Desperately Seeking Sex & Sobriety: A Cautionary Tale of Sex Tourism, Drugs, Alcoholism, Prostitution & Suicide by Paul Pisces

Author:Paul Pisces [Pisces, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Autobiography, Biography, Compulsive Behavior, Personal Memoirs, Self-Help, Sex & Pornography Addiction
ISBN: 9781728780672
Google: hwY4vQEACAAJ
Amazon: B0042P53O2
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2010-09-09T23:00:00+00:00

At the hospital I quickly see a young lady doctor. It’s early Sunday morning and the Accident & Emergency department is quiet. The doctor looks tired. She looks almost as bad as me. Well, almost. She takes my pulse and blood pressure and examines the fungus.

“I need tranquilisers,” I say. The shakes are getting bad and my voice is trembling.

“I can’t give you anything. Do you want to go into a rehab. unit?”

I make a sensible decision.

“Yes.”

The doctor makes a few phone calls.

“There’s a bed at Turning Point. Do you want it? You’ll have to go straight there.”

“OK, I’ll go.”

The A&E reception desk phones a local taxi company - no more ambulances for me.

At the Turning Point facility, I am taken into an ante room and asked a lot of questions.

“Have you ever assaulted anybody?” the attendant asks.

“No.” That’s almost true, I think.

“Have you ever taken drugs?”

“Only alcohol.” That’s almost true too.

“Have you ever suffered from mental illness?”

Only since birth, I think.

“No,” I answer.

On and on with the questions. They decide I am not a homicidal maniac. I am admitted and an attendant takes my blood pressure - it’s 200 over something. Way high. I can’t stop shaking. They give me tranquilisers but the pills have no effect. I go to my room, get in the bed and go cold turkey. It’s not nice. I try to sleep.

Later in the afternoon, I venture out of my room. There is a group of inmates sitting, talking in the main meeting area. I sit and listen. They seem nice but I am too ill to talk. I just smile and nod. They understand. They have been there. I ring my Dad and he says he is coming to visit me tomorrow afternoon. He’s getting the train to Manchester.

That night I manage to get some sleep and in the morning, I am feeling better. I attend a meeting. It’s the usual AA stuff; confessions, stories, higher power, 12 steps. At lunch time I eat something and talk to some more inmates. Overnight they appear to have admitted some homicidal maniacs. I need to get out of here - it’s starting to feel like prison with free sedatives. Dad arrives and we talk in my room.

“I need to get out of here. I need to get back to my flat,” I say.

“OK, OK, how about tomorrow?”

“No, now. I need to get out now. Take me to my flat. Talk to them. Get me out.”

“OK, I’ll talk to them.” He goes out and returns sometime later.

“They say tomorrow. Best that you wait till tomorrow.”

“I want out now.”

“I’ll take you tomorrow.” He’s adamant. I give him the keys to my flat and he leaves.

Time for the evening meal arrives. Most of the residents go to the restaurant. I put on my coat and walk to the reception desk. One attendant is on duty.

“I’m leaving,” I say, matter of fact.

“OK,” says the attendant, “can you please sign this release form?”

I sign and walk outside into the fresh air.

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