What I learned in my first year sober

For the first six weeks of not drinking, I fought the cravings on my own. When I saw the way it was heading I HAD to reach out for help. The phone call I made to AA was the first time I spoke to someone who understood. They understood the cravings. They understood the need for escapism. Low self-esteem. Not fitting in. Everything. It was a great feeling to finally have another person who knew what I was going through and it seemed sensible to attend an AA meeting, although I was apprehensive.

After the meeting, people gave me their phone numbers and made me feel welcome. I was suspicious of their motives, to begin with. People I knew didn’t do nice things for no reason. They usually expected something in return. So I was guarded. Over the weeks, my suspicion lessened somewhat but I was still uncomfortable with a few things. Initially, it had seemed like a nice place to go for a cup of tea and to share the shit circulating around my head but then it seemed like there was an ever-increasing pressure to do the 12 steps. Many of the steps contained the word “God” and I have to be honest it made me nervous. I started to get a cult vibe from the place and when I saw a couple of people carrying bibles it put me on edge. I voiced my concerns with people about the God thing and they would say “You can use anything as your higher power.” Which made me feel like they weren’t listening. “I don’t believe in any god,” I would reply. “Make one up then,” and round we would go. I felt that outsourcing all of my problems to a deity of my own creation was just another way of escaping my problems and myself. Alcohol had done that for many years and now I wanted to know what I was about. I wanted the control back and AA talked about how I had done a terrible job of being in control before. I also felt like there was too much emphasis on being powerless. I needed bigging up not dragging down. I still believe walking into a room and announcing to strangers “I am an alcoholic,” is the opposite of weak. It should be held up as an act of courage and built on from that point but this is difficult to navigate when alcoholism is seen as a disease. That’s not to say there aren’t positives to AA; it has helped millions of people through time, I met some great people at meetings and I am still friends with some today, it gives meaning to peoples lives were there was none before and altruism is good for the mind.

So, I had an option; stay and become a paid-up member of AA or leave and chance it on my own. Chancing it would be suicide, I was told. I had spent my life being fearful, I didn’t need someone else using fear to control me.

Thanks to relapses in the past, I learned that boredom was the start and drinking was the end. I had to keep busy. I learned that I was escaping my self and my life. So I had to create a life and person I didn’t want to escape from anymore. This was scary shit to do. All the years of built-up problems in my head were rolling around like the storm on Jupiter consuming everything in its path and increasing in chaos. Each new rumination adding another layer of anxiety. My head was a dangerous place to go into. I was deep in debt. I needed to get control of my finances and again, this was scary shit. I had never been responsible with money before and now I had to try to pay off all my debt. I needed a reason for all this to happen. I had no family to do it for. I could do it for myself but last time that only worked for so long… this time I needed a goal.

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On a shelf, in a dark corner of my mind, was a box labelled dreams. It was covered in dust and a bit tattered now after being forgotten for so long. I reached up and took the box down, cleared the dust and opened the lid. Inside, was a menagerie of beautiful locations in the world that I had longed to visit. Places of wonder and awe. Places of history and intrigue. Places that would challenge and inspire. I decided that this would be my goal. My line in the sand. All I needed to do was chip away at the weight of the past that was holding me back.

Clearing debt

My financial situation was precarious and if I was going to travel the world I either needed to clear my debt or get a lot more debt. I felt like the debt was a trap. A cage. A part of the weight that was holding me back. I realised that a huge part of my monthly repayment were interest charges. So I looked around and found an interest free balance transfer (https://www.money.co.uk/credit-cards/0-purchases-credit-cards.htm). Initially, there was a cost to do so but then there were no interest charges (except on new purchases) so I even though I chose to pay less off a month I was actually paying more off the outstanding balance. It was reassuring to see the amount ACTUALLY coming down for a change. It started to look like progress after a few months. Next was a variety of loans that I had taken out to pay off the credit cards, vowing never to make the same mistake again. I applied for a loan to cover all these loans and extended the length of time to bring the monthly payments down. Although it would increase the interest, I needed to bring my monthly outgoings down.

The next thing I did was; stop buying everything I didn’t NEED. By which I mean if it was just something I wanted for the sake of wanting something, then I didn’t get it. I had to sacrifice my short term desires for my long term goals. This isn’t easy but like anything becomes easier with practice. This freed up some disposable income that I used to pay a bit more off the credit card debt.

Hobbies

One thing I found that took a hit was my social life. A large part of the culture revolves around drinking and being a non-drinker kinda makes you feel like the turd in the punch bowl. Spending time around drunk people though makes you realise that you have to be drunk to “Get it.” That’s because there is nothing to get. The feeling of missing out that used to draw me to the pub like a moth to light soon disappeared for me when I had a goal to aim for. Yet, without the social aspect of the pub/club scene or no AA, it was a little bit isolating. Even lonely. Initially, I bemoaned my isolation but then I realised it was only bad because I was moaning about it. I started doing things I had always wanted to do but used to say “I don’t have the time for” or “I’m too busy.” Just excuses I used so I could go drinking instead. Now, I read so much about meditation, travelling, finances, politics, economics, social science, psychology. I signed up for qualifications. I began learning guitar. I started swimming and going to the sauna. I meditated. I met friends for coffee. I went on dates. I went to gigs. I went to the cinema on my own and felt excitement for the first time in a long time. I discovered that without alcohol I could do, within reason, whatever I wanted. I felt free.

Patience

I wanted to do everything and I wanted to do it yesterday but it soon became apparent that tidying up the wreckage of the past was going to take time. So learned to slow down. AA had taught me to take one day at a time but I was taking one day, as one step, towards a goal.

I’ve found that the greatest apology is change and people soon notice when you are making a serious attempt to turn your life around. The level of support offered is phenomenal and a past I was shameful of became a point that I was now becoming proud to have escaped. As long as I was making progress with my relationships, my finances and my personal growth, I accepted that was enough. Some things take longer than others to fix so patience is a necessity.

“Because you have been down there, Neo. You know that road. You know exactly where it ends. And I know that’s not where you want to be.” – Trinity, The Matrix

It was the quote above that kept me going. Every time I wanted a drink. To deviate from the new road I had chosen. I reminded myself of those days; drunk, alone, lonely, scared, broken, desperate and lost. I didn’t want to go down that road. Not again. A bad day sober isn’t worth drinking on and losing everything. So I just kept plugging away one debt at a time; a financial debt. A debt to people. A debt to myself. I owed it to myself to stay sober.

The first year was hard and there were times it seemed like a stupid thing to be doing. That it was a complete waste of time and I should just give up and go back drinking. By by the end of the year, I had learned so much, paid off some of the debt and felt so good that it eventually became worth it. It just took time, patience and sacrifice. All three I’d given to alcohol. So why not give them to sobriety.

Thanks for reading,

Charlie.

Quitting drinking and staying sober

On the morning of June 1st 2014, I woke up with the worst hangover ever and I’d endured some devastating hangovers in my life. Sunglasses well into the nighttime kinda hangovers. This one was two pairs of shades, forty paracetamol kind of hangover.

I opened my eyes. Only for them to be forced shut by the early morning sun. I tried again but squinting. I noticed stickers on my chest. Slowly the previous evening’s activities began to unfold in my mind; copious amounts of whiskey, pain, hospital, shame. I knew something had to change. I knew I was at the end and that I couldn’t carry on living like this but I had no idea where to begin. The thought of not drinking scared the shit of me. All my friends were drinkers. All the activities we did involved drinking. My whole life revolved around the pub or the consumption of alcohol. Without it, I would have nothing. I had no hobbies. No creative outlets. No spiritual path. No girlfriend. No nothing. Drinking was my everything. The previous evening in the hospital, the Doctor had told me to lay off the drink for two weeks or I could do some serious damage to my liver. This was the second warning that my liver had given me in three years and honestly, I was worried. I imagined the third warning would mean cirrhosis, liver disease or worse. I promised the doctor and myself that I wouldn’t drink alcohol for the two weeks as advised.

Later that day, I left my home town to drive the four-hour drive to where I worked. I still felt terrible and my passenger seat was stacked with bottles of Lucozade in the hope it would carry me through the journey. Three-quarters of the way into the journey, my car lost all power and began to freewheel along the motorway. Luckily, it had enough momentum to get me to the next lay-by. I stopped, sighed, took a large drink of Lucozade and tried to start my car. Nothing. I called the rescue service and they advised me to wait away from the car. So that’s what I did. 

I sat on the crash barrier, took a cigarette out of my packet and as I smoking it, I began to question how much more I could take. How much more shit could I suffer in my life. The night before was a physical warning. I was financially fucked. My head was full of constant noise that the drinking cured but also caused. I honestly felt like the universe was sending me a huge neon message saying “IF YOU DON’T CHANGE, THIS IS HOW IT’S GOING TO BE”. I couldn’t take another day of this. I couldn’t suffer the embarrassment that I’d suffered the night before. Not again. I could not risk a third warning from my liver. I had to change. I had to try. I was at the end but I no idea where to begin. All I knew was that I was going to try and stop drinking for good. I had to. I was convinced the next warning on my liver would mean serious health problems and I had so much I wanted to do in life.

Eventually, the AA van arrived, the mechanic explained that the cam belt on my car had snapped and the engine was finished. Basically, the car was now a write-off. He towed me to the nearest service station and that’s where I sat in my car, with my head on the steering wheel, waiting for a tow truck to take me home. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be me. I drank because I hated my life and myself. 

I didn’t think I could approach these issues. How I could even begin to get a grip on the shit going on outside and inside my head? It was a close call which was in a worse state; my outer life or inner world. I was so deep in debt that my outgoings were on par with my income. I looked terrible. I had a job… just about. My car was now written off. My head was a dangerous neighbourhood I dare not enter unless I had the courage of drink in me. Every emotion I had pushed down was in there under pressure but not creating diamonds. My internal monologue was basically a constant barrage of negativity that had me believing I couldn’t achieve anything. I was poor, felt worthless and sitting in that car park, I felt hopeless. If I had enough energy I would have cried and if I wasn’t shit scared of the health implications I would have had a drink.

The next day at work was brutal. I still had a hangover and reality had started to creep back in. My financial situation took centre stage and danced loud all day. This caused me to be moody, irritable and generally not very nice to be around. Which apparently was normal. It’s just that I was “too hungover to notice,” before. This carried on for the first week. And then the second. In those two weeks, I stayed away from the pub as I was gasping for a drink and sitting in the pub is where I went wrong the first time. I started going to the sauna because I was convinced it would help clean me out. I watched films, read books, spoke to people who I’d known a long time, anything and everything to keep me busy because the slightest thing would make me want a drink. And everything reminded me of drinking; Look it’s nearly home time… pub time. Feeling stressed? Have a drink. Had a good day? Have a drink. Somebody pissed you off? Have a drink. Then there is the advertising constantly reminding me that I was missing out on great times and beautiful women. Thankfully the feeling I had sitting on the side of the road, lost and broken, was still pretty fresh in my mind. Like a friend of mine says, “When I drink it isn’t a Bacardi Breezer advert,” how right he is.

By staying busy I managed to do the two weeks that the Doctor recommended. I’d started to feel better so I opted to do another two weeks. In true addict style; if I feel this good after two weeks without a drink, imagine how good I’ll feel after four. So that’s what I did, another two weeks. I had a bit of a routine going by this point; swimming twice a week, practising the guitar, reading all the half-read books I’d started, talking with people I knew, I stayed away from pubs, meditated, when the urge to “get out of my head” happened I just let it pass.

After four weeks, I got paid and to my surprise, I still had money left from the month before. That was enough of an incentive to keep going. I went to six weeks without a drink. My general outlook had improved. My sleep had improved. My life, in general, had improved. And then it hit me; I was bored shitless. I couldn’t carry on doing this, it was dull. I felt like I was waiting for something exciting to happen and then I realised it was never going to come. Boredom was always an excuse to drink for me. So this was a bad time. I needed some advice. I phoned the alcoholics’ anonymous helpline out of desperation. I smoked five cigarettes, talked myself out of it and then convinced myself it was a good idea numerous times, before eventually making the call. A lady answered the phone and asked my name before telling me hers. She asked how she could help and I told her my situation; how I didn’t want to drink anymore but I was bored shitless, that I had loads of time but was now missing something as my life had been spent in the pub. She asked me if there was any alcohol in the house and I said “Yeah, there’s half a bottle of red wine, two bottles of white wine, four lagers, some gin and some vodka. Why?” she said, “Why do you know how much alcohol is in your house to the measure?” I can remember thinking that was a stupid question surely it’s normal to know how much alcohol in your house. I mean what’s the point in having alcohol in your house and not knowing about it?

“Do you stare at it?” she asked, which brought me away from my rumination.

“Sometimes when I am bored,” I said.

“I think you should go to a meeting,” she said.

I was actually offended at the suggestion. Me? Charlie J Lofus? Attending an AA meeting? Those things were for hobos, winos, meth drinkers and piss stinkers…

“It can’t be any worse than sitting in here staring at the wall but I must tell you that I am not an alcoholic. I am just a man who drank a bit too much,” I said.

I found a meeting in my local area and went along expecting to walk into a scene from the Hollywood version of Skidrow. To my utmost surprise, there was someone I had worked with previously at the meeting. He was about my age and certainly smashed my prejudices. I was greeted on the door and asked if it was my first time, what my name was and if I wanted a cup of tea. Everyone there was great and as they shared their stories I began to relate. I was asked if I wanted to share my story and with a wobble to my voice, I began to tell what had happened over the last few years. The people nodded along in agreement. Some had smiles as they recalled a day gone by. When I finished I couldn’t help but think “Oh fuck! I’m in the right place.” When it was time to leave, people offered their phone numbers and support. It was not only useful but reassuring that I wasn’t alone. That was five years ago and although I have had a fractured relationship with AA, at that moment, they helped me immeasurably.

If you’re struggling I suggest you give them a call. https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/contact

https://www.aa.org/pages/en_US/need-help-with-a-drinking-problem

Thank you for reading,

Charlie.

Stop drinking before you HAVE to!

The hallmark of my life was running. Not as in the fast movement. Unless it was last orders at the bar or the off licence was closing. I used alcohol to run mentally and when that became a problem, I would move. Usually, I would change jobs but on many occasions, I would up sticks and move towns. With a car full of possessions and a head filled with bullshit promises of how it was all going to be different this time, I would hit the road. Usually looking for the thing that alcohol was taking away; peace of mind.

After seven months of wellness, it hadn’t taken long for the old ways of drinking to return. My whole existence revolved around drinking. I would go to work purely on the basis to earn money to drink and when not working, I would be drinking. Most of my friends settled down and started families. I was still slumped against a bar trying to figure out what was going wrong with my life. The answer to that question was masquerading as the solution the whole time. So now I was back to where I had been for most of my life and like all those other times I chose the same option I had done previously; time to move.

This was it, a fresh start, a new beginning, clean linen, this is where it all came true. The excitement I felt purely from the delusion that it was going to be different was what made moving all the time so appealing. The sense of wandering into the unknown like an explorer in search of a new life. So many possibilities, so much potential, new sights, new friends and new lovers. It is the thing that dreams are made of.

It wasn’t. In a new town with no friends, I would wander to the pub and drink excessively in the belief that I would meet a new friend Or even more delusionary, a beautiful partner by being in the pub. I would stand in an empty bar on a rainy Tuesday night convinced that I had to stay in there because I would soon meet the woman of my dreams. This brainwashing by washing my brain with alcohol became expensive, even if I had scouted out the cheapest bar in town. The wages I had left after paying my bills would all be spent on drinking. When I had spent my wages, I would use a credit card. When the credit card was at its limit I would get a loan and pay the credit card off. Vowing never to do it again… until the next time. I knew it wasn’t sustainable but I couldn’t stop. The alcohol would block out the reality which in turn made reality harder to face. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

This continued for two years. Over that time; I destroyed friendships, relationships, I was on the verge of bankruptcy, I was physically broken, mentally ruined and emotionally stunted. My days followed a similar path; work, drink, blackout, repeat. In the pub, I would stand and talk about the wonderful, exotic places in the world I would love to visit. Angkor Wat, Machu Picchu, Nepal, plus many more. I could never make the connection between my drinking habits and my circumstance. I used to moan that I couldn’t visit those places because I was skint all the time. Any suggestion of stopping drinking was scoffed at. I was like a child clinging to his mums’ apron strings refusing to play with the other kids. But deep down I was miserable, isolated and lonely. Drinking was my only friend and felt like the only friend I needed.

The people I drank with were associates who were there to normalise my behaviour. I felt like a prisoner. I wanted a change but I had no idea how to go about it. I begrudgingly accepted that this life of working and drinking was my only option. It was getting to the point that people were commenting that I was wearing the same clothes as I had been doing the previous day. This was because I left work, got drunk, blacked out, woke up and drove back to work. At the end of the workday, I would walk around the car park looking for my car. When I eventually quit drinking, I heard a story of a woman who crashed her car into the wall of her workplace on the way to work in the morning. She had been drinking the night before and lost her license and her job. I was lucky.

On May 31st 2014, I was watching a boxing match with some friends. I was drinking whiskey as that is what we used to drink when we all started going out together when we were younger. The irony isn’t lost on me that I was trying to act like I had done when we were all sixteen. After the fight had finished, they did the sensible thing and went home to their wives, girlfriends and children. I went out with mine; alcohol. With no one to distract me with chatter, I was consumed whiskey at an unprecedented rate until it was time to go home. I can’t remember much of the night but I remember walking down the street after the club had closed and felt a paralysing pain just below my right rib-cage. I had never felt pain like it before. It was so severe that it created a memory even in a state of blackout. I slumped against a wall clutching my side and asked a group of people who were passing to get me a taxi, which they did thankfully and I made my way to the hospital. I always had a rule that if something hurt then I would have a few pints of lager. If it still hurt afterwards then it must be quite bad because alcohol is an anaesthetic. So now I was worried.

In the accident and emergency ward, I waited to be seen by a doctor clutching my side and rolling around the floor in agony. I genuinely thought something had ruptured. I prayed to Gods I didn’t believe in and made promises that I couldn’t keep, all out of desperation. After four painful embarrassing hours, I was seen by a Doctor and after a shit ton of tests, I was told that I had an enlarged liver due to the amount of whiskey I had drunk that night. He advised me to lay off alcohol for two weeks and it would return to its normal size. It was the second warning my liver had given me and I was only thirty-two years old. I knew something had to change but I had no idea where to begin.

Charlie.

I got sober then threw it away…

In 2011, under the recommendation of my Doctor, I started to attend drinks counselling. I was far too guarded to discuss any of the problems in my chaotic mind. I used to tell the counsellor what I thought she wanted to hear. I wasn’t ready for the truth. I would try and one-up her intellectually. I’d turn the session into a game. The aim of which was to get to the end of the session without actually talking about my drinking problems. I was the only loser. I was so ungrateful that this service had been offered at the time. Where I should have been trying to work through my problems I was wasting time. I naively assumed that just by attending and pretending, I would somehow magically cure all my problems.

I attended the sessions for twelve weeks and stayed away from alcohol but became obsessive about exercise and food. I made no attempt to find the reasons why I drank as much as I did. I did nothing to address the carnival constantly dancing through my mind. In the end, I drank again. I should have told her how I felt. I should have told her about how I viewed myself as worthless, good for nothing and that alcohol was the only thing that brought light into my miserable existence. Maybe I thought she’d make me stop drinking for good if I told her the truth. I was too scared to lose the only enjoyable thing in my life.

So during the sessions, I would talk about anything except my actual issues. This avoidance of reality had been my problem for years. After the twelve-week counselling had finished I left with a sense of having cheated the system by not telling the truth. I had only cheated myself. It was like I had managed to keep it hidden. I was like a schoolboy who had got away with smoking behind the bike shed. I eventually drank again four months after the counselling had finished. I implore anyone in the same position to dig deep and be honest. That slip up lasted two years and ended with me being broken.

One of the few things that did improve throughout the twelve-week counselling was my health. Not only due to stopping drinking and cutting out junk food but also down to my new obsession with exercise and healthy eating. It was quite clear that I had just swapped my obsession with drinking for an obsession with fitness. I was convinced that if I looked good then I would feel good. This was true for a short amount of time but eventually, once I got to a point that I thought I looked good then I got bored. With boredom comes drinking. Well, it did for me. The voice of temptation constantly whispering into my ear. “You’re bored? Alcohol would make it more exciting.” “Just one.” It was never just one.

Also, during the seven months of sobriety I managed to achieve a few things;

Skydiving; What an experience skydiving was. The sensation of free-falling offset by the serenity when the parachute opened combined to make a remarkable experience. 

Passed my driving test and bought a car; At twenty-nine years old I passed my driving test and bought a car. I had never needed a car before this point. I preferred getting the train everywhere so I could drink on the way.

Got a new job; Or should I say I started a career in a field that actually interested me.

Managed to pay off some debt; With the new job and not blasting my entire wages in the pub it seemed a lot easier to re-balance my finances and start to get on more stable ground.

Started training for the El Camino de Santiago; A work colleague told me about a pilgrimage in Spain/France called the El Camino de Santiago. It is a five hundred miles (769km) hike/walk from St Jean Pied De Port in southern France to Santiago de Compostella in Galicia, North West Spain. I started looking into it and then I was convinced that is what I was going to do next.

Lost a lot of weight; When I was drinking I eat appallingly and paid the price as I was always ill. Either hungover or just rough. The swimming, yoga & meditation I started doing, combined with the change in diet made me feel great.

The changes had been great. I was feeling fantastic but I still hadn’t dealt with the reasons why I drank so much previously. Subconsciously I was looking for an excuse to drink again. A guy I was working with developed a tumour that the Doctors were sure had formed due to stress. He was thirty-four years old and his life would now be completely different forever. It scared the shit out of me as I wasn’t much younger myself. I can remember thinking what’s the point in not drinking? I might be dead soon! A week later I was watching a friends band on a nondescript Wednesday night. I’d had three cokes and thought if I keep drinking Coke then I won’t sleep and I’ve got work tomorrow. It seemed to make a lot of sense at the time that the only other option was to have a beer. I was convinced that it wouldn’t end up like last time. How could it? I was much wiser now. There was no alarm when I got the drink and there was no explosion of dopamine in my brain. I just sipped it and carried on watching the band. I finished the beer and ordered another. After that, I went home. Easy I thought as I made my way home convinced I had it under control.

Two days after those first two drinks, I was back to drinking how I had done before. Recklessly. Almost as if my addiction had been dormant just waiting to seize control. Within weeks, people started to comment on how I looked ill. They would also mention how I smelt of drink. I would make up some lie about a party the night before when really I had been home alone. Soon my financial situation would again become precarious as I was now drinking away my wages and I started borrowing money to feed my habit.

The dream of walking the El Camino de Santiago began to slip further away from reach. Every week of drinking made it more and more unachievable due to the damage to my body. My mental health began to suffer as I shelved problems again and I could no longer afford the plane ticket to France. 

The positive changes I had made over the seven months were destroyed within a few weeks.

Thanks for reading,

Charlie.

Quitting Drinking – A Diary

When I first stopped drinking I kept a journal of how I felt. My girlfriend had left because of my drinking. I went to the doctors to prove her wrong. The doctor gave me a blood test and told me I had a serious drink problem. I only wrote for the first 19 days but I would like to share it in case it is helpful. Everything below was written at the time.   

Day 1 – Got back from the dam (Amsterdam) in a state but knew it was time to change and become more responsible. Spent the day feeling sorry for myself, laid on the sofa eating crap food to try and cheer myself up. A usual occurrence. 

Day 2 – Rough nights sleep. Sweating, twitching, restless. Lethargic all day. Brain pre-occupied by the task at hand and the thought of becoming a boring old man. Better than becoming an alcoholic old man though I guess. Train journey home, no music, no reading. Just staring out of the window thinking. Long time since I’ve made a train journey without a beer . Evening in bed crying & trying to hold it together. For the first time I was aware of the little voice that said “Have a drink”. I refused. 

Day 3 – Got up early to phone the doctors. “Am I really going to do this? I’m fine” I tell myself, my defence mechanism has kicked in. Dr’s appointment – walking there holding back the tears of the realisation I may have been wasting my life. Doctor confirms I have been wasting my life. Held my head up high but was crashing down inside. Spent the rest of the day trying not to fall apart. Anxiously waiting the results of my blood test. It’ll be fine.

SIDE NOTE: You can’t run forever. Eventually you have to stop and that’s when it hits you. Deal with your problems as they happen don’t dismiss them or drown them in alcohol. 

Day 4 – A blur of awful realisation and remorse. Overwhelming urge to go to the pub but decided to take a walk into town to get out of the house. The pub is still calling my name like an evil temptress. Shall I go in for a coffee?! Looking at the people mosying around town I realise that I’m not missing much and venture home with a paper. Try to pre-occupy my mind as it’s waking from a chemically induced slumber and it’s hungry again. Exhaustion and anxiety get the better of me and I spend the day on the sofa rattling. 

Day 5 – My mother called round in the morning and helped me realise that drink had control over me. Also, how it’s influence on me changed my personality for the worse whilst drunk. I’ve tried to figure out why I drank like I did. Embarrassment? Depression? Social Anxiety? Just a chemical imbalance? No idea.The sinking feeling of loss, guilt, remorse, shame of love, life, friendships and careers lost to drink. My cocky blasé attitude showed a lack of interest when really I was dying inside but too scared to reach out for help. Get up, smile, take the piss out of people, die a little more inside. Why did I pass myself off as the joker? Life was passing me by. Call the doctors for my test results. She wants to see me. My anxiety hits the roof. Now it’s real. Now all the years of foolishness, juvenility and recklessness have made an impact. All I can think is “I’m fucked”. 

Day 6 – Doctors tomorrow. Spend the day pacing. 

Day 7 – Doctors first thing. The results weren’t as bad as I thought but the doctor wasn’t as impressed. I have to cut down and see a drink counsellor. My mind is calmed by the fact I don’t have cirrhosis of the liver. Liver gamma 96 recommended 48. I’ve had a warning. Spend the rest of the day reading, practicing guitar and waiting to see the counsellor. That’s only problem the amount of time to kill. Seems strange admitting I have a drink problem but also liberating and life changing. First Friday night in a long time without a beer. Went to bed early. 

Day 8 – Tried to keep busy today. Visited family and then went out for a birthday party. Had a panic attack in the taxi on the way there. Twitching, paranoia. When I got there I just had a coke and sat down. Any offer of beer I just refused and said I’m on medication. After to the party we went to another pub. I had a J20 and had a surprisingly good time. Realised that it is possible to socialise without alcohol. 

Day 9 – Last day of my holiday time. Relaxed and went to the pub, quickly got bored. Pubs alone and sober aren’t the most fun of places.   

Day 10 – First day back at work and people have been surprisingly supportive. They also say I should be proud of what I have done. Good day at work it took my mind off things a lot. Got home from work and felt terrible. Didn’t want to do anything other than sit on the sofa and wallow in self pity. Forced myself to visit my Nanna. It was a good decision. Just the walk there helped.  On the walk back I passed my regular pub. I imagined myself at the bar, alone, drinking and I looked unhappy. It made me feel good. 

Day 11 – Work again today. Good day. Went to watch football in the pub. Took £20 and only bought one pint of coke. 

Day 12 – Spent the day doing chores 

Day 13 – Work again. People are very forthcoming when you admit you have a problem. 

Day 14 – Work until 2 and then counselling. Was very helpful and makes me analyse my problems. Went to a football match and had a very good time plus a great laugh. Shame about the match. Went out after the game with some friends and felt uptight but after a while became relaxed. Felt at ease and could crack jokes. No paranoia, anxiety or anti social behaviour. Drank too much coke and couldn’t sleep.  

Day 15 – Whole day tired at work due to the lack of sleep. Went to a leaving party and people commented how much better I look already. No longer grey faced and miserable. Laid back and relaxed. 

Day 16 – Night shift at work tonight on my own. Worried about being on my own. 

Day 17 – Work wasn’t as bad as I expected. Slept a lot today but feel really happy. Starting to enjoy my own company and discover who I am. Enjoying relaxed time just watching TV, reading, playing guitar, experiencing freedom of choice. No longer seeing time as something that has to be maximised more as something to be enjoyed. Depression is lifting and I’m starting to feel more confident. Breaking a self destructive habit that has lasted 15 years is empowering. I exercised today for the first time in a long time. If I can carry on like today it is going to be a good future. 

Day 18 – Another good day today  No longer think “I wish I would have done this years ago” because now is the time. Negativity is drifting away to be replaced by light and positivity. I feel good. Time alone is enjoyable. Writing, reading, watching TV, all seem like better options than standing in a bar and drinking to misery. I can’t really face bars now. One question that keeps arising “Did I drink because I was depressed or depressed because I drank?” 

Day 19 – Every morning now seems like a seemless amount of time to be enjoyed. No longer have to rush through the day to get everything done in order to get to the pub. Went swimming today with a non drinking work colleague. Felt good to be out trying different things and starting to build a life. Have to find new things to do to otherwise I will end up sitting in the pub again. Spent the remainder of the day relaxing with a book, played some playstation, writing. From not enough time to an abundance of time to be enjoyed. Experiencing life without drink is a challenge but overcoming challenges is what makes us stronger. “Abstinence makes the mind grow stronger.”

Day 1725 – today
Found an old diary…

Thanks for reading,

Charlie.

How it all began

“Just admit you have a drinking problem,” she said, with her hand holding the door open, primed like a sprinter on the starting block.

“Problem? What problem? I pay my bills, my mortgage, I’ve got a job, I’ve got a car. How can I have a problem?” I said.

“Because once you pay for those things every single penny goes on drinking. The fact you don’t see that as a problem… forget it I’m wasting my time trying to tell you that,” she said, stepping through the door and slamming so hard that it vibrated in its hinges along with her words reverberating around my head. Why does this keep happening? I thought to myself as I stood in the hallway perplexed. I shrugged my shoulders and went to the pub to have a couple of pints to mull it over.

This wasn’t the first time a relationship had ended like this and she wasn’t the first person to tell me I needed to quit drinking but for some reason, she made the biggest impact… although not in a nice way. “I’ll fucking show her she was wrong,” I said to myself after that evenings drinking session.

The day after this all too regular occurrence, I decided to phone my doctor and make an appointment. I was still hell-bent on proving the world wrong about my drinking habits. If I could just get proof from the doctor that everything was okay then at least they would let me enjoy my life in peace. I say “enjoy” but in all honesty, the enjoyment of drinking had ended many years ago and it was now the only thing left as all the other activities had been pushed aside but I digress.

Sitting in the doctors waiting room, my knee bouncing up and down, waiting to be called, convinced that I would soon have the letter of proof that would show the world it was overreacting to my drinking habits. How could I have a problem? Everyone I drink with, drinks the same amount as me? It’s normal, isn’t it? Relationships break down all the time? That’s what people do isn’t it? Work all day then drink their woes away at night?

“Charlie Lofus?” shouted the Doctor, snapping me out of my usual chaotic thinking.

“Here,” I said, standing and following her through to her office not so cock sure as when I arrived.

“So how can I help you?” said the Doctor, closing the door behind me and then taking her seat.

“Everybody keeps telling me I drink too much,” I said, fidgeting on my seat.

“How much do you drink?” said the Doctor.

“Twelve pints a day and then spirits on the weekend,” I said, playing it down.

“Is this true?” said the Doctor.

“Of course,” I said, as perspiration began to run down my face.

“I want you to have a blood test,” said the Doctor.

“Cool, shall I make an appointment on my way out?”

“No! You will have a blood test now, today. If you drink as much as you say you do then you may have damaged your liver. Wait outside and the nurse will call you,” said the Doctor.

“Okay,” is all I could manage to say as I stood and made my way out of the Doctors office, the sterile smell of the office adding to the lightheaded sensation to make me feel nauseous. I slumped into a chair in the waiting room and began to bite my finger nails. All the possible outcomes began to illuminate my mind like a firework show created to spell out liver conditions, as my confidence collapsed and the situation became very real.

I heard the words that sounded like Charlie Lofus. It was difficult to make them out as my mind was now awash with negativity but I stood and followed the nurse through corridors until I was told to sit. I did as instructed and rolled up my sleeve as she explained what was going to happen. The slight sting in my right arm as the needle slipped in, wasn’t enough to shake me from my thinking. Afterwards, I was told to call back next week for my results and also, to cut down on my alcohol consumption. I vowed to the nurse that I would… “Tomorrow” I vowed to myself. It had been a stressful day and the cigarette I was smoking outside was doing nothing to silence the chaos tearing through my mind like a tornado so I needed a drink.

I phoned the Doctors four days later. I made the call with a hangover. The Doctors advice had done nothing to curb my unquenchable thirst for alcohol and had done nothing to demonstrate that I had a problem.

“Hello, I’m calling for my blood test results. My name is Charlie Lofus,” I said to the receptionist over the phone.

“Yes Charlie the Doctor would like to talk to you about your results. Can you come in today?” said the receptionist.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, agreeing to the time she suggested that afternoon. Reality was banging so hard on the wall of deception I had created for myself that I for the first time in years I saw what I had done to myself and all I could think was; I’m fucked. How could this have happened? I only went to the Doctors to prove everybody wrong and now I had been called into the doctors to discuss, I was convinced, my imminent demise. No matter what I did, the word cirrhosis bounced around my mind from that point until I was speaking to the Doctor.

“Ninety six is twice what we consider healthy. Do you know what this means?” said the Doctor, holding a piece of paper.

“I can guess,” I said,

“I will tell you. At 29 years old your liver gamma is twice the maximum level Charlie. This is a clear warning from your body that the way you are living is not sustainable. I strongly suggest that you listen to it. If you can’t cut down then you have to stop drinking completely,” said the Doctor.

“I don’t see the point in cutting down. I never did. I only ever saw the point in getting hammered,” I said.

“We have a counselor here that could help?” said the Doctor.

“I can give it a try,” I said.

The therapy helped but then I threw my sobriety away. Don’t make the same mistake…

Thanks for reading,

Charlie.

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