It used to be that I couldn’t imagine a life without alcohol.
As a seventeen-year-old my mother had passed away. I chose alcohol because I didn’t know how else to grieve. I didn’t talk. I put on a brave face. Alcohol could numb my feelings of sadness and become the source of power I needed to transform a shy, anxious soul into someone confident and sociable. All my problems were forgotten.
At nineteen, I gained my first full-time office role. Consequently, I earnt enough to attend Millwall away days, indulging in breakfast beers at 9am; the start of a twelve-hour drinking session. When Saturdays couldn’t come quick enough, lunchtime pints during the week would warm up the tastebuds. I thought this was perfectly normal.
I didn’t want to be here anymore after the feelings of embarrassment and shame. There was a vicious dread sitting within me and I thought more alcohol would be the only cure.
The withdrawals after a drinking session became immensely overwhelming. My chest grew tight and my heart would violently pound, as if trying to jump out. I’d try and piece together the fragmented memories, not remembering how I got home.
“What did I say?”
“What did I do?”
I’d constantly lie to myself and say “I’ll take it easy next time”. The fact is, I could never control my drinking after the first one, I just didn’t know it then.
"Millwall stopped being about football."
Millwall stopped being about football. I missed a seven goal thriller on account of drinking too much, dragged away in handcuffs in the concourse of Elland Road. Not the best twenty-fifth birthday I could have had.
I made futile attempts to change soon after, but even a new-found love of running only justified my drinking.
And when I was offered an opportunity of a lifetime in a creative brand agency, I only saw the lights of the free open bar instead of the intelligent employees I had a chance to absorb knowledge from.
After lockdown and redundancy, I began to drink at home for three or four days straight. I’d awaken in the pitch black of my room and reach out to drink whatever was left beside me. And if there was nothing there, I’d grip the duvet for hours, preparing myself for a visit to the off-licence.
I checked into A&E twice as my mental health deteriorated, all in secrecy. I pushed my existing social life away, venturing on solo pub crawls in the hope of meeting new people. I’d end up passing out in pubs or on the way home, waking up in local parks with cuts and grazes to my face and body.
“It’ll be different next time,” I’d say.
It never was.
After six months of sobriety, I thought I could be a controlled, moderate drinker. What followed was a year and a half of continuous relapses, denial, blame and self pity.
There was nothing glamorous about my last drink, but when I awoke in the early hours of April 15th 2024, I surrendered. I looked in the mirror, facing the bloated cheeks and puffy, bloodshot eyes. It was a face I’d seen many times before.
"I said something I had avoided for years."
I broke down to colleagues when I got into work that day and said something I had avoided for years: “I have a drinking problem.”
Instead of shame, I felt relief.
I took full accountability for the first time in my life. From that moment, recovery could truly begin.
I joined a boxing gym for the first time, hammering punch bags and pads instead of pints. I joined a running club.
Now, instead of passing out in parks and falling asleep in pubs, I attend art galleries, read books in coffee shops and perform my written work at open mic events. Today I can do all the wholesome things that I missed out on when my life revolved around alcohol.
I can sit with uncomfortable emotions and speak, without trying to numb them.
"I don’t feel ashamed of who I am anymore."
With the love and support from friends, family and the countless strangers I’ve met all across the sober community, I don’t feel ashamed of who I am anymore.
Helping others is important to me. I’ve done this by being an active listener and sharing my own experiences. I’ve been able to repair the wreckage I created as a result of my drinking, by fixing relationships and being present for my family.
And while life can still be stressful and unpredictable, I don’t need to drink alcohol anymore to cope with it.
"I still love football, even more so."
I still love football, even more so. I can remember matches vividly and feel a sense of belonging. After three and a half years I attended my first away day. Norwich versus Millwall. I was skeptical, but the understanding and support from friends that day got me through. Also, seeing Millwall win for the first time at Carrow Road since the 60’s was something special for all of us.
I didn’t need a drink to celebrate.
Sobriety is one of the biggest challenges I’ve ever faced, but the best decision I will ever make.
Help is out there. I am more than willing to listen and share experiences of addiction and recovery to anyone who needs support in abstaining, moderation or even curiosity.