoholic home had warped my brain and thinking from an early age. It's still something I struggle with now.

Then after yet another violent episode the police were called, (back then domestic violence wasn't even on the radar) The Police asked my Mum if he could sleep in the Garage, even though he had just tried to kill her! He left and I remember looking out of my window, I was 12 and crying that my poor Dad had left. My hero had gone. I can't remember ever feeling that sad and crying uncontrollably.

By then he had taken to living in his car, or doss houses - on one occasion me and my two brothers went to the Salvation Army to ask him to stop drinking and plead for him to get well. He didn't or more to the point couldn't. He was sick.

Over the next year I saw him infrequently. We had to move and hide our address from him. He would turn up drunk at my school, or where I worked and menacingly demand to see me. It was embarrassing and frightening. But I took it all in my stride. It was normal living after all. Standard for a child of an alcoholic.

Finally he left for good. We didn't know where he had gone and had no contact. I was suddenly fatherless, even though he had long since stopped becoming a regular father. It happened in stages, just like the stages of alcoholism and it just became my Mother and I. I was 15.

At 15 you want to start drinking, going out, getting girls. I had two older brothers, one of which was sensible and couldn't wait to get away and find a stable girlfriend and family unit which he used to replace the one he didn't have with us, then I had the oldest brother, who was essentially Dad Mark 2, an alcoholic, manic depressive artist, charismatic, funny and my hero. He fucked off when I was young too and made sporadic appearances. Both my male role models. Both alcoholics. Both of whom I was desperate for approval from both left me and thus created a huge feeling of need and insecurity inside. Welcome to adolescence Nicholas!! They were my heroes and I felt like a little boy not matching up to them.

It also creates a huge imbalance in the family unit. You lose the male side of the family and my mother tried to carry on as normal, being the father and mother when really you cannot. She had her own things going on and incredibly managed to drag us up, provide and through exceptional will and energy carry on, but you cannot hide the damage it caused.

Essentially I was left with me at 15, trying to be the big I AM in school and amongst my friends, a loving sensitive youngest son at my poor Mum who had done everything to keep a roof over my head and feed me, and a 15 year old trying to grow up and be a 'man'.

If I look back, I was all over the place and had no idea who to be, what to do or where to go. I just pieced things together the best I could.

"Don't turn out like your father", would be the mantra I got from my Mum when I started to drink. No chance I thought, he was a proper alcoholic. Little did I know that I had that gene raging inside me and was soon to turn to black out drinking and drugs from the age of 18.

Growing up in an alcoholic home was both confusing and thrilling. Chaos and drama became the norm and quite frankly I was bored when there wasn't any. Same to this day.

I also felt above my friends as they seemed to have normal dull lives, but underneath I felt terrible less than and jealous towards them. It makes you feel isolated and alone.

Then this fuelled the real dangerous poison in me. Self-pity. God I felt so sorry for myself that I had endured such hardship and lost my father. This combined with a spikey 'fuck you' arrogance became my standard feeling I took around with me for years and still have to this day.

Being a child of an alcoholic fucks you up. There's no two ways about it. It creates confusion and disharmony and affects your  adult life. How? Does anyone recognise these traits at all?

• Inability to form lasting relationships for the fear of being abandoned? I could write a whole chapter on this as the litany of former girlfriends who have all fallen in love with me only to be rejected due to my chronic deep rooted fear of commitment will no doubt testify.
• Addicted to Compulsive/Disfunctional relationships/people - Settle down with a lovely, stable, loving, nurturing girl or go out with alcoholic, coke addict who is chronically co-dependant needy and sexually attractive? Do I really need to ask - let's go mental!!
• Comfortable more in chaos than calm - Being brought up in chaos makes you think it's normal. Calm and normal therefore become boring and dull. Give me a bit of chaos otherwise I may have to sit with uncomfortable feelings. Fuck that!
• Low Self Esteem and High Ego - Being abandoned by an alcoholic parent tends to make you feel you're a piece of shit deep down. Yes your mother may say she loves you but if your father and hero leaves you then it makes you feel worthless and like something is wrong with you deep down. But NEVER ever admit that unless it's to girls to show your vulnerability and help them fall in love with you more so you feel safe and wanted only of course to let them down because you are chronically afraid of commitment. See above for details. Standard fayre for child of an alcoholic.
• Dishonesty - leading a double life in formative years. Chaos at home, fine to the outside world. Or covering up your true feelings to one parent who is still around doing their best to bring you up even though you want to rebel. Effectively means living a double life and 'compartmentalising' emotions is normal and lying, deceit, covering up but with a good heart becomes normal patterns of behaviour. Tricky to have long term relationships with this shit going on.
• Self Criticism  and cynical - If you feel like a piece of shit, it's pretty normal to criticise yourself if you don't particularly love yourself. And why would you love yourself if the one hero in your life has left you? Standard for child of alcoholic. Plus you are cynical for the rest of the world because everything will fuck up somewhere down the line, right?
• Self sabotage - Closely aligned with above. If you hate yourself then you will stop at nothing to sabotage good stuff. Job, relationship, health, happiness. Whatever it takes to fuck up feeling good is a popular long term affect and one of my specialities.
• Victim Mode - another belter this one. Not only do you feed it but you seek other's to perpetuate it too. People who have been in your life for too long and won;t feed that bullshit story anymore have to go and be replaced by new people who show you nothing but pity and buy into the victim story. This has to go because it is hugely destructive and boring to the rest of the world. Nobody likes a victim.
• Other addictions - Er, yes of course. Where do I sign up? Another staple diet. Like father like son. Or even some less glamourous addictions like food, sugar, sex, love - anything to fix those pesky feelings huh kids?
• Finally seeking approval and attention - God this is engrained. I will go anywhere to anyone to get approval and attention. Like a puppy needing to be patted. I hide it but I am a shameless attention seeker and this all stems from being the child of an alcoholic. Hero abandoned you? seeking love? God yes please and I will stop at nothing to get it.

Not all people have these of course and there are many more. But that gives you a flavour of the long term affects. I am comfortable with them today and they are getting better. Time takes time to work through things. It's better to accept them and admit they are there than deny it and pretend it doesn't exist.

My style is to make friends with them, poke fun at them, accept them. If sometimes I act in them and indulge then so be it. It doesn't make me a bad person but it's better to have awareness around them then at least you can do something about them.

yes sometimes I still feel this chronic sadness and self pity hampers me. I watched Warrior the other day and the scene when Nick Nolte (Pop), the father of Tommy (Tom Hardy) gets drunk after 3 years sober and Tommy holds him and puts him to bed made me howl. Tears of years of sadness and self pity crashing down. It's not gone or even fixed but it's getting better.

Point is, it doesn't have to disable your life. It doesn't have to be awful and you don't have to pretend they don't exist. But you DO have to do something about them not to use then as an excuse, absolve yourself from responsibility and sit in the problem forever. There is a way out.

It doesn't make them any worse than other people's shit. We all have issues. But it does mean that hopefully you will identify if you are like me. If you have a family member with alcohol problems there are ways you can help them. We didn't have any information back then, it is different now.

So that's my monster piece. Thank you for reading. Feel free to share or comment. If you want some help or information there are a couple of websites below which will give you information and I love you very much.

To be honest I'll love you anyway because as an adult child of an alcoholic I am desperate to please, so I'm probably a love and sex addict. Here's a tip for you girls. Get an adult child of an alcoholic as a lover as we absolute insist on being the best lover and giving you tons of orgasms to mask our chronic low self esteem. Funny how we can self esteem in the weirdest places. Even if it's only temporary.

So how can it be treated? Well firstly i cannot recommend 12 step fellowships highly enough. Alanon for families of alcoholics, AA for alcoholics and Adult children of Alcoholics and Alateen for children of alcoholics. Al will help to discover the true nature of the disease, how it manifests, our reactions to it and how we all have a part to play. They also offer ongoing support how to live with it and recover one day at a time. The amount of understanding and self awareness they give about addiction as a disease, a family illness far outweighs any other treatment in my experience.

It has given me far more self awareness, knowledge and understanding of this and something the world of therapy seems to miss. Humour. And the ability to laugh at yourself whilst swallowing large amounts of difficult behavioural patterns. We all have our journey. But try it if you haven't. It may change your life.

PS - I don't blame my Dad or parents and wouldn't change anything for the world. We are all a products of our experience and it's what makes us all fabulously unique and magnificent bastards.

http://www.coaweek.org/about/

Love you very much now I just have to try and love myself. Something children of alcoholics struggle with very much.

Feel free to share this piece and help educate the world - it is a thing, a disease and it can be lived with and de-stigmatised!

Nicholas Evans

TNE

February Blues - Being Ill and the Lower Self

I'm alive!!!

As you may have noticed, the blog has been put on hold for a few weeks. Sorry. I've not been too well. In fact I'm still not.

We're talking 3 bouts of flu, 1 bout of noro-virus, multiple chest infections, recently suspected sinistitus, one annular tear in L4 and a bulging L5 onto the sciatic nerve. Ouch!

Yes, in short. I'm fucked. Have been fucked and it's still ongoing. Writing has been low down on my list of "to-do's", in fact living has been pretty low down at certain points.

I thought the low point was the day I slept on the bathroom floor when 'The Noro' hit, Jesus Christ, It was Like a liquid torpedo both ends. I honestly felt I was dying.

I remember alternating between sitting on the toilet and putting my head over the shit stained bowl to puke, I had to constantly switch over so both ends emptied the poison within. Timing was everything. Trouble is you get disorientated, it's dangerous. You can easily find yourself shitting up the wall as you puke in the bowl. Luckily I managed to avert this crisis but several times I came close.

The Noro is horrific. It's like you've downed a pint of nuclear waste or something. You are total poison. Your guts rumble with radioactive waste, your arse is on fire. you feel like you've got dysentery and you puke with such force you think you're bringing up your entire brain. Bulimia has nothing on the Noro.

As I laid on the bathroom floor, drool hanging from my mouth, puke stains down my top and shit splash on my arse (Am I getting you wet now girls?) I was thinking; "please God, end it now". Dark times indeed.

But that wasn't the lowest point. Oh no. God had a better plan for me. He gave me another chest infection and sinistus. Immediately after the Noro, for the 3rd time in 6 weeks. The Lowest point? No, not at all. He waited for me to digest that information before pushing a new surprise..........Torn disc, sciatica and a back spasm, so I couldn't move! Brilliant. Hooray! Yeah baby!

Thanks God. Nice one. Anything else whilst you're at it?  Apparently the force of puking was so ferocious it tore a disc and sent it into huge spasm. Awesome

As you may have guessed, The self pity and intolerance has been huge.

Not only did I shit myself 3 days earlier, but thanks to a fucked back I'm now walking like I actually have shit myself. What kind of fucking show is this the old omnipitence is running for fucks sake?

I've barely moved for 6 weeks - My social life is Netflix. I actually count the cast of Suits, Sons of Anarchy and Californication as my mates now.

To cure the boredom and misery I occassionally binge on sugary foods to cheer myself up. But they just make me fat, which feeds into my body dismorphia and makes me feel even more miserable. Double fuck,

I can't smoke much because my chest is bad and it hurts. What on earth can I do now?

I can't exercise to make my body look amazing or clear my mind, so that avenue is broken.

I can't face writing or doing videos  as I have no brain and i'm too miserable for comedy gold, so I can't get attention on social media or even forge my life to look amazing and happy. Triple fuck.

I feel so rough I've lost my sex drive so I can't even chase women and be promiscuous to provide me with a temporary sticking plaster to my chronic low self esteem. lack of fuck.

Working or teaching has been nigh on impossible (oh did I say I lost 2 jobs in 6 weeks aswell?) so my bank balance is decreasing and I'm getting fearful of the future.

Everyone on Facebook or Instagram seems to be doing amazingly or launching business, having fabulous times or suffering stress from their high powered jobs.

Friends or people I know have all grown up and made investments and secured their future and are having kids and doing life and proper getting on with shit.

And I have just been laying on my sofa getting through each day going slowly madder and madder and retreating more and more into my mad, alcoholic, lower self, self sabotaging unhelpful sick head.

I have come off a distinct second best. Fuck and fuck again.

So, all in all 2017 and Jan/Feb has been a pile of shit so far.

But why?

Is it my lifestyle? Is it the smoking? The processed food? The artificial sweetener from the Diet Coke addiction? Is it the years of late nights? Of pushing the body to the limit? Is it the years of bulimia in the past? Is my body  mal-nourished? Do I need to change everything? Is it my fault? Or am I just unlucky it's all come at once ? Is it a message from God saying 'you need to change Nicholas' - "but I'm not that unhealthy? Am I?

What about people with long term illness or injury? How do they cope? I mean I've been in chronic pain with the back for 4 weeks now and ill for around 8 and I am about ready to commit homicide or suicide so fuck knows what it must be life to live a lifetime of it. Incredible. My heart & respect goes out to them.

I am prone to bouts of introspection, self pity and wallowing. It's almost as if my bad head, lower self, my disease wants to keep me in it. It's nearly always on me in normal life. But if you add illness and injury my defences weaken and it's on me like a rash.

My lower self is out to get me. Keen to feed my self sabotaging ways. To help me press the self destruct button. Eat shit, guzzle coke, smoke fags, binge on sugar, don't phone that person, stay in, keep alone. Procrastinate, put off new things, fear up, worry, anger, shout, destruct, reject. All lower forces. Negative behaviours and influences I battle with daily.

And when all my traditional 'fixes' are off limits or not able to work anymore where the hell do I go then? I guess that's what the Inside Job is about, and maybe this is a painful way to find out....

But I know it will pass. I know I am lucky really and that my head is telling my lies. I know deep down that it will all come good and I know that I am OK really.

I got out of the habit of writing and it's like anything, if you stop you lose the skill. It requires practise and discipline, so just for today I am doing something I don't want to do just for exercise. I'm writing a blog. My head is critical about it. It's screaming out, 'what a shit blog'. "You've got nothing to say', but that's Nicholas 1 - 0 lower self head and I'm happy about nudging the last minute winner.

Stay cool TNE will return fighting fit soon

The Nick Evans

xx