The Devil Doesn't Love Me Any More

162 followers

1 year ago

Warning - do you know that feeling when you close a door really fast and accidentally trap a body part? Well, this post doesn't do that, but may make for painful reading, so warrants a disclosure.

On 21 December 2022 I made £117 from a sale on my website. It was the first commission I have earned, so I’m sorry if my exuberance at the time was grating in chat. Let me tell you my story and see if it helps you at all.

The domain had celebrated its 6-month anniversary just 4 days earlier. Oh, I had 57 posts and 19 pages for those that like counting beans. I now have 68 posts and 20 pages despite the festivities, so there’s my first lesson. Celebrate by working harder.

The event bookmarked a year that saw me battling my own demons, working on myself, and setting goals that I worked towards with dogged determination.

When my dad died in 2016, I thought I was okay. I was devastated, of course, but I was secure in my 9-5 job, extremely competent in what I did for a living, and I had very loving and supportive people that propped me up, despite my vulnerabilities. I was a functional alcoholic, and the Devil had my back.

Now addiction has been a familiar fiend in my life. In my years at University, I was a reckless gambler. It’s dreadful how we only did 8 hours a week of formal classes in the first year. It didn't work well for me at all.

I needed £3,000 in my bank account, so I could get a Visa to study at the University of Southern Florida (USF) in Tampa, USA. That wasn't why I gambled though. I just needed an escape and I could find that in bookmakers.

My Great Aunt (who left us last year at the age of 96) lent me the money. She always treated me with immense love, and unearned faith, so I got my Visa and my semester in the States that Fall. And, before I left the UK for an experience I’ll never forget, my Great Aunt said I could keep the money to use whilst I studied.

I would tell her eventually that I had lost the money in the preceding Summer; wasted recklessly on greyhounds, fruit machines, and a horse called Brilliant Red. Just another odds-on favourite that was nosed into second, but vibrantly and ironically named. The colour of my confident best friend, Lucifer.

When I got back from America, I couldn’t afford to pay rent in London. My parents would have intervened, I know, but I didn’t have the courage to tell them I was digging a financial grave for myself. I left my hometown and travelled to the capital for my final year at University, fully aware I wouldn’t be able to manage.

There was a problem accessing my Student Grant because I had arrears from my time in Halls of Residence the previous year. That accelerated my fall from grace.

I spent 3 nights in a bed and breakfast as I looked for new quarters, but my money soon ran out. Eventually, I bunked down with friends, but I spent a week homeless on the streets of London.

I finally made the phone call, and I don’t know why I didn’t just plead for help. I’m coming home, I told my parents instead. I don’t like it here anymore.

The Devil patted me on the back, and I borrowed £20 (I hope I get to pay that back one day) to board a coach from Golders Green. I left behind a talent, a wonderful, creative soul. I trashed a lifetime of opportunity for no reason. When I could have asked for anything, I gave up.

It wasn’t pride. I had none. No, I just had to hide my great internal shame and make sure no one knew how deep it ran. My face must have been a brilliant red (ha!) because it didn’t take long before I was rumbled and disgraced.

I took a job at Directory Enquiries and would wake in the night sweating and giving out phone numbers. I did stop gambling though, apart from on the Grand National and rollover lotteries.

Nowadays, I enjoy an occasional flutter and a trip to the races. It’s a treat, not a treaty, though. I recognise the depravity and despair of a life sold out to dogs, geldings, and flashing lights. I’ll not go there again, I can wisely say, 30 years too late.

I was a smoker from the age of 14. My lung collapsed when I was 19, as my dad’s had when he was younger.

My father was left with one working lung after recurring pneumothoraxes that almost took his life too soon (and years after quitting). I was luckier... and kept smoking. It made him angry.

In 2017, doctors diagnosed with me borderline COPD. I haven’t smoked since. Today, you’ll see me sucking on my vaper more often than my inhaler though.

I haven’t mentioned my real successes here, apart from the most recent, and that’s deliberate. I’m talking dalliances with the son of perdition here. It’s not a fairy tale or a reach for redemption. This is hard-hitting truth to rival Harry and Megan (I love them both).

The Devil and I didn’t care much for the good I did, the lives I enriched and saved, the respect I earned. We were just dancing and drinking my nights away. He would pat me on the back at night, as I cried like a crocodile and fell unconscious.

He would wake me in the morning, bringing me a drink so I didn’t shake like a rattle. The very real abuse suffered at the hands of someone else in my youth (I’m not doing that story here) was nothing compared to the abuse I inflicted on myself.

In January 2022, my liver was a complete wreck. My doctor said I would be lucky to live another 5 years.

So, this last June, days after I bought my new domain (which would bear unsullied fruit six months later) I checked into detox for a third time.

This time it stuck, and Christmas Eve 2022 marked half a year without alcohol. Three days after I got my first commission.

I don’t know which one makes me proudest and I’m addicted to achievement now.

Both successes were born from trying, from trusting others, from seeking help, from building bridges, and the banal trope of sheer bloody effort.

I’m inspired for 2023 because of it. I will continue to work on my website(s) and draft a book. And to pay forward what I have received from therapy, I’ve volunteered to give peer-to-peer support for vulnerable people too.

I’m doing good things from a good place, and the Devil doesn’t love me anymore.

My father does though. From the heaven he’s surely talked himself into, he’ll be relieved, glad, and restful. I wasn’t okay. I was broken, and he would want me fixed.

So, I got myself better, and it will make my dad laugh to know that his son finally made an honest buck on his own.

My latest blood tests show a different story, by the way. My liver is now behaving as any organ of that variety should. I am grateful to my doctor, my support workers, and my therapist. I am thankful Wealthy Affiliate gave me the impetus to strive harder.

In conclusion, 21 December 2022 is now a significant date for me. I made £1.17 because I sold a book!

Yes, okay, you got me, I missed the decimal in my opening sentence.

I wanted you to read and, remember, I’ve learnt from the baddest beast there is (even though we’re not talking).

I also wanted you to know that anything is possible – it’s never too late, and you’re never not good enough. Believe in yourself, work hard, and your chunk of change will come.

It’s a milestone you’ll reach if you get busy at being the best you can be, and it will fire your engine of ambition.

I wish everyone here at WA a happy New Year (it takes me time to get there, but I do it eventually) and I’m happy for you to reach out if any of the issues I’ve mentioned here are affecting you or someone you love.

As I say on my site, may the Light shine on you, my friends.

Russell