20 Years Without A Drink (2000)

 Me, aged 19 - with the best friend I had at University.

 

TRIGGER WARNING:

This blog post is about poor mental health, suicidal thoughts, binge drinking and abusive relationships. 

 

I was never a big drinker. Back when I was a student, I couldn't afford to drink very much - even with all the subsidised bars at Lancaster University. And I found out very early on that it didn't take much to get me completely hammered. I was a shite drinker. Six pints was my absolute limit. The problem was, I never knew when I'd passed the point of no return.

I always thought getting drunk was a slow, gradual process and that I'd know when to stop... but it was a fucking cliff edge. 

I'd think I was fine - a bit warm and a bit fuzzy - but the next thing I knew I'd be waking up on a park bench with sick down my trousers. That sort of thing would terrify me and I'd tell myself that I had to stop drinking - and I would. 

For a couple of days. 

But it was too easy to drink - in my late teens and twenties every social event seemed to be centred around alcohol. It would have felt weird not to be drinking. 

 

By the time I ended up in hospital, I'd lost my job, pissed off my family and been cautioned by the Police on more than one occasion. I'd also been threatening to kill myself (and lots of other people) so ending up in hospital was probably the lesser of several evils.

The hospital Psychiatrist put all of my problems down to booze and told me to quit. I told him that I'd felt anxious and lonely and miserable before I'd started drinking but he'd already made his mind up. 

I also tried to explain that I didn't drink very much, but he said I didn't need to. He said some people can't cope with alcohol, their brains and bodies don't process it in the normal way. He also pointed out that I was on quite a high dose of anti-depressants and I really shouldn't mix my meds with alcohol. 

 

But alcohol was my medication - long before I'd been put on anti-depressants and beta-blockers, I'd been having a drink or two just to calm myself down or to help me get to sleep.

 

Booze had been helpful. 

I'd only ever made friends at University or had the courage to speak to people (especially girls) after I'd had a couple of drinks. I ended up in stupid situations because I could only speak to people when I was drunk.

Did people find me attractive when they were drunk? Was I only ever going to find a girlfriend when I was drunk? Did we both have to be drunk? Is that how everybody met their partners? Is this how grown-up relationships worked? 

How was I supposed to know? 

Fucking hell. What a mess. 

 

Sometimes drinking made me happy. And even when it made me miserable I could just blame it all on the booze.

When I first went out to work, I somehow managed to hide what was going on. I spent a lot of time sitting in toilet cubicles trying to calm down. That was easy working in an office – when everybody else was having a cigarette or a coffee break I’d be having a mini breakdown in the loo. 

Going to meetings and company events terrified the life out of me. A pint at lunchtime would see me through the afternoon.

 

I didn't know it, but I'd been suffering from anxiety attacks and depression for a very, very long time. I'd been brought up to think that those sorts of things were just an excuse for being lazy, so I tried to ignore how I was feeling. 

I convinced myself I was imagining it and tried to piss and wish (pish?) it away.

Things finally blew up when I got horribly drunk on a Friday night in Newcastle. 

Loads of people went to the Quayside straight from work because somebody was getting engaged (or having a birthday or leaving their job or some other  excuse to go out on the lash) and I simply couldn't be around that many people without getting pissed. 

 

I definitely shouldn't have been socialising with people from work. I'd recently had a brief (blink and you'd miss it) relationship with a colleague and I took the opportunity to let everybody know it was over. 

It had been a typical relationship for me at that time; during a night out I'd gotten completely hammered and ended up kissing a woman from the office. We'd worked together for about three years but before our drunken snog we'd barely spoken to each other. Maybe because we were both a bit embarrassed about our very public snogging session or maybe because we were both very lonely, we had a few weeks of trying to be a 'proper couple'. But I expected to get dumped. I really, really liked her, but I couldn't see why she'd ever be interested in me.

Bit by bit, I trashed the relationship. I'd overreact if she didn't reply to my text messages within five minutes. I became insanely jealous whenever she spoke to other blokes - I just assumed she'd prefer their company over mine. I said some unforgivable things. 

I'd like to say that being drunk means I don't remember much about it, but I do. I did it deliberately. I knew I had to hurt her before she could hurt me. And that made sense to me. But it's like burning your house down just to make sure you never get burgled. 

That's a pattern I came to recognise - and I've lost count of the friendships and relationships I deliberately seemed to sabotage; hurting people before they could hurt me.

 The following Monday I was summoned to a meeting with my boss. He hadn't been present during my drunken exploits, but plenty of my colleagues had let him know what happened. As well as trashing my relationship I'd also been threatening to throw myself in the Tyne. 

 

My boss said I'd shown a 'dark side' so my 'position was untenable.' I told him about my mental health problems, the medication I was on and about how I often had thoughts about killing myself. 

I asked him if there was any support or help available from occupational health - but no, I'd 'gone too far'.

 

My boss had a 'duty of care' to my co-workers. When people start behaving differently (or dangerously) people don't always think "they might need help, they might be ill", most people seem to think "get that fucking loony away from me!" 

 

Co-workers, friends and family members all cut me off. It was worse than that - according to my boss a steady stream of people went into his office to tell him about 'troubling' things I'd said to them. Some of my colleagues had always thought there was something a bit 'off' about me and then they started making complaints about my work and the way I'd presented myself at important meetings. They'd never brought any of this up before, but my awful behaviour had opened the floodgates. And I deserved it. After all, some of my closest family members refused to believe there was anything wrong with me - I was just being 'lazy' or having a 'tantrum'. 

I started to think my brain was wired badly. Everybody would be better off without me.

I had to meet my boss at a hotel because nobody wanted me back at the office under any circumstances. Ahead of my 'disciplinary hearing', I was advised that I could be accompanied by a family member or work colleague - but nobody wanted to come along. I was on my own. 'People are scared,' my boss said. He threatened me with the Police (again) and a restraining order and then told me to write out a letter of resignation. I wanted to die. I genuinely could not see any future. I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. I tried to make him understand this. Did he think the threat of unemployment or being arrested was scary to me at that point? 

I had already been to the Police station - I told them what I'd done and offered to turn myself in. I said I needed to be arrested... They'd laughed at me. 

 I'd never felt more alone and I thought I deserved every bad thing that was happening to me. I didn't argue, fight or cry - and I didn't try to defend myself. I agreed to get this "fucking loony" away from everybody.

 

I also did what the Psychiatrist told me to do. I stopped drinking. 

The Psychiatrist even wrote to my boss. He wrote a long letter detailing my medical history and asking for me to be given another chance.

My boss ignored him.

I couldn't salvage my job, my family relationships and most of my friendships - but being sober did mean that I could start to pick up the pieces. It wasn't easy. 

My family was ashamed of me - I was out of work, I'd spent time on a psychiatric ward, I'd been in trouble with the Police... They wanted nothing to do with me. And they let me know it in some of the worst ways possible.

I was verbally and physically attacked. I became the black sheep of the family. I had been seriously assaulted but some of my closest relatives lied about it. They covered it up and tried to put the blame on me. My attacker had a severely bruised and swollen hand. Nobody wanted to admit he'd damaged his knuckles repeatedly punching me in the head.

They also made me homeless.

I found a temporary job at a radio station in Manchester. It wasn't very well paid and I ended up going into debt but it got me away from my family and it gave me some breathing space.

I finally applied for the teacher training course that I was supposed to start six years earlier. 

I fell off the wagon once - later in 2000 I had a few farewell drinks with some of the people I'd been working with in Manchester.

For one brief moment I thought I'd be OK, I could become a 'social drinker' - but I also realised that it might be the top of a very slippery slope.

In Manchester, I'd made some good friends and I shouldn't risk fucking things up all over again.

August 2000 was the very last time I had a drink.

  I’m lucky. I found better people to be with. I found better places to be. I met my wife for the first time in September 2000.

I wish I could say I’ve found the right diagnosis, the right medication, the right type of therapy or any of the answers – but I haven’t.

I’m still looking. 

I’m still trying. 

And I’m grateful that I’m still here to do that.

At the start of the year 2000 I didn't think I'd see 2001.