18-08-2014: I saw Terry today, he looked awful. He appeared to be wandering around inside the selfish maze of his own head. Rest assured, Terry’s head is not a good place to be. Passing him by in the busy Southend-On-Sea High Street I could see his eyes were glazed over with an angry, vacant inward stare. He never noticed me at all. Looking at him walk by it seemed all those thoughts that filled his head made his lips move slightly. Mumbling to himself, sorting out yesterdays ills.
Having wholeheartedly believed that knowledge would alter my addictive nature and give me a nudge in a more positive direction only shows how wrong I could be. With a disease so life threatening it seemed logical to seek professional advise and avoid any notion that some kind of spirit could help. Now that the truth has been unlocked through scripture however, my previous psycho babbling pursuits have since been recognized as life threatening experiences. All that intellectual searching was set on nothing more than a pride and fearful foundation built by my own self-will, which was placed alongside professional people that had some good yet naïve humanitarian intentions. They meant well but could not deliver nor withdraw from me the truth. Unfortunately this attitude simply highlighted my then brash, shallow and soulless character. Forgiveness, Love, being sorrowful and the need for redemption, or a redeeming nature, were never looked at as potential healing methods. I often believed, or perhaps hoped, that the professional therapists seemed so close to restoring my sanity, just one more visit and I’ll be fine was the nearest I got to any recovery at all. Nearly recovered does not wash when up against addiction.
Alcoholics, God and psychotherapy focuses on the Rambling Bricklayer’s personal journey alongside details, histories, successes and failures of how addicts search for recovery.
I am sure the psychiatrist negated a nod when I walked into her office. Immediately she began a no nonsense key holding approach to unlocking the self styled padlocked barbed wire that was wrapping me up and cutting me to pieces. The self-willed barbs were sharp, intricate and painful to say the least. I sat down sheepishly, her eye brows dipped. Oh no, I’ve already done something wrong, I thought, painfully. She studied me for a moment, weighing me up while taking notes. Her pen took brood swoops across a page with confidence like a real professional. “Don’t worry” she said “the notes are for our file only”. I clearly wasn’t fit enough in the head to read what she had written, the words were for “their file only”.