Instead of giving up drinking, I gave up on my dreams. It was easier. Short term at least.
Looking back, I’d never had a healthy relationship with alcohol but, before it got out of hand, I still had reasons to get up, at least.
One of them, was poetry.
In 2013 through a random series of events that involved me storming out of a pub job, I found myself standing on a stage at a poetry festival in Canterbury in a poetry slam.
For the uninitiated, a poetry slam is in short, competitive art. Poets stand on stage, and have three minutes to perform a poem they wrote, before being judged, either by panel or by the audience themselves.
I’d never been to one before, but I was in love with it, straight away. In a world where so many of us struggle to get heard, here I was, on stage, uninterrupted. Accepted even. Chatting with other poets, the art of it all, and yes, the applause. It was wonderful.
I ended up winning that slam, teaching poetry in schools and youth groups, mentoring, going on the radio, winning more slams, touring England, competing at a national level. I set my sights on being a full-time poet, and a national champion. Before you know it, years have flown past.
Alcohol was now making a significant impact on my life. A lot of that impact, most people will be able to imagine. Destroyed relationships, homelessness, threadbare health and mental well-being.
Specifically, though, I turned my back on art. I wasn’t able to maintain relationships with promoters, other artists, or the community at large. I wasn’t able to remember my work on stage. I no longer had the wherewithal needed to write. I was angry, miserable, and self-destructive.
I replaced my poetry pals with pub ones. Replaced the pub with a living room. Replaced company for solo drinking. Fell off the world.
