So here I am today and the only advice I can offer anyone would be: Listen to music. Any music. Or read. Read anything. Books. Poems. Whatever it is.
When I was a child, at the age when I began to realize that all those colorful rectangular objects in my mom’s bookcase were books and not pretty decorations and toys, I became enchanted by a single face looking down at me from the cover of one of the books. I used to stand in front of the bookcase and look back at this calm, kind and handsome face. For obvious reasons I thought that is the face of the author of the book and I vowed that when I grew up, I will read that beautiful book.
It turned out, that the book was Tolstoy’s War and Peace and the calm face was the then young Anthony Hopkins’. The edition was the two-volume paperback box set that had been printed along the 1972 BBC television adaptation, Hopkins acting as Pierre.
Needless to say, when I grew up, I read the book. I loved it. I loved the adaptation. And I loved Anthony Hopkins. I still do, for his talent, humbleness and humanness.
Because of my obsession with Tolstoy and Hopkins, my mom gave the book to me. Now it's sitting on one of my bookshelves, looking at me, while I type.
In this deeply personal memoir, Hopkins reflects on his childhood and his struggles, achievements and experiences. I listened to the audiobook version narrated by Kenneth Branagh, which was excellently read.
What I also loved about the book was the inclusion of family photographs and a selection of poems read by Sir Hopkins himself.
As I sobered up, I looked up at the eucalyptus trees and thanked God no one had died that night. I imagined my parents back in Wales hearing that I’d killed someone or myself. I saw their hopes smashed. I heard a voice ask me, Do you want to live or do you want to die?
I want to live, a voice answered from somewhere deep inside me.
Then I heard the voice say, It’s all over now. You can start living.
The craving to drink left me. That was eleven o’clock on December 29, 1975.