How I became a sour-faced spoilsport boring goody-two-shoes

What else did I give up in the Labyrinth?  Yeah, yeah, apart from my sanity (ho ho).  J

Alcohol.  

Jeez, I can hear you (no need to shout, honestly) – what a bloody miserable goody two-shoes she’s becoming.  Now, don’t get me wrong. I love alcohol.  Well, I love spirits. And the spirits love me.  I had my first gin aged about ten and I could probably still drink most guys under the table providing we stuck to the hard stuff. Wine and beer? Not so much. Mix ‘em and it gets pretty nasty. 

Alcohol has run through my life like a narcotic river.  My father was apparently an alcoholic, though a functioning one. I don’t remember him drunk; only sad. But while he went down the pub, my mother went hungry and we didn't get shoes. When he ran out of money, he brewed his own beer and the smell of malt and hops still makes me a bit queasy to this day. Yup, I’m married to a man who makes his living from the stuff – the irony is not lost.

I’ve known a few people who have battled with booze and lost the fight, losing themselves along with their work, their homes, their families, their friends, their dignity. Others came out the other side of the bar and are stronger, more honest people for it. I admire them enormously.  People joke about alcohol - time and again I've heard people laughing their heads off saying, 'Oh, I'm such an alcoholic!' like it's fun, like it's a smart thing. It ain't. It's losing your hair and killing your liver; it's vomit and piss and tears and bloody anguish. Don't ever joke about alcoholism.

Of course not everyone becomes an alcoholic, no matter how much they drink. My second father, Big Black Erik the Aboriginal Viking, drank like a bloody fish and did some pretty wild things under the influence but he could give it up pretty much any time. That was me too.  At that early point in the Labyrinth I don’t think I even talked to Marek about alcohol – he just said he didn’t drink (apart from virtually, of course) but he talks about it in more detail (and with extreme honesty) in Symphonic Bridges.

I can hear the voices again (I really need ear-plugs). Don’t be such a sour-puss, don’t be such a spoilsport.  And again, I’d say, I’m not saying you shouldn’t drink. I’m just telling you what I’ve been up to this last year and why I made the choices I did.

Possessed or pissed? Hard to tell, huh?

When we get drunk we get possessed, we really do.  We let down the barriers. The occultists say that you should never get seriously drunk because your aura becomes leaky and the spirits (yeah) can hop in and hitch a ride. A Jungian would say that being drunk lets out your shadow  (no real surprise that people pick fights or screw around when they're pissed).  A shaman would say you may meet the ally – which can be either very good or very bad (typical bloody shamans – fecking infuriating. But we’ll talk about that later).

Yes she did look like that!

When I think back to the things I did when I was drunk, I really wince.  Admittedly I was young but still….aaghhh.  Taking off petrol caps and tossing in lit matches?  Smart huh?  Jumping into the Thames at midnight in the middle of winter with snow on the ground?  Smashing my fist through a window?  Lying comatose on the floor so a passing log broke my hand in so many places they couldn't even begin to set it? Picking fights with guys four times my size in dodgy clubs? Waking up in a strange bed and talking to a poster of Farrah Fawcett-Major because I hallucinated it as my friend Sig?  Waking up in my own bed with absolutely no idea how I got there because the last thing I could remember was…no, I really couldn’t remember.  I couldn’t even move my head.  All I could do was look directly upwards and watch my bra swinging gently on the overhead light in the breeze from the open window.  I couldn’t even turn my head to see if I had anyone else in bed with me.

When I think back I was bloody lucky I never ended up raped or dead. 

But hey, you’re saying, that’s all very interesting and didn't we all do crazy things when we were young but now we’re all sensible grown-ups we drink in moderation, don’t we? We chill out with a few glasses of wine after a tough day in the office; we have a civilised G&T at “gin o’clock”. It’s sociable; it’s civilised; it helps us relax and it’s fun.

Well, it depends. It depends how you use alcohol and what you want from it and from your life.

For me, alcohol had become another deadener.  Another way to opt out. Another distraction, another diversion, another way not to face what was going on (or rather what was being denied) in my head, in my life.  It was acting as a narcotic and an analgesic.  When I downed a few glasses of wine it took the edges off; it numbed the tedium.  And I didn’t want that anymore.  I needed to see clearly.  I needed to feel acutely.

Because I was lucky enough not to be addicted to alcohol, my self-prescribed ‘ban’ hasn’t been total. I have had a few drinks this year, for various reasons – once in Stoke Newington; once with Lizzy; once at shabbat in Tel Aviv and once…but that’s another story… J.  And I’m not saying I’ll never drink not never again.  Sometimes it does no harm to disorder the senses a bit, to shake the tree.  But generally, no. 

Have there been consequences for me?  Quite a few…  Let’s have a look…

Advantages of not drinking:

No hangovers

Skin becomes much softer (less de-hydrated)

Eyes become clear and bright – goodbye to that fetching bloodshot look

Tongue loses that furry covering (actually that’s a bit of a disadvantage too as I kinda loved scraping that off).

Mood evens out. Yup, alcohol is a depressant to the central nervous system.

Weight loss. Oh yeah, alcohol packs a hefty calorific punch and you also need to take into account the nibbles you eat while you’re drinking and the big fat takeaway that calls to you as you leave the pub.

People dump you. Seriously, it’s the best way to find out who your real friends are.

You see clearly.

Disadvantages of not drinking:

You see clearly. 

How I lost four stone - without trying

There is so much to say, so much that is mad and magical and sheer fecking fun!  Really. Not really. There is nothing and there is everything. There is reality and unreality. There is sorcery and alchemy and dancing and music and and and…  But I know what you want, what you really really want… (well, so many of you).  Midlifesinglemum said it yesterday:

Could we have the how to lose four stone post quite soon please. Ta

Weight loss eh?  The holy grail of Western society.  It will come of course – mechanically, chemically – at some point. Scientists will develop food that provides taste and bulk and mouth feel with zero calories.  Nanobots will scurry away fat. In the meantime, of course, you can cut it away or you can have a band or a balloon inserted that will make it nigh-on impossible to stuff yourself.   But if you don’t want to wait and you don’t want or can’t afford surgery?  

Okay, so you want to know how I lost weight, right?  Well, there’s good news and bad news.

Good news?  It was really easy.

Bad news? You probably wouldn’t want to do it. 

You really really want to know how I lost weight? How I dropped, what? About three stone in four months, or somewhere about that...(I forget, to be honest) and then another one after that. Easily. Effortlessly.
I stopped eating. 

Okay, I did eat…but not much. Because, simply put, I was eating WAY too much.

But honestly, that was it.  Calories in; calories out. 

But... but... but... but... BUT... BUT!!!…..  

It’s okay, I can hear you. J  I understand.  Cos that was me shouting but but but – for pretty well all my life.  Read back through my old blog posts if you don’t believe me.

What did my ‘buts’ used to say?  I love food! I eat barely anything and still put on weight! It’s my hormones; my metabolism; my bone structure, my ayurvedic prakruti for pity's sake!  I have to cook for other people. Other people cook for me. I take medication which makes me fat. I have a condition which makes me fat.  Etc etc etc.

Yes, there are conditions and foods that will make it harder to lose weight (and we’ll talk about that later) and there are the odd exceptions *flurry of hands waving*.  But, let’s just accept for now that if you have a lot of weight to lose (I'm not talking about the odd few pounds) the vast majority of us could lose it by eating less - if we choose?  If I've lost you here, then that's fine - there are a gazillion sites out there that will talk about hidden reasons and the fine-tuning. I went looking for a good one that would give you all the science and wotnot without charging you for the privilege but that proved tricky. Feel free to post any links in the comments... 

For those still here, shall we assume it’s mental?  That it’s our minds telling our bodies they need too much food (actually I’d say the two are pretty entangled, but let’s keep it simple right now eh?). So what do you do? 

I have no idea! 

Because I’m not you. And I’m not a diet guru, thank feck!  I can tell you what I did and I will, and - if you’re interested - you're welcome to listen.  But please, it’s what I did. It’s what I thought or didn’t think.  It is different for you. I can’t take responsibility for your body.  Nobody can.  Just you. 

I spent years making excuses for not having a slim healthy fit body. YEARS. DECADES. I blamed my mother. I blamed my childhood. I blamed my school. I blamed my job. I blamed my first father. I blamed my second father. I blamed my friends. I blamed my boss. I blamed my husband. I blamed my child. I blamed boredom. I blamed fear. I blamed magazines. I blamed TV. I blamed celebrities. I blamed my lack of will-power. I blamed..oh shit, I’m bored of listing what and whom I blamed. You get the picture.

One thing I would just say at this point.  Not losing weight takes a lot of energy. A lot. Not losing weight occupies the mind.  It can be another form of distraction. It can be a way of stopping yourself from focusing on other things that May Be Scary.  Sooo… one thing that could be interesting might be possibly, if you like, if you want, to ask yourself – If I weren’t fat, what might I think, what might I have to confront?  Or not. J

I’ll carry on with this tomorrow.  I would like to make one thing really REALLY clear. In fact, preface any comment you make on this with 'Jane, I understand this is you talking about you. You are not talking about me, and I take full responsibility for my own mind, my own body and my own health.'  

Cos this is not me being the responsible journalist or health writer or whatever. This is just me telling you about my madcap trip.  That’s all.  I am NOT saying do what I did. Let's be honest, it really isn’t the best or safest or most sensible way to lose weight. There are a million people out there who will tell you how to do that, if you want to be told.  If you really want a guru for this, then Pete Cohen ain’t bad…(hey, he even calls himself a guru! What was I saying yesterday about how I hate gurus?  J  Marek talks about it in Symphonic Bridges too of course. Obliquely of course. And you have to dig around a bit - but it is there, somewhen or other.  ;) 

If my secretary (I kept misspelling that as secretally…lol!) turns up for work, he may choose to take questions on this.  I dunno.  J  Or maybe not. 

Something about a labyrinth...

Monday. New day, new week (I know weeks are supposed to start on Sunday but really, we all know Monday is where it’s at, right?) So, let's disregard the fact I got two hours' sleep thanks to the usual mix of children, dogs, blood, tears, nightmares and vomit.  

It's a new start.  A new template for the blog.  A new temple dish for words. J

There’s a new driver on James’ bus and this morning he told me that he was 59 and had been effectively thrown on the scrap-heap after years spent in high-powered jobs with the police and charities.  Which rammed home the point that Time passes and I am farting around.  Over the last year, as those who knew me before might have noticed, I’ve been going through changes, big changes.  On all planes – physical, mental, spiritual.  

I had this big plan about books within books and so on but I suspect that was just ego talking.  And, you know, I have become increasingly uncomfortable with me and books; about this whole concept of ‘self-help’ books; about telling people what to do.  Cos you can’t tell people.  Cos you can’t change people.  They can only change themselves.  But people have repeatedly asked me how I changed myself – and that I can tell you. If you're interested.  If not and - really - I don't flatter myself that my Big Fat Mid-Life Crisis is that interesting, then just back quietly out, humming, eh?  No hard feelings, I promise.  

For those who're left, let’s backtrack.  Let’s go back a year, give or take.  

Let’s just say I had hit a landmark number in the birthday stakes, the F number (yes the Big F) and life looked pretty bleak. I sat in my study and felt a wave of deep despair wash over me.  I was fat, unfit, fed up. Every effing F word you could think of.  And a few more besides.

If life is a party then I was at that horrible moment when the music gets turned off.  The bit where coats get put on, the lights are turned up and taxis are called.  After that, as we all know, comes the silence.  The half empty wine glasses.  The stale smell of old perfume, stale beer and sweat.  The ghosts of laughter and music.  The remnants of friendship and loving.  The opportunities passed by.  The regret.

My career had gone down the pan.  I was living in a ridiculous, freezing cold house that had Money Pit etched in letters a mile high over the door.  I had been diagnosed with palindromic rheumatism and some days I could barely walk.  My immune system was shot to pieces and I lurched from one infection to another.  Yes, I had a very dear small family and good friends. Yes, I had a home. Yes, compared to other people, I had no health worries. Yes, I had at least some work. I was lucky. I was lucky. I was lucky. I kept repeating that to myself, over and over, like a mantra.  Yet when I looked forwards all I could see was a slow decline towards death.

I played a game of Spider Solitaire.  Lost.  Played again.  Lost again.  I clicked on Sync but the only new emails were spam.  I glanced through Facebook and winced at the ad messages down the side of the page which seemed to know me and my situation all too well.  Was I short of cash?  Was I depressed?  Did I need a face lift? Did I want to run away from it all?  Yes, yes, yes and yes.  And just piss off, will you?

Twitter was worse.  Why, I asked myself for the 300^th time, did I torture myself following people who’d made it?  It seemed like all my old colleagues had  moved on, moved up, were successful novelists, editors, businesswomen, doctors, lawyers – or simply content doing absolutely nothing except play tennis and go for lunch.

I had £37 in the bank and a credit card that flinched like a beaten dog every time I plucked it from my purse.

Having gambled six months writing a novel nobody wanted, and finding that all the work I used to do was now being done for free or next to nothing by teenagers, I was all out of answers. 

I was four stone overweight and comfort eating my way through the working day.  I was drinking enough to give my liver a queasy feeling and my doctor to give me dark meaningful stares.  The gym and I were no longer on speaking terms.  I was, in effect, slowly and surely killing myself without taking the effort to throw myself under a bus.

Then I idly clicked on a forum.  It was full of the usual pretentious rubbish, in-fighting and bitching.  But one thread title piqued my curiosity. Something about a labyrinth.

Huh?

I’d always liked labyrinths.  I clicked.  And couldn’t quite believe what I saw.  I can’t remember the exact wording but it was something like.. 

What are you doing?  Why are you slowly committing suicide?

I knew it was ridiculous but it felt like it was talking directly to me.   I paused.  Then another message flashed up.

 Breathe.  Just breathe. 

And I did.  I took one breath.  And then another and another.  And absolutely everything started to change.