We’ve arrived back in London and it is safe to say that we’re not overjoyed to descend into the gloomy, concrete jungle. The weather is overcast, cold and blustery. Welcome to Blighty.

I try and recognise the love for this town, the majesty of this city. However it seems to represent something else now. Reunion Island was free, alive and beautiful. This city is restrained, choking and heavy. People rush around getting their daily jobs done, preparing for whatever it is they’re looking forward to at the end of the day, end of the week, free time away from the shackles of city existence. Is this really how life should be? I remind myself not to be so cynical, to try and understand the beauty in everything. Can I see it here?

As we leave heathrow and waddle down to the tube an unexpected meeting with some fellow travellers reminds me of my new found appreciation for humanity. They are kind and joyous, we make small talk, discover things in common and share conversation. People are friendly, if you are too.

We get back to our family home in suburban North London. It is green and vibrant here, the birds are chirping and the flowers are emerging from their winter hibernation. Life lives. Our cats greet us at the door, they look older and anxious for our return. A neighbour has been looking after them and they have definitely put on weight. I’m not too worried about this but it reminds me of my drinking days where I slowly gathered ballast and morphed to a blob of blubber, stumbling around the house in a dehydrated haze. I don’t miss that version of myself. How long did I remain in that slumber? The best part of 30 years. No return.

It surprises me how my mind has grown so much and so quickly. The pace of my progress is rapid, both physically and mentally. Personal growth is real and infectious, yet delicate. I must stay grounded and respect I still have much to learn. Humility is the key and I should hold that sacred. I have fleeting glimpses of moments from the past where I remember how blind I was, the respect I held for alcohol was hypnotic. Occasionally I would experience an inkling, a sparkle that had always been there, trapped, trying to be heard, saying ‘you can be better than this’. For so long I suppressed it, smothered its early beginnings and did not allow it to manifest. That I would dare believe I had the power to be free from alcohol. Terrified of its absence. I do not grieve its demise. I remember contemplating this change in the past and rejected it, based on my belief that life would be boring and unfulfilling without alcohol. What would I do with my time? I had something that I adored and loved to spend time with. It loved me and made me feel so good. So what if I had a little hangover  the following day. I could always recover by lunchtime and look forward to an evening with Margaux, St Emilion or Mr Malbec. What would I look forward to without it? The gym? Yoga? Reading novels? No thanks, that’s for boring people..

It turned out that I slowly began to appreciate all of those things and much more. Friendships, acquaintances, work, learning from others and truly listening to them. Not just waiting to speak. Reading, writing, helping others, small gestures that light up others lives, even if just for a split second. A small smile, hold a door open, let others go first. The ripple effect. The city doesn’t seem so bad now, I feel the reciprocation from others. Life is people and most people have good hearts and seek happiness and joy from each other, not a bottle.

I’m at the mid point of my life and looking forward to what the universe will present. I’m open and ready without judgement. It’s a shame it has taken me this long to finally listen to that little voice that said ‘you can do it’, but equally I must have no regrets and appreciate the present, how lucky I am to be alive and surrounded by love and life. My second chance.

There were times throughout the past 20 years that I had struggled with depression and anxiety and dare I say it, suicide. For years I would have episodes where I would be so down, I would contemplate taking my life. It became habitual. I felt safe in its arms. Take away the pain. The thought of extinguishing my life gave me calm, solace and belonging, knowing that I would be away from this groundhog day feeling of hopelessness, sadness, inward anger, resentment, jealousy, bitterness towards myself and the world around me. It was a friend to me, to wallow in its perception, comfort and perhaps realisation and relief. It’s difficult to explain, but tangibly placid, like an eye of a storm, or where time stops and you feel a connection with the afterlife, so many souls, a spiritual embrace. I’m ready to transcend and join a new beginning.

As I slowly discover who I truly am, I am learning to appreciate others happiness, my existence and how truly lucky I am. There is a small part of me that says I don’t deserve it and maybe I don’t. Through all the selfishness, pain and nastiness I have imposed on others, through my bad tempers, snobbery, greed and self-gratification. But now I am discovering freedom and the honour of responsibility, I recognise it and embrace its presence. I have developed a greater understanding of what we all struggle with and hope that I can share my story and help others. I have subsequently made a vow to give back in any way I can. We are all one step away from making that change, accepting who we are and finding our true selves without judgement, expectations of our selves or preconceived ideas of who we are supposed to be. I have escaped from the midst of chaos and  discovered the true gift of life, which lies beyond my own, in the happiness of us all. The impermanence of our existence is precious and I’m ready to embrace every second of it with joy, energy and love.