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.

The author wished to remain anonymous.

My history with drinking has been fraught with dependency and illness. It began when I was a teenager, the first sip of beer repulsing me when I was around fourteen. After that, I realized that alcohol tastes bad – but how it made me feel would be something I chased for years. When I was sixteen, I started drinking heavily. My problem had mostly been binge-drinking. I could stay without alcohol for a few days, but if I drank then I didn’t know my limit, drinking till I blacked out whenever I could. It was easier when I began and my tolerance was lower. A quarter of vodka would get me drunk, more than that would lead me towards the blackouts I often craved. These days, even two quarters of whiskey leaves me functional enough to push through the night.

When I began, I remember drinking a lot of Green Apple flavoured vodka. Whenever I would drink with friends, we’d often chug the liquor neat from the bottle. To this day, I can’t stand the taste or smell of vodka, especially of the Green Apple variety. I remember an ex-girlfriend, before we started dating, pressuring me to drink because, and I quote, “You’re more interesting when you’re drunk.” A part of me knew I couldn’t blame her. Getting drunk would often provide me with an ease I lacked in my general interactions with people. The first sip would visibly relax my body, and as I drank on I would feel a freedom that sobriety kept from me. It made me a lot more agreeable in the earlier days of my drinking, but the blackouts would slowly lead to a toxic relationship with the past-time I thought would keep me engaged without any side-effects. I was in denial about my worsening relationship with alcohol. By the time I was in college, I found myself drinking every night for maybe two, three days in a week – which slowly grew to four or five whenever I could manage it. To me, it was certainly easier to go behind the nearby mall I hung out at rather than travelling an hour to my university to get some productive work done. I made the former choice many times, and the days blurred into each other as I drank whiskey to a senseless stupor.

Underage drinking is often done around other illegal things around it. When something might be against the law, it is easy to fall into the trap of spending time around people that break the law in other ways. Whether it was drunk driving by the people I hung out with, or the consumption of cannabis or harder drugs – I found myself falling further into the trap of surrounding myself with a number of vices, simply because mine needed to be hidden and supported by those around me. Drinking with a person that abused pharmaceuticals led to the development of a nasty habit on my part as well. I began misusing benzodiazepines for the high – thankfully in the country I live in a lot of benzodiazepines are weaker than what’s found in Western countries. That didn’t stop us from popping twenty 0.5mg pills whenever we’d get the opportunity. And combining downers with alcohol is a dangerous game – one we’ve played around with many times. Craving the out-of-body experience that a blackout gives led me to chasing these highs for months. There were some people, like my ex-girlfriend, that mentioned my toxic relationship with multiple substances – but it fell on deaf ears. Like before, I was in denial of the worsening situation, and dug my grave further as I refused to acknowledge or accept my problem.

As I mentioned earlier, having illegal things going on increases the likelihood of other such activities being done. In the grasp of my vices, I fell further down into delinquency when I cheated on my ex-girlfriend twice under the influence of benzodiazepines and alcohol. It isn’t an excuse, and I’m not looking to justify the things I have done, the people I have wronged. I know I was struggling with an issue that snowballed into multiple other problems, and in the process of dealing with my denial I have caused pain to those I have claimed to love. I hope to be better than I was, because I know there is no rewriting the history I have lived – it has been a long process of coming to terms with myself after doing things I thought I wasn’t capable of doing. But a lot of self-hatred has led me to an understanding of myself as a flawed individual attempting to cope through the various issues I have grown up with, which has often complicated other facets of my existence. Untangling my own traumas and experiences that led to the abuse of substances I have been prone to is my journey, and I know I am still on the path towards discovering my own personal truth.

After I confessed to my ex-girlfriend out of immense guilt, I was hospitalized for the first time within a few months. I had tried to acknowledge my issues, but I was still struggling with a pill addiction, unable to stop binge-drinking with friends. This led to the development of a hiatus hernia from the constant vomiting – my stomach bulges up into my chest through an opening in the diaphragm. I was diagnosed with Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease (GERD) and multiple ulcers within my stomach. A lot of vomiting blood had led me to being hospitalized for around five days. They tried to put a nasal tube into my stomach to drain it, but I ripped it out twice because it felt extremely uncomfortable. My parents barely came to visit, my ex-girlfriend stayed with me for the whole duration. However our relationship had long grown toxic and though I appreciated her company, I dealt with physical abuse from her as I was trying to recover in the hospital.

The doctor found out I had smoked cannabis and drank alcohol, and told my family that it’s best I get discharged or insurance won’t cover my stay. I’d like to believe I got better and changed when I went back, but my return was more of a necessity than a recuperation. The detox for a few days made it a little easier to stay clean for a few more days, but before long I was back at drinking and smoking – certainly not helping my condition. Vomiting whenever I woke up became a constant experience. I would try and manage what I ate, but smoking cigarettes with occasional drinking put my digestive system at risk of relapses into sickness. Heartburn, acid reflux, and a burning sensation in my chest became familiar feelings as I struggled to maintain a semblance of health and most often failing to do so.

While I was dealing with my physical health, my mental health was certainly not getting better. I was still somewhat in denial despite multiple situations when I felt suicidal. Seeking help was not an option because I was still dependent on my parents and found myself unable to talk to them constructively about my issues. They had a lot of judgement, and weren’t able to understand what I was going through – calling my suicidal tendencies cowardice, or labelling me a junkie. There were multiple instances where I attempted to communicate my inabilities and hardships, but found walls in response to my experience. They weren’t able to understand. Meanwhile, I was struggling with pills again. I had relapsed in practically every regard, despite the physical shock that my hospitalization felt like. Though I wanted to do better, I found myself treading the same path that led me to experience and deal out a lot of pain within my life. I had hoped to improve, but my dependencies found their way back – and then, the lockdown was starting to begin all over the world. I had gone cold turkey off of benzodiazepines at home, somehow making through to the other side. And then – my country went into lockdown.

I remember when lockdown began – I lost access to cannabis and alcohol, and cigarettes were increasingly difficult to get a hold of as shops closed. Moreover, they had grown more expensive as some places were selling them against the law. This led me to buy “beedis” which were local smokes wrapped in tobacco leaf without a filter. They were mostly bought by the poorer section of society, and cost about 20 bucks for 20 pieces, versus around 400 for 20 cigarettes. Although it was a bargain, it inflamed my GERD and other physical issues as the smoke was much harsher and more direct without any filter. Smoking compulsively became my routine during the beginning of lockdown, as the work I was doing halted since it was dependent on face-to-face interactions. A few months were spent solely smoking tobacco as I was unable to get my hands on other substances. Some months into the lockdown, the restrictions were eased and the alcohol shops were reopened. I got myself a bottle of whiskey as soon as I could.

Knowing that I would revert back to my old habits as soon as possible made it hard coming out of lockdown. As more freedom was given within society after the virus had its first two waves, I found myself going out and getting drinks more. My physical health was suffering throughout this period as well, with the same symptoms coming back since I was still unable to make lasting changes in my compulsions. I found myself to be a slave to my dependencies again, constantly going back to old habits that refused to die even after multiple wake-up calls.

As the lockdown eased out, I found myself smoking and drinking regularly again. This led to the constant morning sickness to return, and I would take four hours after I woke up to feel somewhat functional, which impeded my ability to do a lot of things I wished to. As the symptoms worsened, I found myself taking more hot showers to calm my muscles down, to ease the abdominal cramps and aches that were a consistent recurrence. Once again, the blood in my vomit returned. A difficult night with a lot of pain led to another hospitalization, and I spent two days in the ICU vomiting my guts out. They tried to put in the nasal tube again – I told them I couldn’t handle it and that I would take it out. I was stubborn, but after they got it in once I ripped it out in front of the nurses. They showed me restraints and threatened to tie me down, and I asked to be discharged if they wish to put the tube back in. They relented, saying that I should be prepared to vomit uncontrollably if I don’t allow them to drain my stomach – I let them know I was willing to make that decision, since I wasn’t a stranger to vomiting at this point.

My second stay in the hospital wasn’t any easier. I found myself in a vulnerable state emotionally, breaking down after a patient that shared a room with me complained about my ceaseless showering. But another, older woman that shared the same room reassured me and let me know that my priority should be to get better whatever it takes. After a five days in the hospital, I was discharged. I stayed clean for a week – and then the smoking resumed. Since then, I’ve had a drink multiple times even though I know it isn’t the best choice to be making. Regardless, I have tried to space out the days I drink. I am still struggling with smoking, and my health is always at a precarious position – never too far from worsening. It has been a difficult road trying to maintain some balance when I feel driven by dependencies and compulsions that control me. It has been a few months that I have consulted a couple of psychiatrists, and have started therapy. I am hoping these support systems provide some perspective on how I can deal with my substance abuse and other tangential struggles. All I know is I am still on the path to recovery, and it will be a while before I can feel free from the chains that have bound me all this while. My hope is to find a way to deal with real life without chasing highs to calm me down – but we’ll see how far I get.

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.

Hey, I am Brian. I am 23 years old and proud to have remained clean for the past three years.   My story is very similar to many teenagers out here who try to seek recognition and respect from their peers. 

I drank alcohol for the first time during my friend’s party. I was fifteen at the time. The party was this flashy, rich kid fair so I felt I did not really fit in with my “superior” friends. They had so much confidence in them and would approach pretty much anyone without hesitation. I was not good as they save for being bright in class. I was nobody out of class; some renegade maybe?  I was not obliged to drink but I really felt like escaping that reality at the moment. So, I moved to the kitchen, took a cup and filled half with some alcohol. It was bitter but ironically I felt like I needed the pain even more. Ten minutes later everything seems blurry. Music seemed louder and I could feel everybody was happy. I am told I just laughed and danced all night. 

The next week at school was hilarious. I was not a loner anymore. Classmates would make fun of how I was dancing drunk that day but I really liked that. At least somebody would talk to me about matters that did not relate to school work. Mind you, I was new to that school. I was a couple of months in but had not made any real friends. So the next weekend I went to the fridge, picked some of my fathers’ gin and ran to the room, shut the door and drank it.  I was high and happy again. I took my phone and called one of my homies. I asked for numbers of girls in our neighborhood. I would call them one by one and without cringing, I would ask for a meet up the next week. This is something I would have peed in my pants if I was sober. Something funny: I never met  the two or three girls I had called. I guess they knew I was drunk and tried to avoid me. With my party “friends” we decided to go out into the woods on Fridays and drink some beer.  So each Friday I had to have some bucks with me to facilitate the beer purchase.  After the small party in the woods, I would walk home happy (I did not stagger at all), greet anybody on the way home and doze off all this repeats for each week. 

 Now one and half years in I was hooked. I was not drinking in minion situations any more. I could drink anytime anywhere. I would stash some for school then go about drinking on the ablution blocks. I had considered alcohol a friend who I could call upon each time I wanted. My need for alcohol grew stronger each day. I hated my drinking habits but It seemed that I could not do anything about it. I looked older than I was at that age. My health was really disorienting since I would complain of having sharp stomach aches. I really grew distant from my parents since I never involved them in my school work because I was getting really bad grades. I had several Ds at the time and would really get upset if anybody would question my grades. I was depressed. I knew I was hitting rock bottom when I almost hit my mother. I had lied that we were having class projects in school and that some circuit parts were to be purchased.  Yes, I was given the amount and I went back to drink with the money. I spent a good chunk of the day drinking but this time I passed out.  Apparently one of my friends called my mother saying “come pick this ugly drunkard of yours”. I woke up in my room with my mother beside my bed asking what was wrong with me. She suggested if I could help myself, I should look for a rehabilitation center where I would get help like other alcoholics. I was really furious. I almost swung a punch. I was living in denial.

Memory of the moment was really traumatic to me. I never thought I was able to lay a finger on my parents. I knew something was really going wrong in my head. I choose to be clean for some time until I have my head clear again. It wasn’t a good ordeal; I had a shaky arm. I would feel pain in my head almost every day. I was really dehydrated most of the time with blood shot eyes. I had insomnia and my breathing was not at all normal. It was just me struggling with my addiction; I never talked to anyone. My anxiety levels were very high and would be anxious on pretty much anything that seemed challenging to m., Few weeks into I lost the battle I could not do it anymore . I felt sickly and after a sip or two of alcohol I was well again. Now there is me a slave to alcohol. Now I was dependent on alcohol. The same summer I carried my stash as usual this time I was caught drinking and taken to probation thereafter was sent away.

Now dropping out of school was really imminent. I had no money by then which I think saved me from running away from home since I had no money for the bus. My parents were really concerned. They would try to talk to me, sometimes call counselors to my place to talk me out of it.  However, I had not put my mind to quitting it. I felt like I was stuck in it. Not that I did not want to but because I did not Know what to do. I was still trying to figure out this new me. In the past two years I was perceived as street smart and a bold guy who always had his way around things but now nothing like that seemed to be the case. There was me dependent an alcoholic on the verge of withdrawal the second time listening motivation and talks lest I would kill myself. My life was a big mess and seemingly I could do nothing about it. This I think was the really rock-bottom I had hit.

I remember one morning; it was during summer break. I woke up early and prepared breakfast for everyone. After we sat down, I asked them to help me seek help. I had mentally sunken and suicide seemed a better option. They were really happy I could see their smiles broaden. They told me to look for a center I would be comfortable with and as soon as I get one, I should enroll in. So, I found this seventy-day program which was offered around our town. I rode to that place and picked some pamphlets, admission letters and financial letters. I went home and read through the data given. I was convinced I would at least be better off at the place than at home. Two days later I was enrolled in my program; sobriety program.

At the beginning of the treatment, I was angry in denial because I was not sure that I had sunken to a point I need facility care to pull myself up. I was given a book called Atomic Habits which I can’t really remember the author. It was a really small book but to me it was a life changer. I learnt how bad habits are formed, what are its cues and how bad habits are rewarded. However, I also learnt Good habits, how to make them desirable, how to keep the cues on check and so forth. The book also teaches how to break habits you have formed! We were a bunch of teenagers at the place and during round chair talks I could really feel the pain in the words of my comrades as they explained why they had chosen sobriety. I could relate to their words. This gave hope that if people with similar stories with mine are working towards a better life I should do so. Now I was focused on slashing days on my calendar as they passed. I wrote a ton of affirmation to keep my brain in check because honestly my body was not liking the adjustment.

 It was during the summer break so you can guess my friends would stop by to talk to me. But that was never the case. It was only my parents who came during weekends.  I guess that was all I needed. 40 days in now I was happy , happy like really happy. I had taken medication for gastronomical pains I was having now there were no more. Headaches were not as frequent. I was no longer taking alcohol substitutes. My mind was very clear. That was like the best thing that had ever happened to me. The old bright kid was back with bang!

I was discharged on the seventieth day. I looked at myself in the mirror, I was different than I was before. My eyes were less red and I wasn’t as pale as I was. My eyes were no longer sunken and my lips wasn’t that sore. I knew assimilating back to the community was going to be a problem but I held my head straight and chose to put myself. I was never going to give in to alcohol again and any perception a person would have about me because of that was his /her problem. I had follow- up sessions every Fortnight and during the time would go back to talk with people who were still in there just to give them solidarity and listen to them. They were friends and to this date we are keeping tabs on each other like brothers and sisters.

I went to another school after the summer break. I chose to make amends myself for myself and also those around me. I joined a peer educators’ program and would really advocate against drug abuse. Yes, I was a new kid but I got a chance to interact with like minded friends. People who I could learn from. I would go out of my way to learn poster making skills so that I could have posters around the school encouraging people to seek help. I chose to tell my story so that I can keep my accountability in check. I was really clear to my peers and would really instill some lessons I had learnt.  Soon my initiative was funded by random people who saw what I was doing. That was a milestone.  The school hired a counselor who was to entirely tackle alcohol and drug abuse cases. Age 19 I was done with senior high school, I joined University with a nice grade. I chose a nice course which I am doing my last year right now. To this date I still believe a copy of Atomic habits is better than any Ted Talk or Harvey talks.  

 Now I am 23 years old and grateful for recovery from addiction. It has been 3Now I anticipate each day to be a blessing because some few years ago that was not the case. I am forever grateful to my parents. They really stood with me as I was battling this monster. I never regret being an alcoholic since I learnt so much more life lessons in the process than I had ever and probably would never in future.  If you have a similar story as mine, remember the decision entirely lies on you.  Accept you have a problem and speak out before it eats you up. For me I waited to hit rock bottom but you can do better than me. Look out for your friends having the same problem.  I hope someday I will start a recovery center to provide access to these services to people who are alcoholics. If not, I can be able to reach out to people even on social media. We talk about this matter because it is important.

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 drinking originally started somewhere around 7th or 8th grade when my mom decided it was fun to give me Fuzzy Navels. I didn’t really start drinking heavily until I was 15, though. I was invited to a party with some much older male friends and was overly excited to be included. As a 15 year old girl, I should have been very weary of going to parties and drinking with guys who were all at least 19 or older, but I wasn’t. I should have been even more concerned when they told me to lie about my age when I got there and tell everyone I was 17, but that didn’t set off any red flags either. Even the “gifted” students aren’t all that bright sometimes.

I had never been drunk before that first party, so I had no idea what I was getting into. Everybody was passing around a huge bottle of Jack Daniels. Little 15 year old me was already entirely wasted and had no clue, but one of the other people there dared me to finish the bottle the next time it came around. There were about two inches left in the bottom, and my dumb ass said “Well I can’t turn down a dare!” and slammed it. As you can imagine, it did not end well for me that night. I haven’t been able to tolerate the smell of Jack Daniels since.

Unfortunately, the “funny story” stuck around though and got me the attention I wanted, so I kept partying with these friends and getting black out wasted for the next couple of years. Some pretty awful things happened as a result, which only intensified my drinking rather than bringing it to a grinding halt like it should have. Eventually, I quit partying with those older guys and started drinking with my actual friends. We had a great time getting way too drunk, singing dumb songs, crying, puking, and telling each other all the “funny” things we could remember the next day. 

That lasted a couple years, until I was 21 and hit the bar scene. Then it was game on. Free drinks all the time, so many options to choose from, new people to get attention from and a jukebox won my heart for a few more years. I put myself in more dangerous situations and slept around more than I’d like to admit.

I ended up getting an abusive boyfriend who didn’t like going out, so we stayed home and drank a bit. He did pills, so I ended up getting into that too. My job sucked, so I quit, got another one, quit, got another, quit.. I wasn’t happy anywhere anymore. My sister, who lives on the opposite side of the country from me, actually took a flight here and essentially kidnapped me at one point. She told me to pack my stuff and put it in the car and we drove across the country because she was convinced that if I didn’t change the path I was on, specifically leaving the abusive drug-addicted boyfriend, I would end up dead in a ditch somewhere. She had no clue that he had actually confessed to me that he’d been thinking of places he could hide my body once, or that I’d chalked that up to the drugs talking and convinced myself I could handle it and had no plans to leave him. Today I can say she was probably right that it would’ve ended that way if I had stayed at the time.

I drank significantly while I was away from home, mourning the end of this dysfunctional relationship. This took more effort than usual because she lives in a state that doesn’t promote that sort of behavior, but I didn’t hesitate to find ways around it. I actually ended up packing all my things up and driving back home a few months later, and the boyfriend contacted me as soon as he knew I was back. We got back together and it was honestly awful, but I didn’t see it that way. I was just glad to be with him. I was just as addicted to him as he was to his pills. 

At some point, I finally realized he wasn’t treating me right and decided there was something wrong with me because I still wouldn’t leave. We got engaged somewhere during this, and I was so happy that I cried when he asked me. Then I cried later because I knew he didn’t love me the way I wanted to be loved and he never would, and I was fully intending to live the rest of my life that way anyway. This dropped me into a strong depression and I started drinking a couple gigantic bottles of wine each week. I’m talking like gallon jugs.

Eventually, we broke up. He had kicked me out or locked me out of the apartment repeatedly, and I already had an apartment of my own with just a bed in it for when this happened. I paid rent that I couldn’t afford for an apartment I didn’t live in just for this reason, but this was the first time I had left him. I ended up taking a step back from drinking once the stress level didn’t seem so bad. I thought I was past the worst of it, but I’d still regularly drink way too much and end up pretty wasted and have a hangover.

I became a Christian a couple months after and almost entirely quit drinking but would still have a few here and there. Without most of my stress and anxiety, I didn’t have a strong urge so much anymore, so I thought everything was all well and good. If I only drank when I was feeling bad, that was fine, right? I didn’t see that I was using alcohol as a coping mechanism to bury my feelings, or that actively setting out to get drunk was an issue.

I didn’t realize I had a significant problem until I went to an AA meeting to support a friend and heard a lot of things that I identified with in a pretty serious way. I went home that night and wanted to drink but didn’t because I was thinking about what a jerk move it would be to drink right after leaving AA. The urges were strong, but I attributed it mainly to my stubbornness and feeling like I had been told I couldn’t. I recognized I had an unhealthy pattern of drinking but still didn’t see the magnitude of it.

I attended additional meetings the next two nights then had a heart to heart with an older lady there who I knew from church on Wednesday. She was telling me all about how many people she’d had to bury in the program who couldn’t stop, but my mind kept shutting out what she was saying and all I was really getting from it was “So I should finish my wine, but I absolutely should not tell her about it.”

This scared the daylights out of me, so when I went home that night, I decided I would dump the rest of my wine.. and I couldn’t make myself do it. I started arguing with myself that I should just finish it instead and nobody would even know, and dumping it would be stupid and wasteful, and I would hate myself if I did that. Immediately, my thoughts were flooded with unlimited justifications and reasons to drink the wine, and that’s when I finally realized there was truly a problem. I’d never noticed because I had literally never tried to quit.

I started going to AA a few nights a week but that didn’t do as much for me as I’d hoped after the initial revelation. It was useful for a while, but I kept feeling like I didn’t belong there because I’d never gotten a DUI or gone to jail. It didn’t matter that I definitely should have gotten many DUI’s but just hadn’t been caught, or that I’d actually been pulled over once and blown a 0.24 and the police had let me go for whatever reason with strict directions to get a ride home. I was convinced I didn’t belong at the meetings because I hadn’t ruined my life in some clear and obvious way, and after the first couple of weeks, my urges had less to do with alcohol itself and more with the bar environment. I wanted to go out and listen to lame music, have dumb inappropriate conversations with strangers and get to “be myself” in a way I felt I never could sober. I talked myself out of meetings without ever understanding that “life had become unmanageable” didn’t just mean legal trouble, and my life had been unmanageable for a very long time.

The ex-fiancé kept popping up throughout all of this, and we had gotten back together and broken up numerous times. He became a Christian around the same time I did and quit all the drugs, so I thought things could finally work. They couldn’t, and they didn’t. It brought up a ton of stress again, although astronomically less than it did before, and my desire to drink would creep up again whenever we were arguing and each of the hundred times we broke up. 

I was sober again for about 2.5 months when I relapsed on New Years Eve this year. I had gone to my church’s New Years Eve party, and it was fun it first, but I kept thinking more and more as the night progressed that it just wasn’t the atmosphere I wanted. They had video games and board games and food, but I wanted loud music and dancing. I recognized my thoughts heading down the wrong path and started trying to think of what I could do to prevent myself from slipping. Ironically, this is ultimately what sealed the deal on my relapse that night.

I knew there was a sober AA event a few minutes away and decided maybe that’s where I needed to be for the night. Sounds reasonable, right? Never mind the fact that I was literally standing inside a church at that moment, surrounded by people who would’ve been more than happy to talk some sense into me. Never mind that I was in the absolute safest place I possibly could’ve been if I wanted to stay sober. So I said goodbye to some people, “Happy New Years” to others, assured everybody I’d be back after I checked out another event briefly, and walked out.

I did fully intend to come back to the church, but I knew as soon as my feet hit the gravel in the parking lot that I’d be ending my night at the bar if I left. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, and I hesitated for a second and considered going back in. But I’d just said goodbye to so many people, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

So I kept walking. By the time I got to the AA event, it was over and everyone was heading home, but the event was next door to a bar so I stopped in there instead. I missed the ball drop because I was too busy trying to get another shot from the bartender to even notice what was happening around me, and I blacked out after that. I ended the night crying my eyes out and puking in my bathroom. I have no memory of coming home, but apparently I drove, and I’m not proud of that at all. 

It seems like we always hear the stories of drug addicts, but alcoholism is accepted and almost glorified in our culture. I guess because it’s legal, people think it must not be as bad as any other addiction. As someone who’s attended both AA and NA (Narcotics Anonymous), I can tell you that the daily readings are exactly the same and it’s a majority of the same people in both groups. These diseases are one and the same. I’ve been sober again since that night and have had no desire to drink currently, but I suspect it’ll most likely come back like it always does and I have to be ready to fight it off when that happens. 

I know this isn’t for everyone, but the honest answer to what’s helped me more than anything is praying. When my emotions feel too heavy, rather than reaching for a drink, I go into my bedroom, kneel by my bed and pray. I fight off temptation by letting my higher power, who is stronger and much more capable than I ever could be, do the fighting for me. Giving up my desire to control things by my own power is the best decision I’ve ever made and the reason I’m sober today.

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 addiction story starts at the age of 12, not as early as some but certainly not late, and I’m 36 now. The first drugs I ever took were Percocets 5 and I snorted them. I’m not even sure I got high now that I think about it. I didn’t do another drug until I was 14 and it was just marijuana after that. I didn’t do anything else really until I was 16 and I had a kidney stone the size of a walnut and I had to undergo several surgeries to break it up. The doctor gave me a script of 30 percocet 5s. I went through those in a week, every week for a month and a half. That accelerated my drug addiction and my hustling as well. I think I got more addicted to the hustling aspect of it and being the guy that everyone who needed something would get in contact with to get something. If i didn’t have it on hand, i could find it for you. 

My addiction story starts at the age of 12, not as early as some but certainly not late, and I’m 36 now. The first drugs I ever took were Percocets 5 and I snorted them. I’m not even sure I got high now that I think about it. I didn’t do another drug until I was 14 and it was just marijuana after that. I didn’t do anything else really until I was 16 and I had a kidney stone the size of a walnut and I had to undergo several surgeries to break it up. The doctor gave me a script of 30 percocet 5s. I went through those in a week, every week for a month and a half. That accelerated my drug addiction and my hustling as well. I think I got more addicted to the hustling aspect of it and being the guy that everyone who needed something would get in contact with to get something. If i didn’t have it on hand, i could find it for you. 

I lived in a rural area and my high school only had maybe 500 kids total. So everyone knew everyone and there was anything you can imagine at that high school. So I breached out and my tastes for drugs increased. That’s where I got a taste for benzos, between klonopin and xanax it was what helped me get through. I did have extreme anxiety and I ended up getting prescribed them at the age of 18 and I took them as prescribed because my mother would take them and give me 2 a day to take. 

All through my 20s I would just consume every drug that was available except meth. It’s a really hazy time in my life. I ended up getting engaged but I was high when I proposed. That’s just how it was for me, every day I would have to be high on something and I wasn’t picky. My favorite was still marijuana but surprisingly it was one of the harder things to come by. I could get pills at any time, day or night but I had a hard time getting marijuana. 

I started shooting up at 26 or 27 and oxies were my new best friend. I’m not even sure how i had the money to keep myself in oxy as much as i did. I did at least 40 mg a day or else i wouldn’t function and adding in benzos, I’m surprised I didn’t overdose. I came close. I would take xanax and oxy at the same time almost daily. if i didn’t i didn’t feel like a person. 

When I lived alone I just let anyone stay with me and come party at any time, it was a constant party. Around this time is when I would experiment and try meth out and try making it as well. Some people that were staying with me would make meth to sell to get money for opiates and I joined in on that. They stayed and taught me how to make shake n bake meth which is some backwoods technique to make it. I made it a couple but I stopped because there was too much risk involved. 

At 28 I couldn’t keep myself together without drugs. but they had to stop making oxies so readily available so I had to change my drug of choice to Opana. I ended up selling them and doing them until I got to the point where I did more than I sold and I was in the hole. I was lucky that I had one person in my life that wouldn’t give up on me and that was my mom. I shot up so much that I had scars and a couple abscesses where I missed the vein. She was so worried for me. She even got a mental hygiene warrant put out against me. I wasn’t mad surprisingly and I never held it against her. They took me to jail and held me for the rest of the day until it was time to meet a mediator. I promised I’d get clean and stop shooting up. I tried but I ultimately enjoyed the high too much, it felt like I was a cloud when I shot up Opana. 

One random day after my childhood best friend came around and I shot up in front of him and he was worried about me. This was when I realized I really had a problem. I decided on a day I didn’t have anything that I was going to quit. He told me I could come to his house a state away and stay for a couple weeks to help me get myself clean. I called my mom and I told her I wanted to get clean and I wanted to go to the childhood friend’s house to do so. I stayed at his house getting myself off of opiates. I won’t lie, I was still prescribed xanax and that helped with withdrawals and so did marijuana. After that I cut off contact with everyone that I was involved with at that time and moved another state away to my aunt and uncles. It’s where I only used marijuana and xanax at the time. I was clean from opiates for the first time in over 10 years and I was clean from meth. 

I moved back to my mom’s place after a year of living there. where I started going to a psychologist who found some undiagnosed conditions including bipolar. I only had contact with 2 or 3 of my friends from there still and they didn’t use opiates. It was difficult living back in the rural area. It was so boring but I kept on being opiate free and would just take my xanax as prescribed for several more years. It was calm before the storm. 

a couple years ago, my mother died and then my step dad kicked me out of the house on the same day. I never really had a chance to grieve properly because for the first time in my life, I was homeless. so i fell back into old habits. hustling and using drugs to escape reality and seem happy. I wasn’t happy as I found out time and time again. I became a dumpster for drugs. anything people had i’d want from heroin back to meth. It was the easiest way I found that people would let me stay with them if I gave them free drugs. I contacted my psychologist which I was going to for 8 or so years and I still keep in touch with. She ended up getting me a hotel room in a different city. It was there that I finally got to have a second and find a place to live. I moved in with someone I knew through mutual friends. He said he was clean and I was prepared to get myself . He wasn’t, and me and him would use meth together almost every day. Of course I never twisted his arm to use it and most of the time I told him it was a bad idea. He still ended up getting some every day almost. He would shoot up and I would only snort it. Then his girlfriend found out that he was using again and told his parents. His parents didn’t know I was living with him at the time and they kicked me out and actually flushed the xanax I had and I was homeless again. 

It didn’t last as long this time. I told my cousin several states away what happened and he sent me money to get a bus ticket back to my aunt and uncles and my cousin’s house again. I did and the next day I was headed there. I had been using meth every day I was homeless and with my last roommate. My aunt and uncle had rules that I had to follow because my cousin had a mental breakdown episode and at the time I was just happy to have a home again so I followed them. It was about 6 months of being completely clean and then my best friend had a wedding so I came back and ended up stockpiling some xanax, weed and a little meth. it was enough to last me for a month or so and I was back to being completely clean again. 

This lasted for another year and a half and I got a plan to move in with my friend that just got out of the military. I no longer had a prescription to xanax either. He shared with me that he enjoyed meth. I didn’t know what to think but I also have no willpower with anything really. So I joined him and smoked meth with him. He didn’t shoot up but one of his friends did and ended up moving in with us. I’m not sure what it was or anything but I ended up shooting up again. Not with him either, it was just me, by myself. I had fully relapsed and I continued doing that out of sight from everyone. I ended up hiding the fact I shot up again and I normally do. I don’t leave scars anymore and i know to eat enough so that i don’t look sickly unlike last time. His friend got arrested so he doesn’t live here anymore. I realized I needed to quit shooting up and I’m still trying to quit that. The other drugs. . . not so much. I realize it’s a problem that I have but I kind of have one foot out of the door about life in general now. I’m not actively looking to die but I wouldn’t mind if I did. I also don’t have my bipolar medication and nothing else helps. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully get over my drug addiction. I certainly won’t certainly be in the same place I am. The only thing that really helped me was moving away from the area and away from people I knew. I think I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to drugs and addiction because I notice when I start to spiral out of control I just embrace the free fall. 

 Recently, I’ve decided to quit for good and not touch anything. I’ve been completely clean since Christmas. December 25th 2021. Almost 50 days as I write this. It hasn’t been long but it’s a start. I’m still in the same living situation and i’m not sure how long i’ll last. I found just keeping to myself and distancing myself from everything is helping but it’s still a struggle every day. I just finally decided to myself that enough is enough, nothing really helped me get here other than the disappointment in myself that i feel every day for letting it get this bad. 

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The father obsession

 Here I am, 33-year-old me, attempting to be sober for the umpteenth time. And yet, this time, it feels right. It feels like all the struggles, all the hardships, all the way from realising that I had a problem with alcohol to this, here, now, all this meant something. It was not vain. It’s like I had to go through all this to realise so many things in my life, to understand the root of the problem and the best way to handle it. 

Here I am, drinking tea and writing to you. I don’t know you, but I know for sure that if you ended up on this website, reading this text, it’s probably because you’re looking for answers, for help, for support. I know that because I’ve been there, too. Too many times. 

I hope my story will inspire you to find your way or to help a loved one finds theirs. 

My relationship with my father never was the best one could imagine. Quite the opposite, actually. To the point that I had to wait for my grandmother (who lived the house next to his) to pass away to take the decision not to contact him ever again. It’s been two years; he hasn’t been in touch either. That says quite a lot on our relationship. It had never been an easy-going one anyway, since the very beginning. 

My father has a problem with everything that is different. I guess it’s not his fault, he certainly got that from his own father, who was the same. Maybe he didn’t have the courage, the ability, or the will to differ from the path his father had shown him. A path full of alcohol, hate, violence, shame and intolerance. A path that I’ve been trying to avoid all my life. 

We’ve always been very different. Too different, I guess. So much so that one of his greatest fears in life came true, in the shape of his first born. My father had always wanted his boys to be men, real men, working with their hands, holding their liquor, and bringing girls back home every weekend just to prove they were so virile. Except I wasn’t like that. I would never bring girls home. Not that I was shy. Just that I was gay. Deep down, I guess he always knew I would end up being one of his worst fears in life, and I always felt I was a failure to him, that’s for sure. 

Ironically, that awkward and tense relationship also had consequences on me, kind of the same, actually, in the opposite way: my worst fear was to become like my father, an alcoholic that doesn’t think of himself as having an alcohol problem, full of hate towards everybody that is different from him. 

Knowing how life can have very sadistic ways of teaching you lessons, that’s obviously kind of the path I ended up on, around my 30^th birthday. Right at this point in life when I had everything to be happy about, a life I would have never believed I could ever have, and yet, I was unhappier than ever, drinking every day, getting more and more anxious and afraid of everything around me, even developing racist tendencies when drunk (like father like son), and growing a very weird feeling of shameful hate inside of me. That’s when I understood the person my father hated the most was… himself. I had to take the same road to understand that, as I was feeling terribly guilty of being who I was, dreadfully ashamed of my drunken habits, and extremely terrified of life. 

Why? How did I end up there? I had been so obsessed with not reproducing the memories I had of my father as a child (which were almost all bad memories of him being the worst drunk version of himself), not becoming who he was, that I stressed myself to the point that I couldn’t handle life anymore without a relief… a relief that I found in alcohol. 

The other irony in that story is that I used to smoke joints every night from 18 to 27. I was totally addicted to cannabis, and no good came off it, as it ended up stressing me out more than it would soothe me. And one day, just like that, I decided to quit entirely. I did it without even thinking it through, without help, just by stating to myself: I quit smoking joints. And I was so proud of that, that I didn’t see it coming: I didn’t see one addition replacing the other. I didn’t notice the vicious circle taking shape right under my nose, while I was patronising my boyfriend for drinking too much! 

It didn’t take long – less than a year – for me to start having alcohol problems: always wanting more, more often, feeling more and more guilt and shame, more anxiety… and what’s better to relieve anxiety than a nice glace… a nice bottle of wine? Am I right? 

And so it started. 

My greatest strength turned out to be my worst weakness: I thought too much, analysed everything too much, always wanted to understand everything in and around me. To the point of exhaustion. I developed a general anxiety disorder, and even if I knew that alcohol was a big problem in my life, it was a quick fix that became a daily solution. You can imagine the constant war in my head, during those years. I was torn between what I thought to be true, my convictions and ideals in life, and what I actually did every day. The anxiety grew, and I started fixating on things like the plumbing, the roof, or the fridge. I would find problems everywhere, and worry about them, even if they were sometimes not real, or at least not that big of a deal. They were too me, and I couldn’t handle the waves of anxiety as I was constantly looking for solutions to every little problem in my life: from my psychological state to the dripping faucet. It’s like my brain wanted me to constantly fixate on things, obsess about problems or potential problems to come, to find solutions, knowing precisely that would cause my downfall. Why was I always scared? Why didn’t I feel safe in the home I chose to live in? Why did I feel this urge to always find and resolve problems, to always have my brain focusing on potential bad things that could happen in my life? Was it because I wanted to be prepared, just in case? Was it because I had developed a defence strategy as a child and a teenager against my abusive father, to protect myself, my mother and my brother, and that strategy had become a way of life? Was it because I didn’t want to face my truth (which one?) and so I needed to constantly find problems to focus on? I will never know for sure. Maybe a mix of all that. Maybe it was just chemicals in my brain not working properly. 

It all seems very sad, but I took that as a lesson. Not one I was happy to learn, though, don’t get me wrong. But we don’t always choose what life throws at us, and we all do our best with all the cards we hold at each point in our lives. I tried to moderate my drinking many times, failed, tried again and again and again, failed, thought about it, learnt from it, tried quitting drinking entirely twice, failed. But I never gave up on the idea; because life would be too easy if everything we attempted was a direct success. When you learn how to ride a bike as a kid, you fall, you try again, and you fall, and you fall, and you fall. And yet, you perfectly know that you’ll get there with time, you’ll ride that bike. That’s how I saw it. 

I also looked for help to get better on a psychological level. I tried many, many different solutions. Some didn’t work at all, some others made me realise where the problem lay without really resolving the issue, but again, there’s no miracle solution. For the first time in my life, I therefore decided to take meds against anxiety under medical supervision, and I’ve now been alcohol-free for 35 days. The longest since I started drinking at 16.

This time, I know it’s the right time. I will be sober and find peace. I will use those meds as a crutch for a few months, a I plan to gradually stop taking them to enjoy like as my very true self, always under medical supervision, of course. And finally, I will stop obsessing over the fact that I’m scared I will end up like my father. I’m a different person, and that’s where I start to learn to love myself for who I am.