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Jim
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the age of 15, Jim Smith was well and truly entangled with alcohol and drugs.
By the time he was 18, he was in trouble at home and with society and had
been placed on probation.‘It was pretty disastrous really,’
he says. But it didn’t stop there. Aged 21 he was drinking surgical
methylated spirits; a mixed up kid living with his parents on a caravan
site in Sevenoaks. He tried to get help and was directed by a local doctor
to a 12-step fellowship, but his needs were complicated. He
went in and out of mental hospitals, overdosed, and was sectioned twice
under the Mental Health Act. On 27 October 1976, Jim lay in a hospital room
having come out of intensive care. His father and mother had died a year
and a half ago and he felt beaten and alone. But he was surprised to realise
that he did want to get well. He went to Pinel House at Warlingham Park
Hospital in Surrey, one of the only alcoholic units in the Europe at the
time and that, in his own words, is where he started his recovery.
‘I often say that the longest journey is from the head to the heart, and I’m still on that journey,’ says Jim. Over the last 28 years he’s done many of the things plenty of other people do – passed his driving test, got married (and later separated), had three daughters and two grandchildren, and qualified as a social worker. But for Jim, his personal recovery is symbolised by regaining his creativity. A keen singer and guitarist, he auditioned for Cat Stevens when he was 16 – but let the chance slip away because ‘when I got there I was a total mess’. Drink and drugs were destroying his music. More than 60 jobs followed, before he became ‘unemployable at the age of 22’. In recovery, he set about rediscovering his life. Then three years ago, a friend Brian, manager of The Coach House, a secondary care house run by The Priory, suggested he went over to play guitar for the residents. ‘So I went over and played to the group, and I found I was linking up the songs with stories about my life in recovery,’ says Jim. ‘And I was kind of choosing songs that were relevant.’ That first, very personal, experience evolved into a two-hour presentation with music, songs, poetry and readings, that he now takes to different rehabs. He is frequently told he is ‘inspirational’, and puts this down to ‘music reaching people on a lot of different levels… it’s a powerful medium and can touch your heart where sometimes conventional therapy can’t’. On another level, ‘it also shows people that if they want to pick up some area of creativity in recovery, they can,’ he says. He encourages members of the group to participate and share experiences back with him. These days Jim radiates optimism, though he is the first to acknowledge that he has his bad days, like anyone else. He’s learnt a lot about himself through rehab and is still ‘peeling back layers of the onion’, through his adoption as a child, bouts of pain and loss, life’s ups and downs. But a 28-year struggle has brought him round to being excited about life. Words like ‘sober’ and ‘abstinent’ terrified him at first, and he propped himself up with Valium for 15 years, which left him anxious for a long time. Working with addictions as a care manager has made him realise ‘it’s a big world out there’. He has friends in recovery and others that have nothing to do with recovery, and realises that we’re all human; we all have struggles with life. Everyday struggles are the foundation of his work, according to Jim. From thinking that life was ‘all about knowing famous people, travelling to places, excitement, power money, all that kind of materialistic stuff’ he now takes enormous pleasure in ‘the magnificence of ordinariness’ – a phrase that his sponsor in 12-step fellowship used to say. These days he revels in life’s possibilities, and wants others to feel the same. Taking the sessions to rehabs all over the country is a struggle on a practical level, and he faces the usual all too familiar competition for funding, but he has found encouragement in being asked back to those he’s visited. Jim’s particular satisfaction is when he is approached by people he’s met in rehab, a couple of years down the line when they are clean and sober, to tell him they enjoyed his session. He is hopeful that his alternative therapy will catch on further: ‘Many managers think this is the way ahead, the way to work. A lot of people find speaking in groups intimidating, so somebody up there with a guitar and music is an icebreaker. It’s amazing, different songs mean so many different things to different people. Drink and Drugs News | 19 September 2005 |
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