Four years ago I was alcohol dependent. I had three community detoxes under my belt and one left to go before I would be beaten and broken enough to wave the white flag. I put my mind, body and family through the wringer before I would realise that my only chance of survival was to get the right professional help and to accept I was and still am an alcoholic. [Editor’s note: You can read more about the language used to talk about drinking problems, including the word ‘alcoholic’, here.]
When the ONS data was released in May 2021 and revealed a 20% increase in alcohol-specific deaths – the highest number of deaths on record – I didn’t expect to have the reaction I did.
Understandably, the media jumped on this statistic and my twitter feed and news apps were filled with articles and quotes from experts who have long been warning about alcohol harm. I now work for Dan Carden MP as a Policy Assistant, focusing on all things alcohol harm, addiction and recovery, so it is my job to keep abreast of relevant news. Whilst there was a small part of me that was grateful that alcohol harm was making headline news, it shouldn’t have taken 7,423 deaths for this to happen.
What struck me most about the many articles was the consistent statistical referencing; reducing people’s pain and suffering to numbers. But we must remember that 7,423 people lost their lives. 7,423 families and friends all suffered and are now grieving. We must ask ourselves how many years of suffering did those 7,423 and their loved ones go through? And how many of those 7,423 would still be here today if our drug and alcohol services had the funding they need and a proper mandate to tackle alcohol harm?
I cried that day. I cried a lot. Truth be told I am crying now.
There was time in my life, when I thought that alcohol would finish me and I couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t live with or without alcohol and I have never felt so frightened and alone. When I think of that 2017 version of me, Melissa, I give her an imaginary cuddle – she deserves one. The thought of anyone in that living hell, let alone thousands, will always, always reduce me to tears and is the motivation for the work I do today.
There were too many occasions during my harmful drinking days when I could have died – I was so very close to be included in the 2017 ONS alcohol-specific death data set. But I did not die, and I am not an ONS statistic. Sometimes, when I hear of a life cut short by this illness, I can I feel a sense of guilt – I suppose survivor’s guilt. Whilst it is important for my mental health and recovery that I don’t dwell too much on the ‘what could have been’, such news reminds me of how precious life is and why my recovery has to be my most treasured possession.
The tears also stream from anger and frustration. You see, the latest ONS data came as no surprise to many working in the alcohol harm field: to many this was inevitable. For years alcohol harm and addiction have been overlooked and under-resourced. I know all too well how difficult it is to secure public funding for residential treatment, if it were not for the bursary funding from charities, I would not be alive today. I am one of the lucky ones, but treatment shouldn’t be about luck.
I don’t understand the lack of urgency. How many more lives must be lost before action is taken? Why are so many evidenced-based policies ignored? Why has there been no national Alcohol Strategy since 2012?
Alcohol harm affects us all. To invest in alcohol treatment is to invest into society – but there is still an attitude of intolerance around alcohol, a stigma. To tell the truth, before I experienced it my perception of who and what someone with an addiction is was narrow-minded and limited. I didn’t think alcohol use disorder was an illness, I thought having a drink problem was a weakness – a sign of someone’s character. I was so wrong.
Addiction does not discriminate. We have to change the narrative and create a safe space for honest conversations. My shame prolonged the suffering. I didn’t want to be known to be ‘an alcoholic’, I didn’t want to be judged, I didn’t want my family to be talked about, so we suffered in silence.
Since getting sober, I have been committed to debunking stereotypes and having frank and open conversations about addiction and recovery – whether that be on the BBC 5live Podcast Hooked, the book ‘Sobering’, or my work in policy. If sharing my darkest hours of alcohol harm can help just one person feel less alone and give them the courage to ask for help, then it’s something I will continue to do throughout my life.
I want to end this piece by offering my condolences to all those who have lost a love one to alcohol. You are in my thoughts and have my heart.
- Melissa Rice is author of Sobering: Lessons Learnt the Hard Way on Drinking, Thinking and Quitting and one half of successful BBC Radio 5 Live podcast Hooked: The Unexpected Addicts, which won Broadcasting Press Guild Radio Programme of the Year 2020, BBC Best Community Podcast 2020 and a Silver British Podcast Award. Melissa is dedicated to raising awareness of addiction and recovery and using her experience for change through her work as trustee of The Amy Winehouse Foundation and Special Advisor to the Alcohol Health Alliance. I’m now working with Dan Carden MP - whose work is focused on addiction, mental health and recovery.
