Henry

I have a new sponsor. Although he doesn’t really believe in sponsorship. He says it encourages lack of personal responsibility, but he said he would be my mentor. His name is Henry and he’s almost 60. He’s tall and slim with a weathered face and is always leaning on something. He has piercing blue eyes that look battle tested, almost wise.

He came into my life when I needed him the most. It was coming up to a year of my son being in hospital and my grief was going into the depression stage. It sparked flashbacks from when I was 4 and my Dad had died. I was in terror a lot of the time, but it was the terror of a 4 year old.

I was walking up the grassy hill at Scott’s Point Beach on my daily afternoon walk. Vape in hand, sucking on my sativa, trying to make sense of it all, and running out of answers. Was I going insane? As I looked up I saw a familiar face. We had never spoken, but I had seen him at meetings. He had smiled at me and was pleasant, but never made an effort to befriend me. I found him a bit stand offish. But here he was like a mirage in my hour of need.

He stood there overlooking the ocean. He was leaning on a large stick propped in front of him that looked like a staff, his shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. He actually looked like my Dad. His neck turned and eyes darted towards me, piercing and suspicious, he didn’t smile, but welcomed my presence. I nodded acknowledging him and he sat down at the picnic table and gazed at me with an openness that invited me to join him. I sat on the seat next to him and my story just fell out of me.

I told him everything. My journey to being single, my relapse in NA and psychedelic adventure, my son getting sick, and now being confused and thinking something might be wrong with me. He helped me through that process. He told me it was C-PTSD and recommended a book to read. Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving: A GUIDE AND MAP FOR RECOVERING FROM CHILDHOOD TRAUMA Kindle Edition by Pete Walker

That book was my saviour. I realised, just maybe, I was going through something and not going insane. I felt better after a couple months and was so grateful for both Henry and the book. Although clean himself and in recovery he never suggested I get clean. I would catch up with him at the beach on my walks and he would just ask me questions about my childhood. He wouldn’t say much, but just encourage me to talk, saying things like. “That’s so unfair.” “It’s not your fault.” “How do you feel about that now?” “You’re not powerless like that anymore.”

I didn’t see him for a while, but then reconnected with him lately.

“My sponsor sacked me.”

“Good. You’re old and wise enough to get into trouble all by yourself without having some recovering maniac encouraging you.”

“Will you be my sponsor?”

“You know my opinion on that. Oh, I suppose you can call me your sponsor if it will stop you asking someone else to solve your problems and give you an excuse to second guess yourself.”

Good old Henry. “I miss you Henry.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.” He says roughly looking out in the ocean. “So you’re a success now?” He jests and almost cracks a smile. “Clean, business man, hot wife, even a BMW. How does it feel?”

I’m not sure if he’s teasing me or setting me up for a harsh truth.

“I love it.” I say with a little hesitancy. “To be fair, I’ve had more fun times in my life, but never this level of satisfaction. I go for walks sometimes and feel like I am on a mild dose of Molly.”

He breaks into laugh as he continues to stare out to see, his torso bobbing up and down. He continues to laugh thoroughly enjoying himself at my expense and then finally says. “It’s called self-esteem. It’s good to see young man. You’re a success. That’s what success feels like. You’re a lose cunt, but you’re a success. You should be proud and you deserve it.”

“Thanks Henry.”