Archives for posts with tag: Alcohol

My friend Bryan asks  me to lead the huge Monday night meeting held at the cream colored, concrete church or Rodeo Drive.

I agreed to address the cult.  You know how I feel about LA AA.

I spent the larger part of the day at home, packing.   I bought a coat from RRL.   A beautiful navy pea coat with brass buttons and a dramatic pleat in the back.

At lunch time I have a conversation with a financier and discuss tax credits.

Before the AA event I nip into Venice where I meet an actress.  We drink hot chocolate and discuss the script.   She has good ideas.

She has good casting ideas.

She is generous and interesting and interested.  She doesn’t get recognized.

I drive with the Little Dog to Beverly Hills.  Outside the church I notice people I know from the past… smoking.  People with small amounts of recovery.  Limited time in AA.  People who can’t stay sober for longer than a few months.

Leading the meeting means that I have to direct the format of the meeting as written then tell my story.  The story divided into three parts: Experience, Strength and Hope.   How it was and how it is now.

Well, you are meant to have a great story.  I don’t have a great story.  Not this year.

Inside the hall my mouth dries, I can see the bloated face of a gay film producer who just cannot stay sober and will die drunk.  His equally incompetent sober friends will mourn his death.  They will say things like, ‘Peter struggled so hard to stay sober’.

They will cry for the duration of the memorial then they will scamper like hairy children to another miserable dying addict who can’t stay clean or sober.

The same people are found laughing at the back of meetings.  Unable to take anyone seriously other than themselves.

Peter has four pitiful months.  He mocks my struggle or the struggles of people like me because he has never had more than a few months clean.  He will never know what it is like not to drink for a decade or more or what tribulations that incurs.

I didn’t tow the party line. I told them what was going on.  A public flaying.

I flayed myself.

What am I doing here? I thought.  What am I doing here telling these people my secrets?  What the hell do I do this for?  I sipped at my bottle of water.  I wore my new spectacles.

On the way back to Malibu I listened to NPR.  They were playing Bridge when I got home.  Eating marzipan mice.

The speaker of the Ugandan parliament has promised she will pass the so-called “Kill the Gays” bill in the next two weeks — she called it a “Christmas gift” for the Ugandan people. 

How will she achieve that?   There’s one born every minute.

I had a great day today.  Started writing my script, the one that I intend to shoot this winter.  I am working with my deliciously talented co-writer GT.  This afternoon we sat for four hours  hammering out the big idea.  She is  wonderful, inspired and inspiring who generously and perfectly compliments the way I work.

It’s odd to be feeling so upbeat because this afternoon whilst I was out shopping with Jennie I ended my relationship with my NYC boy.

My relationship is over.   The past four months have been very emotional but actually so well worth the risk.  To fall in love and be loved.   To make love.  To risk saying I love you to another man..these are the gifts of sobriety.  We had, against the odds, a great deal of fun.  Not enough really but fun wasn’t the point.

He was so fragile and distraught when I met him.  In the short time I knew him he experienced momentous changes.  I was so blessed to have been given the time we spent together, to witness his bravery.   To see him tear down his old life and build another in the ruins.

It was wonderful, when we had the few chances we had, to lay in each other’s arms.  I loved every inch of his perfect body.  Even as he wept-and we did a great deal of crying-he was beautiful.  It was a beautiful and tender time.

I can tell you with my usual disarming candor-the best sex I ever had.

What, you may be asking did you end it for?  If I didn’t let him go I would have stolen something that he needed more than me-the chance to form a relationship with a man more his own age, a man who could fully give him what he needed and that man wasn’t going to be me.

To exit a relationship with grace and dignity is perhaps the hardest thing of all.  I needed with love to let this man go on his way.  Everything I ever let go of had cl;aw marks all over it..

In spite of the external problems we had a perfect chemistry.   Intellectually we were perfectly well matched, when we weren’t crying we laughed a great deal.  So, why the hell end this?  Why?  Couldn’t I have moved to NYC?  Couldn’t he have moved to LA?

I’m afraid that it all boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: my being sober.

When I met him I set aside my doubts.  I may not have trusted him to stay monogamous, something I’m afraid that the gays don’t do very well (please, dear readers, don’t give me a hard time for this accurate generalization) I forgave his constant references to his past relationship, his crippling guilt, his disapproving mother.  I chose to rationalize that I was in a relationship with a man who insisted that I was not allowed to call our relationship a RELATIONSHIP.   I loved a man who loved me but we were not allowed to call each other lovers.  We lived in the shadow of the wreckage of his past and it was slowly suffocating me.

I feel as if I have been living in somebody else’s closet.

To keep him I needed to change.  I became genius at having no expectations.  I was not genius at being patient so my patience very quickly ran out.  I overlooked the drinking and the pornography, the flirtations and half stories undermining my confidence in him.  I ignored that he kept me secret.  I could even overlook his occasional weed smoking. But late last night, after a hard time in the city. He drove home drunk.

He drove for one hour out of NYC DRUNK.

I was forced to admit the most profound difference between us: he continues to pickle his feelings with alcohol, drugs and sex.

When he drinks his personality changes and he makes appalling choices.

That, my friends, is the curse of every addict.

Driving home drunk is simply unforgivable to me, a recovering alcoholic.  Even if it were ‘just once’ it was once too often and by doing so he recklessly risked his own life and the lives of others. Within a matter of moments my desire for him crumbled.  Let’s face it, for the past few nights when we chatted on Skype he had been drunk, drunk or high or both.   It just made me feel very uncomfortable.

I really  loved my beautiful boy but I didn’t love his drinking.  I let this man into my life and by so doing put myself at risk of relapse.

Dinner with a stranger then driving home drunk.

Does this sound like a man who has any respect for himself?  How am I expected to respect a man who risks his own life by drinking and driving?   I can’t do this.  I didn’t get sober for this.

The neighbors are fighting again.  They may fight but they are in the same room.  They have a chance of making it work.  The cowardly end to this was to wait for time to pass, wait for our relationship to die of natural causes.

Tonight I am free to write my blog without censorship-without having to be obtuse.  I know that he is relieved, that tonight he will sleep better in his own skin.   I fear for him, I really do.  That he will sink into a world of gym hook ups, drinking and drugs and by doing so he will become just like every despicable gay we used to laugh about.

We are no longer lovers but we remain friends and I will help him as much as I can.

I even secretly entertain the idea of going to Europe with him one day.  If he pays for his own ticket.