Sample

The air outside was so fresh and cold that I couldn’t wait to get into the warmth. Walking into the tiny, old-fashioned hall that was as dark as a cave and smelt like damp wasn’t exactly the highlight of my day. The wallpaper was peeling off and the ceiling, which was obviously once white, was now a dirty egg shell colour. This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. I’d seen the advert whilst reading my favourite glossy magazine, I was expecting something different, very different. I expected a bit more class than this. I didn’t even think that places like this still existed. I thought places like this had gone out when ankle swingers went out of fashion. I didn’t want to be here, I really didn’t, but I was doing this for me. Something needed to change and I was the only one who could take the first step.

They say that to be addicted to something you have to need it rather than want it. You know you are addicted to something when that something consumes your life every minute of everyday. You stop caring about everything around you except that one thing. You forget about your friends and family and the people around you, all you care is about that one thing, nothing else. Addiction is dangerous. This place wanted to help young people like myself with addictions. I knew I had to go.

Walking into the tiny hall, I saw about ten or so faces turn around and look. Many of them smiled at me. This was not what I had expected at all. I had never walked into a room and not felt judged. I’ve always been paranoid that people judge me and know about my dirty little secret - people on the street, people in the shops, people just going about their daily business. So the fact that everyone seemed so welcoming was nice. Different. Taking a seat at the end of the circle I felt relived, and kind of excited. Nobody in the room looked the same, everyone was different and unique, but nobody looked extremely ill or washed out. Just by looking at the faces I couldn’t tell whose addiction was what, it wasn’t apparent what was wrong with them.

I sat back in my chair and began to relax.

A small woman, maybe in her late fifties, introduced herself as Sue. She welcomed everyone, and asked a simple question, ‘What does addiction mean to you?’

Everyone said their opinion, each one better the first, and then it was me. My mouth was dry and my palms were moist. I took a deep breath. I had never talked about this before, I took another breath and began to speak.

“To me addiction is something I can’t control; it’s a want and a need. Whenever I have money I get my fix. I’ve never stolen from my family, but I’ve been tempted. If I don’t get what I need I fear I will go insane.”

Sitting down I saw all the eyes on me. I was waiting for a rash comment or a snigger, but there was nothing, everyone smiled at me. I felt for the first time in my life, comfortable.

Leaflets were being handed out and with just a glimpse I saw something that made my heart stop. Something that made me lost for breath, it read: They say that admitting that you have a problem is the first step in battling your addiction; and I myself have realised how true this really is. I never had realised how easy it would be for someone to get hooked on something so simple. I used to come home every night and it would be there staring me dead in the eyes, it was so tempting and I knew it wouldn’t take me long to give in. It gave me a rush, it made me feel needed and wanted; it was love.

I have never honestly read something that was connected to the way that I felt before, it was exactly how I was feeling. It was like all my thoughts were down on paper.

I guess I’d never been somewhere where I’d felt this accepted before. It felt different, but good. But the part that I was ever so nervous was about to start, the words “tell me about yourself” rung in my ears. I stood up and began to speak.

I began to speak softly.

“Hello, my name is Kate Ashdown and I am an alcoholic. Nobody has, and no-one ever will, realise how hard this was for me to admit. It’s taken a long time for me to finally admit this, and standing here in front of all of you today shows me how much my hard work is paying off.”

I saw the smiles from around the room and I grew more confident.

“If I had said to myself four years ago that I would be confident enough to tell you this I would have laughed. I was 19 when I first started drinking heavily. I kept it my dirty little secret. I was too ashamed. Now I am nearly there. I am nearly over my addiction to alcohol. Yes, a common addiction, but not something you’d like to be addicted to. Trust me. I never want to go back to how I was. Drinking was always an easy way for me to escape the real world. It was a world where nothing mattered, no one would criticise me for doing something silly, or acting different. Everyone understood. I say everyone - I mean myself and my mind. Having an addiction is like being in a special world though. There are no rules and you can do what you want, there’s nobody there to tell you what your doing is wrong.

I was leading a normal life with a 9 to 5 job in an office. I studied Secretarial Skills at college and was lucky to even get a job. You hear of people all the time being depressed with no job so they turn to booze. So, I thought there was something seriously wrong with me to always rely on alcohol. What was wrong with me? I’d ask myself this regularly. Then it hit me. I would get in from work, switch on the TV and grab a bottle of wine. That bottle of wine would turn into 3 bottles of wine throughout the duration of the evening. That same routine would happen every weeknight. Taking that first sip after a busy day at work was like heaven to me, all my troubles melted away. But what troubles? I didn’t have a father. But that was the past, why would it bother me now? I didn’t talk to my mother but I didn’t care for that. Or did I? I didn’t have a boyfriend. I had myself and my flat mate. Then I realised. Was I drinking excessively to heal the pain of my father?

The moment I got the phone call I felt my world fall to pieces around me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to stop it, but my world had crumbled right in front of my face. My father died when I was just 19 years old, it was the result of a car accident, he was hit off of his bike by a driver of a land rover. His head hit the ground and he was instantly killed. I had never been close to my father but this wasn’t something that I wanted to experience. I wouldn’t have wished this pain and hurt on anyone; nobody deserves to feel like that.

I started drinking more than usual. I drunk when I went out with my friends, and I’d get stupidly drunk. At the weekend, everyone would indulge. You’d go out on the streets to clubs and pubs and everyone would be in the same state. But I thought I was better then everyone else. I wouldn’t join in with my friends when they decided to take drugs. I controlled myself, but when it came to alcohol I had no control. My boyfriend broke up with me soon after my father was killed. I’d been with him since I was 14 years old. Long time huh? He was the one who was there for me, he was the one who supported me, he was the one who made me better and helped me cope. He broke up with me for a good reason though. I don’t blame him for doing so. I guess it was just all too much. I had the most terrible mood swings. I blame myself. It was all a downwards spiral from there, without him I was nothing. I thought that alcohol would take the pain away, help heal my broken heart, how silly I was to think this. But I hadn’t lost all the men in my life; I found a new man, Jack. Jack didn’t ask any questions, he never needed me, I would always need him. He was there when I went to work and there when I got home. He was there for the good days and the bad. He was what I thought was perfect, the perfect man. He was thin and black; he was hard to swallow but went down well. He was the resolution to all my pain and hurt, he was perfect. Just touching him with my tongue would make my whole body quiver with excitement; just one touch from him would make my body numb. He was a bottle of liquid perfection, liquid gold.

After a couple of years of finishing a bottle or two in the evening I slowly started cutting back. I thought to myself, I didn’t need alcohol, it wasn’t going to heal anything. But then one day I had a relapse. I can still remember that day. It was a cold winters evening, and it hit me like a ton of bricks to the face. It was a feeling I had never felt before, a feeling of emptiness and confusion. I didn’t understand it, at first I was confused. But slowly it sunk in and I just knew what was happening. I never got hangovers, I didn’t even really know what a hangover was. I always felt tired after a night of drinking but never did I ever feel as rough as I did that day. I felt weak and woozy, I tried to stand up but I felt my stomach drop. It was a weird feeling, a feeling I didn’t want. I thought I just needed something to eat. So I tried to make some toast, but the strong smell of the bread burning made my stomach turn. I was going to be sick; I needed to be sick. I was sick. Pulling my head out of the sink was hard, I felt so weak, so unable to move. I was sick over ten times. It was then that I realised I needed to sort myself out. At the age of 22, I wasn’t getting any younger, and I was in serious need of sorting myself out.

So I came to the decision to stop drinking alcohol. I didn’t know how I was going to go about it. I knew it wasn’t something that would happen overnight. I knew I was about to head off into a rollercoaster of ups and downs but I knew I could do it. I was better than that. I cut down massively. I didn’t need to drink whilst being alone. I socially had a glass or two, but I didn’t end up chucking back as much as I used to. I occasionally had slip ups, everyone does, but slowly I was battling my addiction. This was 6 months ago. I’ve done so well, I know I have.”

After I had finished talking, everyone clapped. Wow, I had never been applauded for telling people about who I really am. I was shocked. I didn’t think that people would understand me. I thought I was alone. I’ve never in my life been applauded for being me, for telling the truth. All I’d ever got was sniggers and dirty looks, but not today. The room was filled with smiling faces. I felt at home. I felt acceptance from this small little hall filled with people that I had never met before in my life. For the first time in my life I was proud, proud to be me.

 

 

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