13 Apr 2009
I’m Still Here
I’ve seen more than my share of Divas sing " I’m still Here " from Sondheims FOLLIES. When it debuted in London’s Shaftesbury Theatre in 1987 it got naff* reviews, in fact one critic questioned it’s arrival stating " the only people who are going to see this show are 6000 queens and Sheridan Morley ".
Sheridan Morley was the heterosexual Theatre Critic of The Spectator magazine and son of Robert Morley who famously camped it up and was murdered by Vincent Price in the 1973 film Theatre of Blood ( ironically playing a homosexual Theatre Critic ). This musical about nostalgic endings lasted 18 months with packed houses. I saw it with Dolores Gray, then the sensational Eartha Kitt and at a concert version at Drury Lane where the legless ( as she was then ) Elaine Strich tore into the lyrics like hammers on nails in a tunnel. I still hear the echo. I’m still there.
1987 turned out to be quite a year and the year I got the message GOD’S PLAN WORKS – Your’s doesn’t – to paraphrase the spiritual. Marianne Williamson used this phrase in her 1992 book A RETURN TO LOVE, and I love it. It settles me each day.
In March 1987 I flew to Sydney Australia for a 3 month period to seek emigration, I had somewhere to stay and I had a sponsor for a job in an Art studio in Manley, run by a guy I worked with 5 years before in an Advertising Agency in Jeddah Saudi Arabia. I got legal representation and emigration was granted because I was already there in OZ , then I fell ill again with Chronic Active Hepatitis B Virus. It’s a long tiresome story of infection in 1970, Cirrhosis of the Liver in 1981 and liver failure during the 80′s.
I was on the first drug trial of Human Interferon in 1982 ( the same year I got clean ) and everyone died except me. I’m still here. I was told I would get Liver Cancer very soon. I’m still here.
I returned to arrive in hospital off the plane and another plan gone to pot coming back to no money but a fearsome agent got me design work in-between bouts of tiredness and puking. Before I left for OZ I said my last goodbyes to James my ex-lover.
In 1984 he finally got sober and in 1986 we went to Bristol, slept together overnight and he said " I have this funny mark on my leg, will you have a look ".
We both knew what it was and slept huddled in silence.
On return to London James took me to see FOLLIES as a treat as we thought we would never see each other again, me still considering emigrating and him now dying of AIDS. We loved the premise of the show – to return to a theatre being pulled down to do the ACT one last time. It seemed fitting for us too. One of the highlights was Pearl Carr & Teddy Johnson hoofing it, one said to the other " I don’t remember this bit? " " Nor do I " said Teddy " we’re winging it! WINGING IT seemed very appropriate both of us working a spiritual programme of recovery in the middle of a devastating health crisis.
Now recognising that emigration was out of the window I focused on staying alive, staying sober and staying sane. I’m still here. In December 1987 six months after arriving back in London my NA sponsee of 4 years was found stabbed 67 times in his bed with his head decapitated and I found myself in the middle of a murder enquiry on Crimewatch. I rallied support and James offered to come along to the scene of the crime covered in Red Cross camouflage make-up to hide the Kaposi’s Sarcoma KS lesions on his face and hands. When he arrived at Barry’s flat he found me surrounded by a dozen policemen gowned up, gloved up & wearing masks. Why are they doing this he said? So I told him ( in a loud voice ) THEY THINK BARRY MIGHT HAVE HAD AIDS that’s why he was murdered. Well it was 1987 and Jessica was too busy solving MURDER SHE WROTE. How ironic that the police were happy to shake James’s hand ( with no gloves ) while lesions lurked but were in fear of a dead body with AIDS. Nobody would take the body away. It stayed their until the Home Office found someone willing to take it to the mortuary. A few days later I went to the mortuary and identified his face, they refused to show me the remainder. Why me, why this, why now?
Why am I still here?
James died painfully six months later and I started Rebirthing Breathwork sessions to heal my life, my past and my fears for the future. I needed it, 1987 had been an astonishing year. 12 people had died of AIDS around me that year alone.
I recall this story because against all odds I shouldn’t be here and if I had been given the script I would have said I wouldn’t make it but I’m still here.
My life plans are as thin as rice paper but my trust in higher energies is immense.
It’s lonely being a long term survivor sometimes, it’s easy to think your time is due.
I changed my DNA with Rebirthing Breathwork in 1995 and gained healing antibodies without any medication – just 11 years of prayers and breathwork – to rid myself of the Hepatitis Virus. I have been alcohol, nicotine and drug free since 1982. Like Pearl & Teddy " I’m WINGING IT " and I’m still here. Om Namaha Shivaya.
If you need any proof that you are NOT in charge of your life try putting a cross next to every date, appointment or meet-up planned that never happened. In 3 months time your diary will look like a tray of Hot Cross Buns. Plan but don’t project.
Live in the moment. Create FOLLIES but Don’t waste borrowed time.
It’s 2009 & I’m still here. We do recover.
( blimey madge, that was a long blog, like shaking a teddy’s leg )
* LOCALISM : The term " naff " made famous by Princess Anne telling a photographer to " Naff off " in the 70′s was in fact gay polari, a secret language used by gayers to protect themselves from prying ears. Homosexuality was a criminal offence in the UK before 1967.
NAFF meant Not Available For Fucking, as in : " Varda the homi he’s naff ". ( look at that man he’s not . . . ) Princess Anne must have heard the servant queens at Buck House use it with venom. The term is in general usage in London till this day in to indicate that something is dull, dreary or sad, but few are aware of it’s origin.
Not many people know that ( Michael Caine – Londoner ).
Madge, what an odyssey!
No one can ever say you haven’t lived.
Since I love to state the obvious, I’ll say this: if all that hadn’t happened to you, you probably wouldn’t have been inspired to help so many people they way you do and have.
What a journey life can be.
I’m very glad you’re still here.
Lafang
April 14th, 2009 at 2:24 pmpermalink
well it’s all true LaFang – this is why people have been getting me to write this blog. A book was too overwhelming but a blog is how you eat an Elephant – in bite size chunks. This is why the lyrics to ” I’m still here ” are relevant. x
theswarmite
April 14th, 2009 at 10:00 pmpermalink
Yes Madge, inspirationa as usual. I have been there for a lot of your ups and downs. The days you couldn’t work with me cos you were too tired, the moves, the Spain episode, Barry’s murder (I was interviewed and DNA checked along with everyone else in his Filofax), homelessness and your eventual triumph over all the shite that was thrown in your way. Eventually we end up sitting on a plane to India 24 odd years later to lap up a little slice of heaven and generally lol about in the sun with the most awesome crowd of friends one could want to hang out with. Life is good.
I myself was given a short life expectancy when I rocked up at a clinic, age 22, confused as fuck and tired of my chem and booze ruled lifestyle. 22 for God’s sake. But hey, some don’t ever get it. The friends who did get were sometimes then to discover they had the virus. In the late 80′s we watched them, one by one, drop like flies with no hope of recovery or even a respite. Which brings us up to date with the recent death of the most grateful recovering addict ever, Grateful Robert. Gratitude oozed from every word he spoke. Even though I had not seen him since I left London he was always there the first 10 years of my recovery. So, even all these years later, the virus ended his humble and grateful life. Like Peter W (RIP) he made the best of every moment he had knowing that his days were numbered. Strange that we all don’t just do that anyway sometimes. Lack of gratitude is such a waste of life, time and head space.
My process is happening now, my mid-life change. Time to shake up my shit and re-evaluate and be happy for what I do have, rather than what I don’t. I’m not in charge, even if I delude myself that I am. It’s a matter of ‘seeing’ the way and then putting in the action. Sometimes it’s a matter of doing nothing at all, which can be a lot harder.
So, here’s to the memory of Grateful Robert and all that he stood for – a shining example of what is possible. To Peter W who ran a small courier company and turned it into a massive one all the time knowing what the virus was doing to him.
What the fuck do I have to complain about?
I’m still here.
Thanks for the ride and the support. We venture on into new territories.
D x
droid
April 18th, 2009 at 2:07 pmpermalink
A flickr gallery has been set up in Grateful Robert’s memory. He leaves one daughter behind. God Bless.
http://www.flickr.com/groups/gratefulrobert/pool/
droid
April 18th, 2009 at 2:13 pmpermalink
Thanks Droidy for this loving memory of Grateful Robert and the likes of Peter W who carried on regardless. We need to be reminded of the risks they took in facing their futures. We also do acknowledge our own recovery process as survivors but both died clean which is the strongest message of all.
theswarmite
April 21st, 2009 at 9:06 pmpermalink
Wow. What a raw, honest, personal and ultimately uplifting blog. I echo Kim’s comment. I’m so happy you’re still around to share your wisdom and experience. People like you matter so much. Clay x
Clayton
May 9th, 2009 at 1:28 pmpermalink