How I got here

Snapshots of a drift into alcohol dependence.

First taste of alcohol would have been before I was ten years old. Christmas at my grandparents in a three-bedroom council terrace with pebbledash walls. The drink was a snowball, advocaat and lemonade, bright yellow, fizzy and so visually appealing to a youngster. The taste was sweet, and because of the egg, a little like custard.

On Fridays my paternal grandparents would come round and they and my parents would play dominos, five and threes, or cards, rummy of similar. There would be tins of Worthington E, grandma would have a sherry.

I’d ask to taste the beer but didn’t like the bitter taste and would pull a face, much to the hilarity of the adults.

I’m about 13, my dad’s been heavily into making homebrewed beers for a few years. He’s opening a bottle of his latest batch, and I ask if I can try some. He pours me about ½ a pint. This tastes palatable and I finish the glass. A short time later I lose my footing coming down the stairs and slide to the bottom on my bum, laughing uproariously. My first drunken fall, it was a strong brew.

My maternal grandmother, nana, worked as a home help for a wealthy widow. This lady would take nana, my sister and I out for lunch on weekends at a country pub/restaurant. There would be aperitifs before the meal, wine with and something with a coffee after, all very grown-up.

Mid-teens, summer evenings spent out with friends, buying special brew from the off-licence that wasn’t overly scrupulous on checking customers age and then heading to the local playing fields.

Saturdays, buying a pint in a local pub with my paper-round money.

Late teens and able to legally drink. Friday nights, Saturday lunch and nights out drinking with peers and friends. My first blackouts occur.

Mid to late 20s I enrol at University as a mature student in a bid to improve my work options. I loved university life, days in lectures and libraries, writing essays and debating the subject with the other students, a healthy mix of fresh from 6^th form and mature. Invariably there’s visits to the pubs, nightclubs, dinner parties and lots and lots of alcohol.

Working after university. It’s a works night out, most of the people from the office. I blackout again. I either didn’t have the fare or more likely was so inebriated that the taxi drivers refused my custom. So, I walked home. Or started to walk home. I don’t recall leaving the club or the majority of that walk. What I do remember is waking up to the sound of car horns blaring.

I rolled over and through the haze of alcohol tried to take stock. I was laid literally in the gutter of the road as cars dodged past. How I hadn’t been hit already I didn’t know and as quickly as I could I crawled over the grass verge to the safety of the pavement.

The memory blacks out again until I arrive at my front door. I had my key but could not get it into the lock, even with one eye closed and taking careful aim. In frustration I put my elbow through one of the small panes of glass, reached in and used the thumb lock to open the door. Closing it I had the presence of mind to throw the bolts top and bottom before blacking out again.

The hangover the next morning was biblical.

A relationship broke down, I move to my own house, a lovely little Victorian 2 up 2 down end of terrace back-to-back. I cope with the depression of the failed relationship by working hard and cooking well, I enjoy cooking for myself, the best raw ingredients, herbs, spices and of course if you have good food, you must have good wine. Every Single. Night.

It’s not long before the glass or two has become a full bottle a night.

New relationship. A move to a new city, new job, new opportunities. The drinking subsides, because, in retrospect, I’m happier, more fulfilled. I move roles within the company, into the niche area I still work in a quarter of a century later. It’s a more pressured job, with some tough but achievable targets. It also involves tough conversations with people in conflict situations, not my comfort zone at all, but I love what I do.

To cope with the stress, I’ll have a glass of wine or beer with dinner in the evening.

I get back into motorcycles. My partners loves being pillion and we start to get involved with the biker scene and rallies.

Biker rallies invariably, inevitably, involve some heavy drinking. There’re blackouts, vomiting, passing out, arguments about behaviour. The relationship survives but is tested.

It’s 2017, we’re in Europe touring with some friends, I notice as the days ride is coming to an end I’m craving and it’s not nicotine. First stop at the lodgings after unloading the bike is the bar. The cravings subside. Big. Red. Flag. That I completely ignore.

2020 and lockdowns. The world is changed.

In my work team there are three of us with laptops and working from home capability, out of a team of 10. Suddenly I’m one of three picking up the whole teams work, but we’re considered a “back office” function. Frontline staff are prioritised for laptop rollout. It will be three months before anyone else in our niche team comes back.

I use alcohol to help cope. The drinking is back to daily, but I’m also grateful that I’m working and not sat idle like the majority of my colleagues, I have things to do through the day and my drinking is confined to the evenings.

My father dies in the first lockdown. I lean into the crutch of alcohol, but learn that his own drinking had been a significant factor in his death.

September 2020, lockdowns have lifted but I now have significant cravings at the end of my work shift. For the first time I have the shakes in my hands. I decide to moderate, weekends only.

For the next 5 years I climb on and fall off the wagon regularly, sometimes a day, sometimes a week, but consistently I return to a daily habit if I don’t keep a firm grip.

And that’s the problem with alcohol, it’s a dis-inhibitor, it shuts down the controls in the brain that say, “you might want to consider not doing that.” It also triggers the brains reward mechanism. I find myself resolute in the morning, no drinking today, by the evening, well it’s been a tough day, I deserve a snifter, or 2, or the bottle.

I start secretly adding ½ bottles of whiskey or vodkas to the mix, hidden and swigged from after the wine has been finished. I know this isn’t good, but I suppress those thoughts.

Work is starting to be impacted, I’m losing my confidence in my decision making, missing tasks.

3^rd quarter 2025. I’ve spent most of the year drinking a bottle of wine and ½ a bottle of vodka 3 to 4 nights of the week. Climb on the wagon to take a break is becoming increasingly difficult.

I am more and more reluctant to go out and socialise, soI can stay at home and drink.

I make rules, no drinking on a school (work) night, especially on a Sunday.

I regularly break my own rules.

I hit a particularly low moment.