I arrived in London
and got lost.
I was young, displaced, and searching — and I found what a searching person found in that era. Drugs, alcohol, the company of people equally adrift. At seventeen I overdosed and woke in a hospital, having been in a coma. I did not register it as a warning. I was seventeen.
I met Bridget at an Irish dance in London. We married in a Catholic church — a small gathering, her parents absent, my father arriving drunk and having to be removed. Despite everything surrounding it, we were happy. We built something real: two daughters, Hannah and Louise; a construction business that grew; property development; a home. By the standards of what I had started with, I had made it.
What I had not made it out of was the drinking.