My name is Steve, and I am a 49 year old alcoholic.

I can say that today with both ease and relative peace of mind. That was not the case at the age of 30 when I found myself at the lowest point in my life and not a clue what was wrong with me. I was living rough on the streets with no job, no money, no friends and the only possessions I owned was the clothes on my back. My only motivation in life was to obtain my next drink to seek a comfort from it that it had stopped giving me a long time ago.

I was born and raised in the north of England in a working class, Irish catholic, family. Hard drinking was common in this environment and the mark of a man was how well he held his booze. But from a young age I always felt different from others, I was a young daredevil and bright at school and as soon as I was old enough to think for my self began to rebel against the teaching of my elders. I had my first drink (Beer) at the age of 12 and thought it repulsive and could not for the life of me figure out why people drank the stuff. It was not until I left school and joined the adult working world that I had the occasion to take up the pastime of drinking in the social sense, And it took me a long time to get to like drinking the stuff, but drink it I must because that’s what everyone did and I did not want to stand out. But apart from the horrible taste, the stuff had an odd and pleasurable side affect. It changed my reality of myself and my surroundings. It made me feel at ease and confident with the people around me and, more important, I felt important. It freed my mind to go on trips of fantasy I could not go on sober. It became a haven in a mundane world that did not understand me. I went on to train as a contracting Electrician and entered the construction industry where again hard drinking is the norm, and soon adopted the ethos of work hard play hard. By this time I was drinking every night and would not leave until the pubs closed. Hangovers were common and I started to have the occasional blackout. But I suppose it was youth and the archaic British opening hours that kept me in check.

Then at age 21 it was time to head out into the world away from trade unions and rain and make my mark! It brought me and a friend to Gibraltar. (Then closed off to Spain.) The hard drinking soon took over from the hard work and soon even my reputation as a first class tradesman could not keep up with my unreliability when it came to showing up for work. But my excuse was it was Gibraltar, Boring, nothing else to do! Then the frontier with Spain opened and a big new country was open to me.

Spain….Where it is acceptable for decent folk to have a brandy with there morning coffee. So I started drinking coffee! The downward spiral was now in full motion, I found hard liquor cheap and effective but I could not pace myself with it. I tried to drink it as I would beer. The dismissals at work became frequent and in a small place like Gibraltar everybody knows everybody and most knew me as a problem drinker. Same with accommodation, I abused many a friends’ hospitality and soon found myself living in flop houses and taking whatever menial work I could find. My health was now deteriorating and short stays in hospital would dry me out and recoup me a little but the first port of call upon release was the local bar. Booze was now my No1 priority, before rent and food. I found myself living on the streets, stealing what I needed to get by. Life was becoming unbearable. Gone was the hope and ambition I had left England with and with no break appearing on the horizon I decided to end it all.

So with a bottle of stolen brandy and in the shelter of a derelict car I tried to drink myself into death. Stupid?... I know, but when I came around I needed to get to a hospital. It was the only refuge I knew. I will never forget the looks of disgust as I tried to cross the frontier back to Gibraltar. But most of all I will never forget the conversation I had with the Doctor who refused me admittance to the hospital.

Here was a young man who had taken the Hippocratic Oath to help people, telling me there was nothing he could do for me as I was killing myself with drink and if I carried on I would be dead in a short space of time. He didn’t seem to understand that life was the problem not the drink, (the only problem I had with drink is that I couldn’t afford it and needed it to live.) If only Life would treat me a little better and give me the breaks I deserved, everything would be fine. But there was something in his manner as he spoke to me that was hard to fathom but stayed with me, I know today that it was an honest sadness for a hopeless case. Not pity or disgust. He then suggested I might find help from a group of people he had heard about and gave me directions. I found this group of people and my journey of recovery started that day.

I would like to end by saying from then on life’s been a bed of roses, but it has not. The days of black despair have gone, but life has its ups and downs, that’s normal. Today I can live life on life’s terms without the need for the artificial crutch of alcohol. I have learned that the cause and the solution to my problems lie within me and always have. Life today can be as good or as bad as I want it to be. I get to choose. But I’ve also learned I cannot recover on my own resources. I needed help and when I asked, it came!!

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