Paris 2009

I have not seen the final episode of sex rehab.  I may not.  It merely conflicts with the experience I had whilst I was there.

My memories of being in Rehab are wonderful, but wonderful is not real life.

Perhaps it can be?  Maybe that’s the point?  Or do I trade in tragedy like some trade carbon credits?

Don’t expect some elegant summation of the past two months because there is none, not from me anyway.  I have written everything there is to write.

Since we set those sleepy doves free for the finale of Sex Rehab I have been traveling.

I went to England, to my hometown of Whitstable, and sat outside Dave’s deli drinking delicious espresso and eating custard tarts.  In her famous oyster bar my old friend Delia Fitt opened native oysters and I reacquainted myself with friends who had a place in their heart just for me.

The Little Dog and I have been to New York and Paris and taken a ship across the English Channel so he could sit on my lap.  I stayed in Battersea with my friend Melanie de Blank and I walked all over London for a month losing a ton of weight.

Life was not without it’s challenges.

Whilst I was in Paris I called my dear friend John, bitterly complaining as I had seen a young man in the Tuileries who had shown interest in me.  I had walked away.  It was infuriating.  Is this what my life was now-to walk away from the main chance?  Walking away from sex was not going to be as easy as walking away from drugs and alcohol.

I was in such a beastly funk.  I called him so that he might congratulate me for doing the right thing.  I wanted a fucking AWARD.  He asked me where I was and I gruffly told him that I was in Place de la Concorde.

He said, simply, “Look around you, Duncan.”

I was standing in one of the most beautiful places on earth.  I had forgotten momentarily to enjoy the greatest benefit of sobriety, to be present right here and right now.

The Little Dog's Train Ticket

My funk was instantaneously lifted.

Before the gift of sexual sobriety I went into every situation with an intention.  The intention was not to have a great time but to meet, intrigue, seduce.  Once that was gone, once the intention and the damage that thinking causes had been revealed I could truly enjoy myself.

I don’t want you to think that I sit around indulging the tragedy.  I don’t.  I am looking for all of the beauty that life has to offer.   Every day!

When I got sober from drugs and alcohol I was delighted by the simple pleasure of feeling the autumn breeze on my face.

I have seen many people die of the disease of addiction but as I tried to explain to someone today, each death re-confirms that I have chosen life and I must take it and live it.  Every death, every relapse another man has reminds me to stay sober.

I have a very short memory.  I need to be reminded..over and over again.

My public rehabilitation is over.  The show is done.  The cast and crew have gone their separate ways.  The relationships forged whilst in rehab are now to dust and that is only right.  We are no longer performers in a show-we are in life.

I am alive because I set aside my preoccupation with death and with some gift of courage and with a stroke of love, forgave myself.  I have lived in so much fear all my life!  Now, I am certain, it does seem feasible not to be afraid.

And what of these ugly sisters: Shame, Resentment and Fear.  No, no more.  Thank you.

Delia Prepares Oysters

The future seemed so uncertain, but I don’t live there anymore, not tomorrow or yesterday.

As for films and novels and the like, there is a backlog of them just waiting to be written.  They were waiting patiently whilst I concentrated on beating you all up with my past.

So, let me make you a promise: there will be no more films, novels or poetry that examine and re-examine my traumatic past.

No more collusion with the past.

Tomorrow I am going to write about other things.  I am going to write about life!