I remember sitting in group therapy, at rehab, one morning, when the manager came bounding in telling us how we should all be grateful. Some drama had gone down, I don’t know what – perhaps someone complained about not being able to go out for a cigarette, or not having access to the internet, or not being able to go outside for a walk, something about the conditions of life in a rehab. She was furious. “Don’t you all realise how lucky you are?” she barked. Then she banged on about the importance of gratitude and how you’ll all probably die without it – standard rehab stuff.
But, as right as she may have been, the truth is, I sat there thinking ‘you can’t just have gratitude. You can tell us to have it’ – and she was demanding it of us – ‘but it’s not like telling us to clean the frigging skirting board on the Saturday deep clean.’ And, of course, I understood intellectually gratitude was clearly a beneficial frame of mind, but, sitting in a rehab at 31 (as I was) or be it 21, 51, older or younger, it’s kind of hard to have gratitude. For right or wrong, it just is. Life hasn’t gone as you’d planned or dreamt about all those years ago as a hopeful child, and now you’re sitting in a room with a bunch of misfits who don’t know how to function in the world. We couldn’t even drink or use properly, for Christ’s sake! ‘And now you want me to have this magical state of gratitude?’ In rehab, I was more thinking, ‘how the fuck has it come to this?’
But, after you leave rehab and the years goes by, you watch the people who were there with you relapse and often die – there’s got to be at least ten people I was in rehab with who are now dead, some younger than me, all far younger than the average life expectancy. You go through different emotions. Why did they die? Why am I still alive and sober? You get upset, angry, existentially torn and twisted. They were your friends, but not only that, they went through the same process you did to recover, had the same dreams of a new life: why them and not me? There’s grief and there’s bewilderment. And, finally, you attain the state that the manager wanted us to have that day in rehab, when she sowed a seed: gratitude. Grateful for life. Grateful for sobriety. Even if all else around you is shit – such is life for all of us at times – you’re alive and you’re sober. You start to feel blessed for having been an addict in the first place, because it gives you a deeper appreciation for life.
I’ve thought a lot about this, the last 11 days incapacitated, unable to move little further than the house or hospital. I recalled a friend once saying to me, referring to the hiking I do, you should be grateful you have legs. In some sense, that seemed ridiculous to me, but in trying times I’ve written gratitude lists – like I’d learnt in rehab – and included things like I’m grateful for my legs, my eyes, the water in our taps and the weather. But often, it’s a going-through-the-motions, a bid to free yourself from a mini-drama (which at the time feels much bigger). I don’t think I actually felt grateful for my legs and eyes, despite knowing intellectually I’m better off having them than not, and better off than those that can’t walk or see.
But right now, I can say hand on heart, I’m feeling an enormous sense of gratitude (and this isn't the painkillers talking!). I’ve needed this pain – and believe me there’s been times when I’ve wished someone would chop my arm off! I haven’t been able to use my upper body, Beck has literally had to feed me at times. But I can still walk, not without pain in my neck, shoulder and arm, but my legs work fine. So, yes, I’ve actually felt grateful for my legs – and felt a kinship, and reflected very much on those around me who struggle with this. I couldn’t lift my head to watch TV at one point, I couldn’t write or read. So, I’ve also felt very grateful for my senses.
None of this stuff should really be a revelation to me, but clearly I’m still a deeply flawed person who needs reminding. Once again, I’m learning this stuff. This period of pain has been more like a spiritual retreat.
This is just 11 days and already I’ve recovered enough to write, read, feed myself and watch TV – that probably makes this sound like heaven! Today I had my first chiro session too. He cracked and cricked me, sent electric shocks throughout my body and I came out feeling more in pain than when I entered, but also feeling positive – my head feels a little looser. I can’t walk very far, I need a little assistance with things. Physically I feel a world worse than I did a fortnight ago, psychologically I feel a world better. It’s a funny old world.