“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” ~ The Serenity Prayer
Two of my best friends and I got paralytically drunk for the first time at age 12. It was the first of many times for me. Until then, my relationship with alcohol had been limited to an occasional tot-glass of sherry or port with Sunday lunch. But things changed that day when we decided to drink hard liquor and get drunk. This was the start of what would become a long and troubled journey with alcohol.
Unlike many other poor sods who end up as alcoholics, I couldn’t blame my upbringing or some outside trauma for my drinking. I never saw either of my parents even slightly intoxicated in my life. In my case, I have the gene that says one drink is not enough. I never realised it then, but I am allergic to alcohol. As drinkers go, I was not among the champions for copious consumption; I was a lightweight in that department. But I knew how to drink for maximum effect. Downing a glass of wine or beer and adding some shooters was a quick way to get “tipsy.” Having a “tall drink” of hard tack and a beer on the side would also speed up the proceedings.
Some drunks are mellow and simply pass out when they have had enough to drink. Not me. I became louder and more obnoxious the drunker I got. Sometimes I became violent and rude, which often ended in me getting smacked by someone who had had enough of my nonsense. Many times, I arrived home with a black eye, cut and bruised, my clothes ripped and without a memory of what had happened. I would spend the morning phoning friends to find out who I needed to apologise to for my behaviour the night before.
Social drinking is so ubiquitous today that it is hard to escape its allure, especially when you are a young adult. Everything the media portrays seems to be so carefree and happy. Social media and our “always on” lifestyle add to the pressure to “fit in” and take a drink. I have always had the greatest respect for anyone who can take a drink and behave themselves properly. My dad drank Bell’s Scotch Whisky with water and ice his whole life, and as I said, I have never even seen him tipsy. But my young adult life certainly revolved around being available to drink at the drop of a hat. I made drinking a part of my persona, believing it helped me be who I needed to be.
Drinking alcohol became a gateway to stronger substances. Always trying to be the life of the party, I started taking drugs such as ecstasy and MDMA. It wasn’t long before cocaine became the drug of choice. By now, some friends had also started to discover these “party drugs” and the downward spiral began. For four years, the nightmare continued. Three times I tried to quit. I first went to a rehabilitation centre as an outpatient. On hearing that I was not prepared to book in for a month, the therapist handling my case guaranteed that I would fail! I was shocked at her disdain for my efforts and became determined to prove her wrong.
Eight months later, I had a spectacular relapse.
I went on a binge that made up for any lost time. I caught up and passed my previous worst condition, this time pushing myself to the brink of death. There was no “off” switch, and I knew I was in more trouble than I could handle alone. I found myself driving to my church and calling my minister. I remember thinking that if he didn’t answer, I would call the dealer again. My minister called me back and we met at the church.
I was broken and sobbing. We spoke and agreed that I needed professional help. After calling my older Brother to inform him of our decision, they drove me to the rehab where I checked in for a month. Within three days of arriving, my therapist informed me that they would be treating me for alcoholism and not as a substance abuser. It was established that alcohol is my trigger. From the outset, I was determined to live a better life, one that didn’t include alcohol and the nightmare I had been living. I informed the doctors and therapists that I was there to get better, not for anyone else. Although my marriage was over, I was not getting sober to get her back; I was doing this selfishly only for me.
I relapsed once more after my stint in rehab.
I met a lady after I had been divorced for some time and I started falling in love. We would talk for hours, always laughing and making jokes, enjoying each other’s company. Her only daughter became my “snap-on” daughter, whom I loved very dearly. On the surface, our relationship was great, but one blissful element was lacking. She never loved me in the same way that I loved her.
First, whenever we were out, I’d have a glass of house red wine with lots of ice. It wasn’t long before I had more than one glass and started eliminating the ice. Soon, I was feeling the familiar buzz and all resistance crumbled. This time, I landed in a hospital emergency ward. According to my therapists and psychiatrist (I call her my Gynae!), my ex-wife was a persona mismatch that triggered my drinking.
When I was leaving the hospital after a week of intense therapy, she quipped: “You are the only man I know to choose the worst possible partners for himself twice in a row!” This time she sent me off with the words:
Live well.
Twenty years since that rehab over Christmas 2003 and New Year 2004, and my sobriety has never been in question. Rehab teaches you never to become arrogant or over-confident about the possibility of relapse. To that, I say you would have to get me pissed to ever get me to take another drink!
When you have admitted you are helpless over your situation and you need God’s help to guide you back to safety, you have taken the first vital step to being clean and sober forever.
Have a great weekend and please remember to be generous! 😄
As always, thanks for reading. 🙏
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