Reader Stories

This is a reader story. We believe in providing our readers with a space for them to share their story however they see fit. The thoughts and views expressed are that of the author and should be treated as such. If you wish to share your own stories please see here for more information.

My long abusive relationship with alcohol began when I was 13 years of age. My brother was 23 at the time, and had a big piece of furniture in which he had a big stash of booze that he would steal from parties he went to. To him, they were his little trophies. Rather expensive bottles that he managed to snatch from “the rich” as he put it.

My brother was the one who introduced me to booze. He basically made me a sales pitch on why it was so great. He would tell me epic tales of his parties with friends. How they would run from the cops, get into fights and win (I’m not sure I believe that), and how many women he hooked up with while drunk. He told me that, above all, alcohol makes you extremely happy. My brother was most likely addicted as well, but he ended up quitting as soon as he stopped partying and never turned back into booze, so maybe he just abused it, or maybe he was in control, unlike I would be.

After my brother convinced me to drink, I began stealing some of his bottles and drinking them with friends. To me, the first time I drank was “epic”. What had happened was that I ended up passing on the couch, vomiting on a friend, I had to be carried to bed, and basically woke up like half a day later. My friends were laughing their asses off, and so was I. This was the beginning of a very toxic relationship with drinking.

This escalated very quickly. As soon as my brother found out I was stealing from him, I expected to get beaten, but, to my surprise, he was proud, and began buying alcohol for me every time I asked him. I basically became the alcohol “dealer” at my parties. We were all 13-14 at the time, dumb kids who had their hands on the magical potion that made everyone more “confident” and able to approach women, dance, kiss, and eventually pass out, fight, or vomit. What I’m grateful for, is that smartphones weren’t a thing back then, there was no one who could record us while doing stupid stuff. I’m weeping right now for the new generations who will have all of their embarrassing moments recorded on Instagram.

And well, this part was obvious, but eventually our school found out about our drinking because of some friends that were terrible at hiding their drunkenness and alcohol breath. Our teachers were furious. They began showing us the dangers of alcohol abuse at a young age, and all of that stuff. We laughed it off and didn’t pay attention to them because they were “the boring adults” or the “party poopers”. 

It took them two weeks of interrogating our class to find out that I was delivering the alcohol (someone ended up snitching on me). My parents were called, but “fortunately” they didn’t give a single damn about what I or my brother did – They just nodded and said they would handle it. When they got home, I was so anxious I had taken a couple of vodka shots to calm my nerves down. I was expecting the worst. Instead, they laughed and told me “there are snitches in your class, keep the booze to your closest friends”. At the time, I felt amazing, because I didn’t have to stop drinking. I felt like a “macho man” for drinking. I made my whole persona around being a badass drinker like the cowboys from the movies.

It didn’t take long for my drinking to become a real-life problem. I would go out with my friends and skate after school and, when the night came, I would take the bottles out and began drinking with them. The thing is, that kids from other schools also happened to go skate there, and we hated it because they often took our spots, and honestly, they were better than us, and we were pissed. The hatred became ten times worse when drunk. At first, we just insulted them from a distance, and threw sticks at them, but eventually, it escalated into full blown fights. We were basically getting drunk and fighting with whoever we could. It got so bad that basically no one ended up going to that skatepark but us. This went on until a group of older boys (probably someone’s brother) surprised us at the skatepark and beat the living sh*t out of us.

I tried to get help from my bigger brother and his friends, but they didn’t want to fight. During this time, my brother had begun sensing that something was off with me. His years of experience could make him tell when I was drunk or slightly tipsy, but he kept it to himself.

Everyone knew I was fighting people, my scars and bruises made that clear. But as I said, my parents didn’t really care as long as I was still in school and getting decent grades.

This went on and on until I became 16. I got into a relationship and, for the first time, I didn’t have the desire to drink. I started going out less and less, and drinking moderately, mainly because my girlfriend at the time hated drinking and didn’t let me drink. Being honest, I craved drinking a lot, but my love for her was bigger than my desire to drink at the time. 

After that came two years of peace, of barely drinking. As a matter of fact, my life had changed for the better but I had no idea it was because I hadn’t been drinking as much. I thought it was because of my relationship, but I secretly despised her a bit for not letting me drink. When I turned 18, she cheated on me. She revealed to me that she had been unfaithful for the past 10 months. I was shattered, my whole world crumbled before me. I became extremely, deeply depressed. And you can guess what happened next.

Yes, I turned back to drinking. And when I say drinking, I mean HEAVY drinking. A liter of rum per party, minimum. I wasn’t drinking on my own just yet, but I knew I was headed down there. I used alcohol whenever I felt slightly stressed, or whenever floods of her memories started coming back. I felt so ashamed and guilty for not having found out about her infidelity sooner. I could only interpret this as karma for all the people I fought with in the past.

This grief lasted for years. Slowly, I began becoming a full blown alcoholic. I transitioned from being a social drinker to being an everyday drinker in the span of two years. It got so bad, that even my careless parents began to actually worry about me for the first time. I hadn’t entered college yet, I was working a minimum wage job. I had told my family that I wanted to make some money first, but honestly, I was terrified of going to college, especially because I wouldn’t be able to drink every night, or that’s what I thought at the time. I thought someone was going to snitch on me or that my grades would tank.

I was drinking whatever I had, every single night. Half a bottle of either rum or vodka, and if I craved more, I drank a couple of beers or ciders. At this time, my brother had moved out of the house, so he had no idea I was an alcoholic. Maybe, he would have helped me get sober sooner, but I never asked for help. I truly didn’t think it was a problem.

At 22, I joined college. I wanted to major in chemistry. That didn’t last long. My grades were disgustingly bad because I was always hungover and I always prioritized drinking and partying over studying. My tolerance was so high that I became known as the “indestructible drinker” at college, because I could easily down half a liter of vodka and still be coherent, unlike my peers. No one knew it was because I was an alcoholic. I didn’t have a roommate either, so no one truly knew. I hid my bottles and all of that jazz.

My breaking point was at 23, when I got into a car accident while blackout drunk. I didn’t hit anybody, but I totalled my car and ended up with a broken rib and left arm, which took months to fully heal. I was so embarrassed about it, that I just told people that someone had hit me with their car, but there were some suspicions, because one of my friends had seen me get into my car while wasted, after I told everyone I was taking a taxi. That was my first and last DUI.

I spent the following months trying to get into sobriety. I would go on maybe 2-3 weeks without a drink at first, but relapsed as quickly as I got sober. My friends ended up growing tired of me telling them I would not drink, and then passing out on the couch while vomiting all over everyone. They lost their faith in me. But I still had some hope.

At first, I was using willpower to overcome my addiction, but I was miserable. The cravings got worse and worse and it felt like I was denying myself of the sweet nectar of booze, so I became even more depressed. 

My sobriety was basically a cycle. I would spend maybe a month or two sober, then I would think I had it under control, I started romanticizing my drinking days, then I would relapse and start all over again. Whenever I relapsed, I would go on benders for days on end. It actually felt nice because my arm and chest didn’t hurt so much when I was drunk, but it was the very reason they were broken in the first place.

This went on for two years until a very concerned buddy lent me a book that had helped him quit drinking. This book was “How to control your drinking” By Allen Carr, or something like that. It basically showed me that alcohol was all an illusion and there are zero benefits to drinking.

I was amazed. I had been under a spell for the last 10 years since I first took a sip out of the stolen bottles of my brother. I was now free.

I kid you not, after I finished that book, I never drank again, not even a drop. Now, I don’t guarantee you that it will be the same for you. Keep in mind that I had to get a DUI to realize I was an alcoholic, and my constant pain kept reminding me that I had to quit, so maybe the book worked as some sort of confirmation bias for me. I hope it can help you too.

If you suspect you are on the road to becoming an alcoholic, please, read this book. It may at least kick you off into this journey of sobriety. It is MUCH better. I don’t drive drunk anymore. I don’t vomit all over someone else and I don’t act like an idiot anymore.

I lost 30lbs, my face looked amazing, and I even got a membership to the gym! My life has only gone up since I quit. Keep in mind that there will also be bad times as well, life is a rollercoaster, and quitting will not make it magically better, but at least you’ll feel better, and you’ll be rid of a major problem down the line.

Stay strong, realize that booze has no benefits, become disciplined, say no to drinking. If your friends offer you a drink, tell them you are sober for a while, or that you have a big exam to prepare. Stay safe. I love you all.

This is a reader story. We believe in providing our readers with a space for them to share their story however they see fit. The thoughts and views expressed are that of the author and should be treated as such. If you wish to share your own stories please see here for more information.

My story of recovery from Alcohol addiction 

Hey everyone! I’m Ajay from India, and today I’m going to tell you all about how I got into the horrible cycle of alcohol addiction, and just what steps I took and the help I received from my loved ones to come out of this.

Every day, with dedication, I would make my way to the nearest liquor store. No matter, Whether it’s morning, early evening or when the store was about to shut down its shutters, I would be found striding towards it purposefully. One thought played in my mind in a loop: “Oh God, just please let the shop be shut.” But then, it would be open, the shining bottles calling out my name. Within a few minutes, clutching a plastic bag with a bottle rolling around in it, I would walk away. Alternately euphoric with the purchase and despising myself for having made it. Happy that I had my fix for the day, yet loathing myself for my utter lack of self-control, helplessness and slavery to the bottle.

WELCOME TO MY LIFE OF ALMOST DAILY ALCOHOLISM.

Just like many people, I too had started my drinking journey with the occasional sips at parties and with friends, or to give company to my colleagues at work or relatives, which soon became more than just a couple. For an inherently shy and socially awkward person, alcohol made it easy for me to open up. I started enjoying my drinks while socializing. Booze-laced afternoons stretched into alcohol-sodden evenings, which tapered off into incoherent, hazy nights. This was the story, every single day. Remarkable bonds and friendships were formed over alcohol. It was also quite hip to be a drinker. I got to be the soul of the party, with a full glass by my side, strumming my guitar, singing, flirting, cracking jokes … Life was going really well for me.

Drinking hard everyday numbed the demons shrieking in my head, enabling me to forget just about every disturbing facet of my life and allowing me to do things that I wouldn’t have dreamed of when sober. A drink (or five) transformed me into another person, a person I really despised in the cold light of day.

THAT ONE ACCIDENT SHOOKED ME.

There were plenty of late-night parties after which I drove back home.That particular night was also going to be the same, or so I thought. I met with my first major accident on the night of 18 December 2018. I was driving my car while under heavy alcohol intoxication, and didn’t see the stop sign at the signal, and to avoid hitting any oncoming cars I just rammed it on a divider. Had I not been driving an SUV, I wouldn’t have survived. My vehicle, which was pretty much new, was badly damaged. I was tired, devastated and angry at myself. You would think that by this point I’d have learnt my lesson. But my mourning extended to just two or three days of abstinence. On the fourth day I was back to my usual self, reaching for the bottle. My then girlfriend would often drink with me. But she became apprehensive whenever I would get drunk, which was regularly.

She told me that I tended to be obnoxious and got angry at little things when drunk.

However, I could rarely remember the details the morning after. My capacity to consume alcohol increased. And so did my loutish behavior. She watched helplessly as I transformed into an acid-tongued, bitter, angry and aggressive man with every gulp. She did, what any other same person would have done–she left me.

MY LIFE WAS ALREADY A MESS.

I lost my father at an early age, and lived with my mother and brother then. My mother was in final stages of stomach cancer and my brother Divyang was also suffering from life threatening injuries he sustained on his head after a failed suicide attempt. Unfortunately, Divyang was already physically weak and malnourished and the doctors had little hope in him ever recovering. As much as I loved them both, drinking provided an escape from my worries about them, and my own worthlessness from failing to do anything for them. Obviously, they were upset with me. I understood their anger and disappointment, but the capacity to rein myself in was just absent. By now, most of my friends had witnessed my transformation post alcohol. It made them terribly uneasy; besides they were worried for me. But I just wanted to drink. Soon, they stopped inviting me over to any gatherings or events. With the resulting anger and bouts of self-pity, I drank even more. Frustrated and annoyed at myself, I ran into trouble with the law multiple times, and woke up a few times in different police stations with a blank head. There were several miraculous escapes from death due to drunk driving. I am extraordinarily fortunate to have survived with two scars, few light scratches, and a bad knee. Also, I was plain lucky and happy that I hadn’t hurt anyone else. 

THE BOTTLE THAT BROUGHT CHEER 

After I lost my mother to stomach cancer in early 2020, the next few months were spent in an alcoholic stupor. A few more months later, My brother’s health also started deteriorating and the doctors finally told me that he too does not have much time to live. I was heartbroken! Even then I continued taking him to the hospital in the hope that by some miracle he survives.He had to be hospitalized on several occasions. But I was incapable of dealing with his doctors as I was drunk most of the time. And when I wasn’t, I would be too scared to face reality. I knew it was just a matter of time before my brother was gone too. Agonized at the thought, I hit the bottle with renewed vengeance. In the interim, there were days, sometimes five at a stretch, when I managed to stay sober. Those were a godsend. I would sleep well, eat well and feel positive about myself. I would vow never to get back to drinking. But then a momentary lapse and I was back to square one.

THE ALCOHOLISM  STARTS TO CURE 

By the end of 2020, I was drinking like a man possessed. I was aware that my brother had just a few more months to live. Most of my friends would not talk to me, as they knew that I was always inebriated. I felt lonely and was furious and angry with myself. My mother had passed away knowing her son was a useless alcoholic. I could not be fully responsible while my brother was hospitalized. As his condition worsens rapidly, I sensed, for the first time, that if I continued drinking in this manner, I too would die. And I would die a very lonely man with no-one by my side.

That is what ultimately led me to seek help. I called Sanjana ma’am.

THE BATTLE WITH THE ALCOHOLISM BEGINS.

Ms Sanjana Srivastava taught me in college. She was one of those rare teachers who believed that backbenchers were students too. And she continues to be one of the most beautiful, patient, humble and understanding people I have ever got the opportunity to meet in my life. She had found out from my college friends that I had been drinking excessively. When she realized the gravity of my situation, she advised me to seek professional help and guided me to Dr Ramesh Dviwedi who was a well known name in India for the treatment of alcohol or any drug related addiction. The first day I went to meet Dr Dviwedi, I was drunk, depressed and in a bad mood. But he heard me out without neglecting any of my complaints and worries. And so began my arduous battle against alcohol.

I was put on meds, yet there were sleepless nights, anxiety and cravings. However, I was determined to stay on my course. There were people who believed I could not win. And there were those who soldiered on with me as if it was their own battle. I had my last drink on 11 June 2021, and my brother passed away on the 22nd. In his last 10 days, I tended to Divyang, cooked for him and communicated with him in my full senses. Though by now he was even incapable of grasping much, we did share a laugh or two together.

9 MONTHS OF SOBRIETY 

Looking back, it seems I have enacted the part of a lead character in a film that lasted longer than I would have liked it to. The scar, scratches and the bad knee are the only reminders that remain of those days. I now begin my day with a four-kilometer jog, do yoga daily and eat healthy as much as possible.I feel more alive now than ever before. It sounds cliched, but I do feel like I have been born again. I am experiencing freedom and joy in the purest forms possible. I relish my food, my sleep, my time with my few true friends, music … I am regaining my confidence and dignity. People I know have a new-found respect for me and they see me in a new light. And what is overwhelming is that I have managed to not only follow a healthy lifestyle but have also inspired a few people along the way to give up drinking or to drink in a responsible manner! Friends have occasionally turned to me to intervene and counsel people with a drinking problem. I have happily stepped in, fully aware that tips and advice from me would perhaps make a difference in saving an individual or a family from the grip of alcoholism.

I do have my share of regrets, like how I wished if only my mother and brother could have seen me now, but I try not to dwell on them. If I do reflect, I look back to learn. I am learning to put the past where it belongs, not lug it along. Though, there is a distinct sense of loss and disappointment that may or may not go away ever. I guess addiction extracts a lot out of you. I am now cocooned in the love and warmth of some of my closest friends who stood by me despite my most unpleasant behavior. I meet them and party with them. They drink, and I don’t. But every time I see glasses being raised to a toast, I pray that they may all know when to draw the line.

So, that was my story. I hope you all liked it and learnt something from it. At the end I just want to say to people who are also suffering from alcohol addiction that please “Don’t give up”  i know it’s easier said than done, and it feels like that you would never be able to come out of this dangerous cycle of addiction, but believe me, once you made up your mind and have people to support you wholeheartedly then nothing will stop you from recovering. The only thing left is to go and seek help as soon as possible. There’s no shame in it. Better late than never.

This is a reader story. We believe in providing our readers with a space for them to share their story however they see fit. The thoughts and views expressed are that of the author and should be treated as such. If you wish to share your own stories please see here for more information.

The author wished to remain anonymous.

My story begins when I was 15. I was a rather shy individual and, as a matter of fact, I didn’t even like to party that much, until I discovered alcohol. The first time I drank booze was with my friend and his big brother, who also had peers over for drinks. We were playing pool and, unbeknownst to me, I was about to be served my first drink. I got immediately hooked. In fact, I distinctly remember waking up the next day, with my entire body tingling, like when you sit on your hand for a couple of minutes. I could only interpret it as a bad omen.

After having my first drink and becoming amazed at its effects, I began to party every time I could, but I was never in control of my drinking, not even at the very beginning. The first party I went to, I blacked out. I don’t remember anything past 11pm. How did I get home? What did I do? I was bewildered but intrigued. My friend contacted me the next morning asking me what the hell had happened, I asked him why, and it turns out that I had sent him a couple of embarrassing texts, where I told him I had been mugged. That was a complete lie, and I had deleted the texts from myself, so I had no idea I even talked to him that night. I remember telling him that it was a joke, but I forgot to add the context. He believed me. This was the beginning of a very embarrassing drinking career. Long story short, I would make a fool of myself in front of girls I was trying to impress, I would even go delusional sometimes and attack my friends, thinking they wanted to hurt me. Hell, I even spoke Latin once to a girl and annoyed her so much that I almost got my ass kicked by her male friends.

The following years were quite serene because my very strict parents would barely let me party, and whenever I finally convinced them to let me go out, I would drink until I forgot. At first, I thought it was normal, I thought everyone forgot chunks of the night. This went on until I turned eighteen, and my parents basically let me go out on my own, so I was happy (or so I thought).

The summer before entering college was the beginning of the end of my drinking career. I basically would go with my friends to the beach, to basically drink our asses off. The difference between me and them was that they drank for fun, whereas I drank until I suddenly woke up at 5am, in the couch or in my bed, with no memory of what happened after 11-12pm. I would wake up feeling a bit nervous, because my friends would usually fill me in with what I did (most of the times it was fine), and whenever a friend said “Hey André, remember yesterday when…” my stomach would sink a bit. What did I do now? I grew so tired of telling them I didn’t remember that I began to lie and make excuses to my dumb behavior when drunk. I secretly must have known I have a problem, but I didn’t want to give up my precious booze, after all, it “helped” me loose up and speak to women, so why should I quit?

This went on and on during that summer until I had a small “fuck-up” moment. My friends and I had gone to the beach to party, and I was so drunk I separated from them, and some guy found me lying on the floor, took my phone, called my parents, and sent me to bed in a taxi. My parents were so damn worried, and I ended up brushing it off. I lied to them and told them that would never happen again (spoiler alert, it did).

That following year went mostly fine, I was now in college, and I had kept my drinking “in check”. Don’t get your hopes up, I was still blacking out, but at least my parents were not being called by random strangers on the street, so to me, it was all good. Thankfully, mostly went fine, in fact, that very next summer, I had kept in mind what had happened last summer so I surprisingly moderated myself just fine, in fact, I didn’t even black out the first time I went out during the summer of 2020 (eventually I realized that it had to do with the group of friends that I was with). Eventually I ended up going to the beach with the wrong crowd, so I went back to blacking out daily.

Now, the story goes mostly the same until the pandemic hit. I had met a woman just prior to the lockdowns. In fact, I had met her while blacked out, but somehow managed to hook up with her and we kept talking the day after (I remembered so little, that I was skeptic that I even had the right Instagram profile because I didn’t remember her that well).

Long story short, nothing came out of that, and I became depressed for the following five months during lockdown. There, I started my self-improvement journey. I lost weight, began lifting, that sort of thing. When I finally gathered enough self-awareness on my own behavioral patterns, I could finally see the truth.

A year later, once the pandemic had calmed down a little, I went to the beach with the same friends (the bad, or even alcoholic crowd), and yeah, you guessed it! I blacked out the first night. When I woke up, I realized what I just did. I had become my older self again. That fat kid who couldn’t handle his booze, and all the guilt and shame for all those lost years rose to the surface and I was off the rails. I was depressed, anxious, and angry at myself, but I had to bottle it up in front of my friends. Because of my depressed state, I obviously resorted to blacking out every night to “drown” my sorrows and went back home.

That’s when something weird began to happen every time I went out for drinks. I would wake up extremely depressed and anxious. I was disoriented, why was this happening? Later I discovered that the feeling I had was called “hangxiety”. Anxiety the day after about what I did while blacked out, which would last for days. It also has to do with a chemical imbalance in the brain from the flood of GABA that we give ourselves when drinking too much.

At first, the hangxiety wasn’t so bad, I could handle it. It was mostly intrusive thoughts, but it would go away when I realized I hadn’t done anything wrong. This was until I partied with complete strangers. I blacked out, and I was one hundred percent sure that I had been homophobic to a group of people in the party, so I became so anxious for a week and a half. That’s when I realized this had gone too far. I had to stop.

Nevertheless, I didn’t want to give my precious alcohol up, so I convinced myself I could moderate. That’s when I realized I could not moderate. It just wasn’t fun to have one or two drinks. I wanted to get trashed, but my brain had had enough, I just couldn’t do that. I either blacked out or nothing. I lost my “middle” point. I was either sober or blacked out. No in between, no dizzy feeling. It was go big or go home.

I slowly began realizing just how big my problem was, and eventually, I knew there was only one way this could end. I could either go down the road all the way to alcoholism until I die or quit drinking for good (or a long time, at least).

During this time, I also started becoming aware of just how alcohol has no benefits at all. It wasn’t making me feel well, I wasn’t feeling excited in expectancy of a drink, and it didn’t make me laugh more than usual.

The problem was, alcohol was my whole personality, I was “that guy” who loved booze. My friends knew me as the biggest drinker in the group. I was always down for a drink (or a bottle) and I was always there, until the last drop of booze, or if it wasn’t enough, I was the one who bought another bottle to keep the party going.

So you see, giving it up meant letting go of my old personality, and letting go of the friends who probably only liked me when drunk, or when I enabled their own addictions by drinking with them until passing out.

So, how did I quit? I realized that alcohol has no benefits. It does not relax you, in fact, it stresses the body, and the “relaxing” feeling you get is just your body becoming physically numb, and then you get dumb enough to stop caring about your responsibilities.

Alcohol does not make you happy. In fact, the brain becomes inhibited so the next day it has to balance its chemicals which makes you depressed.

I didn’t need alcohol to talk to women. Most of my flirting was done while blacked out, so now I have to learn how to do it on my own.

Another pro tip: try this out whenever you can. Imagine alcohol in your head and try to provoke a nauseous feeling inside of you, that way you can rewire your brain to think of booze as something disgusting. If you can’t do this, it’s okay.

Another fun experiment to do, is stay sober at one party, just one party, and see just how annoying people can get while drunk. See how your friends begin to talk over each other, and how some even get angry and start a fight. You’ll eventually see how they may act like buffoons, which further helps you in quitting drinking.

How has my life changed after quitting? I’ve gone to a few parties since I quit, and honestly, it just feels amazing to be able to remember everything. To not be hungover. To not be so drunk that you can’t pay your bill in the pub. To not make an ass out of yourself.

Oh, and did I mention hangovers? Man, not being hungover feels amazing. I can actually wake up feeling so refreshed that I crush a morning workout, and not skip a day in the gym because I prioritized drinking and now I feel like shit.

Now, you may start to distance yourself from some friends, especially from the drinking buddies, because they can either join you in sobriety, or be in denial about their addiction and keep drinking.

How can you determine if you might be becoming an alcoholic? Well, it’s rather simple I would say. Do you black out consistently? Have you tried moderating but failed? Does the thought of going to a party while sober make your stomach sink? If you can answer “yes, absolutely” to all of these, then I would recommend going down the sober path. Spoiler alert: you won’t regret it at all, just like you won’t regret a night out every again. After all, have you heard anyone say “oh, I wish I had drank more alcohol yesterday”? No, no one has.

My last words: don’t forge your personality around drinking. Don’t be “another” person while drunk. Learn how to interact with people, learn how to flirt while sober. It’s not worth it to wait until you are drunk to take your chances. Start self-improvement, don’t make your family worry. Pursue your passions, exercise, fill your weekend with fulfilling activities instead of mindlessly drinking at the bar with friends. If your friends join you, then great. If they leave you, let them go.

This is a reader story. We believe in providing our readers with a space for them to share their story however they see fit. The thoughts and views expressed are that of the author and should be treated as such. If you wish to share your own stories please see here for more information.

I am a half Greek half German musician and electrician, playing metal music in various bands for years now. I am proud of my achievements and feel as if nothing can stop me. But in my youth, I was a depressed alcoholic and the only thing I felt for myself was a great shame.

I moved from Germany to Greece with my Greek mother when I was little, after my German father abandoned her. He had refused to recognise me as his son, and left her no choice other than to return home to her own mother and stepfather, who were rich landowners who were ashamed of their daughter for having fallen in love with a German. Memories of the Second World War were fresh in their minds and the very mention of Germany could anger them. I was eight then and unable to speak the language, so it was impossible to make myself likable to them or make any friends. One of my first memories was the neighborhood kids shouting “one, two, three, fucking Germany!” at me and running away. Another memory was my grandmother giving me an apple in front of her laughing friends and saying “do you like it, hungry bastard, eh?”

When I was ten, my grandmother died and only my mother’s stepfather remained, sharing the house with us. He was lazy and didn’t go to his fields at all, he had hired people to work them while he spent his whole day at the bar, drinking either coffee or alcohol. His favorite one was whiskey. My first time drinking was with him. My mother was too afraid of him to protest. He was not violent, but something in the way he looked at us unsettled her. One night she came to my room and told me that she would be sleeping there with me from then on. I didn’t understand. I thought she must be afraid of ghosts, as she often spoke to me about them. My mother and I slept in the same bed until I was fifteen years old and too tall to fit in the same single bed.

Then one night he came home drunk very late. My mother was in the kitchen, praying to Virgin Mary to banish the evil spirits she believed were after her. It was summer and she was dressed in a thin nightgown. Her stepfather went inside the kitchen and told her dirty things, approaching menacingly, wanting to touch her. She called for me. “Chris!!!!! CHRIS!!!” I woke up and ran downstairs to her. She didn’t tell me then what happened, only went past me to her room and locked herself inside. I was left alone with him, and he looked drunk and out of his mind. So I poured each of us a glass, hoping that this would be sufficient to put him to sleep. We ended up drinking until morning. Then he went to bed and I went to school, after I checked that my mother was all right. When I returned, the police were there and he was gathering his things. That was the last I saw of him and also the beginning of our poverty.

When I was seventeen, my depression hit new lows. I was going to school and working with my mother at the same time, cleaning stairs. I didn’t earn much but I spent almost all of my money buying Jack Daniel’s whiskey and all of my free time drinking it while listening to metal music. I was known as the crazy woman’s son, as my mother’s schizophrenia had become apparent by then, and I was excluded from all social events. It felt extremely lonely. The only people who wanted to drink with me were the other four local metalheads. When I was drunk I felt a kind of false joy and confidence. I imagined myself like Superman, and I could ignore everyone. All those mean, gossiping people. Day by day, my desire to drink grew stronger.

At the age of twenty five I had already started to think that maybe being drunk all the time was ruining my life. My mother’s condition had worsened, and she required more attention than I could provide. She sometimes had hallucinations, thinking that her dead mother was still inside our house, wanting to take her to hell with her. She was aggressive to strangers and anyone she thought was against her, refusing any help, such as a maid. I was also in a relationship with a partner who didn’t understand me at all, and neither had she any patience with me. I thought then that maybe she only wanted me for the money, because I had a very good job with a high salary, which enabled me to buy more and more alcohol. On top of that, I had to go to the army for a year, as it was and still is compulsory in my country. 

When I entered the army, I saw it as a good opportunity for me to quit. The officer in charge, a proud straight edge man, strictly forbade any drinking. He knew an alcoholic when he saw him and used to tell me that if he caught me, the punishment would be severe. I idolized him, he was everything I wanted to be. Brave, direct, strict, but with a human side to him. After a month I quit and remained sober for eleven months, the remainder of my serving time. I relapsed when I was released from service and all it took was a single can of beer.

From that night to when I finally quit for good, 15 years passed. I had unsuccessfully tried to quit drinking four different times. My mother had turned into a being like the ghosts she was so afraid of. Her hair had turned white, her personal hygiene neglected and she was wandering in the streets collecting trash, refusing any financial help from me or anyone else. She didn’t have electricity in the house anymore and she didn’t even let me in there, believing that my moving out after the army was an act of betrayal. And I was powerless to help her, so I pushed the thoughts of her in the back of my mind and continued to drink, until the day I hit bottom.

It was a day almost like any other. I had gone home after work, showered, drank a beer and prepared to go to my band rehearsal. We had them thrice a week, one day in a studio in a nearby city and the other two days in a friend’s garage which he had converted into a studio. That day I had to go to my friend’s house. I bought two bottles of whiskey to bring to them as a present, as I often did. On the way to the house, I met my mother. She saw the bottles in the plastic bag I was holding and became furious. She compared me to her stepfather. That angered me very much too, but as usual, I swallowed my anger and continued on my way. When I arrived at the house, a party was already under way. My friend’s new girlfriend was there and apparently she had brought some friends as well. That angered me even more, as we had agreed that we wouldn’t invite any people until after any rehearsal. I was also somewhat jealous because I hadn’t had any girlfriend in years, since I had a low sex drive and trouble expressing any emotion.

I sat around the table with my bandmates and the girls and we all drank a lot. The girls, who were from another town, kept asking questions, trying to pry me open. I drank more and more and more, didn’t care what was in front of me, if ash had fallen in my glass, or if it was plain water in there. The main thing I wanted was for the anger to go away. Then I blacked out. I, to this day, can’t remember a thing, as if my brain couldn’t register what happened. I don’t remember how I got home, I just opened my eyes and I was there the next day, and the small apartment reeked of vomit, my tv and table was broken and a torn curtain was on the floor, which I had obviously used as a towel to wipe the vomit. The hangover was unusually bad and I felt uneasy, like I was being threatened by something. 

When I went out, my neighbors all looked at me with disdain and fear, as if I had done a monstrous deed. Nobody answered when I said good morning. I went to work, where thankfully nobody behaved in a different way than usual towards me. Then, in the afternoon, after I ate some hot soup, I went to meet my bandmates. They told me the ugly truth and I realized that I had created very big problems for the only people I loved. I had lost them. What had I done? In my drunk state I had almost killed our band drummer, who was also my best friend. He had only joked harmlessly about some band photos my hair looked messy in, and I had grabbed a knife from the kitchen and threatened him with it. Then they kicked me out of the band, and of the house too, one of them secretly following me from a distance to ensure my safety. I had gone home, screaming like a demon and kicking trash cans, and when neighbors came out to help me, I was aggressive towards them as well. The police were called but nobody dared to ask for my arrest, so it was finally with the intervention of a burly hunter who lived on the first floor, that I calmed down. He immobilized me and held me firmly and told me reassuring things until I stopped struggling and then he took me home and left me there. 

That day I said, “no more drinking for me. I’m done with alcohol”. I battled alone for a week, but the withdrawal was too much to handle. Headaches, stomachaches, bone pain, nightmares, weakness, feelings of shame and an insane, vibrating nervousness. I couldn’t go to work. I even struggled to do simple tasks, such as stand up and walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I had to sit in order to urinate. Soon I realized that I needed help from a doctor, I was unable to care for myself. I called an ambulance to take me to the hospital, where after they ensured I was not in any immediate danger they referred me to a local psychiatrist. She was a very kind and understanding woman who knew some parts of my story, as everybody knew about my mother who wandered as a mad woman. She didn’t charge me anything and prescribed me medicine to help me. I took it for nine months and it enabled me to stand up on my legs again. Unfortunately the damage my body sustained from alcohol was irreparable. After fourteen years I am still unable to function sexually, I have a very short attention span and such drowsiness that I drink an great ammount of coffee every day to be able to function. But in the end, I managed to quit for good. I put my mother in a care home and repaired my relationships with the more forgiving of the people I had wronged. A couple of years ago I met an old friend who attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and he asked me to accompany him to a meeting to tell my story, which I did, hoping it would help somebody. Whenever I can offer any help for someone to quit, I do it with great pleasure and with all my heart. 

I’m Chris, I’ve been sober for fourteen years and this is my story, translated to English by Anna, also an ex alcoholic. I hope it proves helpful to someone in this difficult journey towards sobriety.

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How could I know, I was just a kid and there were just bits of memories scrambled around the floor he would throw up all over every time he had to take care of me or when he would stay the night out just to escape that responsibility. Maybe I would be able to tell someone, I wasn’t so little anymore, but how could I? I almost bit off and swallowed my own tongue because he was too drunk and I just wanted to swing too high. It was a good idea for both of us. A little creature with a little dumb brain and a big creature with little to no responsibility for their own child. And it’s not that I don’t remember much, I remember the smell of alcohol so vividly, maybe because it would follow me where ever I would move to next.

Years passed and my parents divorced. You could say that alcohol is a great stain remover, especially when it comes to removing love from a family, parents from a child, normality from a life. I moved with my mom to her parent’s house, countryside, a beautiful, peaceful small village full of nature and ready to nurture me into a new, better life. Little did I know, it would fill my life up like a cup of fresh, homemade alcohol. Little did I know making that booze would be a priority every time my grandparents would have to take care of me. My mom was working mad hours and traveled every day to the city for work, and I never blamed her, she couldn’t know, she couldn’t help, my tongue stayed bitten and everyone was always tied. I guess that’s what alcohol did to them.

The whole village was full of old alcoholics who were more than happy to come over to our house, not once, but a couple of times a day, to get a drink or two, to mumble some words that I could never put together or believe their stories were true, but then everything became physical and I understood better. And I started becoming bitter. My grandfather would hit me, sike, he even tried to crash his car into my mom’s when I was inside, but “he was just a bit drunk” they said. “It’s not a big deal, “everyone gets drunk sometimes” they said. And if he hits you again “don’t tell anyone”, that’s what grandma used to say. The truth was, he wasn’t just a bit drunk, he was an untreated alcoholic for decades, it was a big deal, everyone would get drunk all the time, and the first time I told someone it backfired on me hard. So hard that “don’t tell anyone” stuck with me for the rest of my life.

My father would call or visit sometimes, never sober, sometimes just to get more drunk before he leaves for his amazing and fun life without me. He was finally free. But he would call less and less often, he would visit on holidays or my birthdays, in the end, he wouldn’t visit at all. Sometimes he would come over for a free drink or to take away something he bought for me as a gift so he can sell it and pay his alcohol and gambling bills. At that point, it didn’t miss him. But that smell would always remain in my room longer than he ever would.

I had my first drink on my 8th birthday. It sounds crazy looking back to it now, but at that moment I was almost honored to be offered a real, hard liquor. They would give me beer foam back when I was a baby when I didn’t even walk, but this…this was a real thing now. “I’m an adult now”, I thought to myself. I’m valid, I’m as scary, as real, as serious as them. I still remember the burning sensation in my throat and heart, I was sure I was setting myself on fire but then I really felt it. After only one small cup, I felt in my heart, body in mind. I felt drunk. I didn’t know that was it at the time, but there was plenty of time for me to find that out. Over and over again.

A couple of years later my grandpa got drunk enough to beat our dog because she barked at pigeons. By that time I knew what was coming, I was in her place numerous times. He would scream, threaten, yell and hit me for the dumbest of reasons. He wouldn’t like that I’m listening to music on my laptop, he wouldn’t want me to invite other kids from school over, he wouldn’t like anything about anyone, and what’s the better chance to let our your frustrations and anger than onto other people. I wasn’t his only victim, but I was only a child, I was scared if I tell someone social services would take me away from my mom, even tho she was a victim herself, fighting and giving her best to protect us all the time. Back to that day when he beat up my dog, the day that changed the course of my life forever, the day that the door to my future addictions started to open.

My mom and I moved to the city she worked in a couple of weeks later. I was 12 at the moment and moving to the second biggest city in the country from a small village was a huge change for me. I remember the first two years being on autopilot, I went to the new school where I had big trouble socializing, I experienced a street robbery, a couple of sexual assaults, and lots of lots bullying from kids in the school. Overall, I wasn’t in the best place mentally and I couldn’t find the way to cope with all the feelings I had. I didn’t want to be a burden to my mother, I didn’t have reliable friends or anyone I could share my experiences with. But then I met this one girl who was equally rejected as I was and we just kinda started spending all our time together, outside and in school.

My 14th birthday came around and we decided to buy some beers and a pack of cigarettes to celebrate. It was just the two of us and our first time doing any of those things, but it was far from the last. We got drunk after only 2 beers and tried to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes in one night, resulting in both of us having awful headaches and being borderline hangover. But something was different. My mind was quiet for that period of time, there were no bad thoughts, no intrusive thoughts, nothing. My mind felt calm after years and years of storms. My trauma was small, and all it took to make me feel better was a pack of cigs and a couple of beers. Little did I know it would take much more to feed the oncoming addiction that was on its way to get me. Little did I know a couple of beers don’t go for a long run and my sobriety is running away like it’s competing on Olympics. But that’s another possible win to celebrate, right? Right?

In the next year, I enrolled in art high school, it had a bad reputation in terms of drugs and alcohol abuse among the students but it was the only thing I wanted to pursue as a career so my mom just let it be. She still trusted me, I was hiding everything so well. At that point I was smoking every day, secretly, drinking occasionally, well, almost every day after I met some older kids from school on the summer break before the school year even started. That was the summer when I first got very drunk. It was the first time I felt completely free and happy in years. It was like I was a careless child again. It was like taking back my innocence from the world, owning it again. Only to find it get shattered times and times more later on. The amount of time people would take all kinds of advantages from a young, drunk person is scary. They were able to use me as a friend, as a lover, as a person, and my mind was so clouded I could never realize what really was going on. All that first-born happiness and freedom shapeshifted into guilt, hiding, and temporary bliss of being unaware, of fast forgetting, and not caring.

The next couple of years, aka my high school years, were pretty much defined by addictions, starting with alcohol. Most of the kids I hang out with were drinking, and it would be tons and tons of alcohol every weekend. None of us would buy food in school with pocket money but would save for alcohol on weekends, some would even steal money from their parents or drinks directly from the store. Looking back at it, we didn’t realize how dangerous some situations were. One of the girls I was very close with and always drank together would feed a lot of my mental health issues such as self-harm or reckless behavior, especially when we get drunk. We would smash empty bottles of wine and cut each other, at the time I didn’t feel anything, I was drunk most of the time and became numb, and on top of everything I trusted her.

Other types of substance abuse were slowly getting into our friend group but alcohol was still the main source of so-called “fun”. As deeper everyone’s addictions would get I would see people around me, young people, basically still kids, get into situations such as suicide attempts, accidents that could have lethal consequences, getting arrested. Everyone’s lives were slowly getting ruined and what scared me the most is the sense of control I thought I had over my life. That I wouldn’t end up like them, that I don’t have a real problem, that I know how to keep my addiction secret. At that point it hit me. If I wasn’t addicted I wouldn’t have a secret to hide. Guilt was growing, I was growing older and so was my tolerance level. It would take me much more alcohol and other drugs to give me the same thrill I had when it all started but it seemed like that same thrill will never be reached again, no matter how much I take, I couldn’t catch it. Slowly I was starting to fade away as a person and became more of just a shell of who I was, and that shell was filled with rage, anger, and all the disgusting things addiction brings. My mom tried taking me to therapy along the way but I lied my way out of it, everyone thought I was doing great, no one could notice how deep in it all I was, except for me, and I couldn’t help myself by myself. Until that one day came.

I was out with some friends that day, they got some wine I didn’t know was spiked with some opioids/pills. I drank some and started to feel like I’m completely losing control of my body. Like it wasn’t mine anymore. And it wasn’t, I felt like a mixture of all those disgusting alcoholics that walked thru my life. For the first time it hit me, I was running away from them so desperately I made a full circle, I became just like them, just like what I hated the most. My mind was there trying to keep me alive, but they left me in some abandoned building and at that moment I was sure I’m gonna die. I spent a couple of hours trying to make myself get up and get some water and try to bring myself to the bus station and go home. For a 10 minute walk, I would usually take to get to the bus stop it took me around an hour, I was falling on the ground after every 3 steps I would take. There was no one who would or could help me, people were just staring when passing me by and I felt so miserable I couldn’t bring myself to ever look myself in the mirror. What once was all fun and games now seemed like the end of a road, but I just couldn’t bring my legs to walk to the actual road. Somehow I got into the bus, got home, and passed out in bed for the next 16 hours. For me, it was the last straw or better say, the last sip that broke my own back.

I was around 17 at the time and decided to get clean, I stopped drinking for years, the only problem is I was reaching for other drugs such as weed and amphetamines. I felt sober but being sober from alcohol is one thing, being completely sober is something entirely different.

Not long after all that mess, I got into a relationship with someone who was a spitting picture of all my alcoholic abusers and bruised my vision enough to stick with them for the 2 years of reliving all the alcohol, substance abuse, and relationship trauma over and over again. I couldn’t leave, the scenery was so familiar, so familiar it almost felt safe. But it was so far from that. I didn’t know until then, love was an ultimate addiction that can keep you from battling any other one, just in order to keep your dealer, your love provider around. But no one told me even your most beloved and trusted dealers can screw you over, leaving you in cold turkey, all by yourself. The Source of your addiction is now cut, you’re split in half as well and left as a ruin. The only step I could’ve taken from that bottom was one up. And I did.

Since the beginning of 2020. I’m clean. I built a loving and healthy relationship with a partner who supported me thru all my struggles, as with addictions so with my mental and overall health. I lost many friends due to choosing sobriety over them, but in fact, I choose life. I choose to live. And not to give up.

Addiction in teenagers and youth is a very common issue, especially in areas like the one where I live, such as underdeveloped or third world countries, in many different groups or subcultures, even in places that seem completely normal to everyone. It can happen to anyone, anywhere, anytime. What’s important is being able to notice the issue on time and reach for help or if you notice it in someone else reach out and offer help. There is hope for everyone, and it’s never too late. Especially for young people with a tough past, trust me, it can get better, it does get better, it just takes as much effort to build yourself up again as it took the life to bring you down.

I hope for everyone going thru a similar situation to find a way out before it’s too late or before they find themselves in life situations like mine. Staying sober can be challenging and progress is never a straight line, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible, it just makes you stronger and gives you more space and time to grow and work on yourself. It puts you another perspective on life and it gives you a chance to make a change in this world by setting a positive exam with your experience and will.