For as long as I can remember, alcohol has been part of my life. Not in a loud, obvious way at first, but quietly, subtly. As a teenager, drinking alone in my bedroom didn’t feel strange. A few cans of lager became routine, then bottles of wine. Friends would have one or two drinks, but I would drink before I left the house, just to get me going. At the time, I genuinely believed that was just what people did. Now I know it wasn’t.
It was never about enjoying a drink. It was about chasing a feeling. A dopamine hit.
In 2013, I got my own place. On the outside, everything looked right. I had a good job, independence, and my own home. I convinced myself that I was doing well and dressed up alcohol in my mind – a glass of wine in the evening felt sophisticated. It’s what we’re shown everywhere, isn’t it? On TV, in films, on social media - it looks calm, perfect, even aspirational.
But behind closed doors, it was never like that. That glass of wine was never one. Slowly, quietly, alcohol crept into everything. Work mornings got harder. Hangovers and turning up still slightly drunk became normal. It progressed over the years gradually, until it had its grip on me.
I did things I am not proud of and lost my job. The shame and guilt were so deep, and things got worse. I drank more to numb it, avoid and not have to sit with what I’d done. Drinking was self-medication. I stopped looking after myself. Went weeks without showering. Brushing my teeth felt like too much effort. My home, once spotless, became unrecognisable.
Losing my job was devastating, but losing friends cut deeper. People stopped checking in. Didn’t ask. Didn’t reach out.
Things spiralled further. I had to leave the home I loved and moved out of the area, to somewhere isolated, where it was hard to get out and about. My world became smaller and I was lonely. My physical health declined and walking became a struggle.
And then came the thing that nearly finished me - convenience. Food and alcohol deliveries. No effort. No visibility. No need to leave the house. It felt like a solution, but it was a trap, because there were no safeguards. There was nobody questioning whether I should be buying more alcohol while visibly intoxicated like they would in a shop. Order after order, day after day.
I was drinking heavily, until I physically couldn’t take it. Then I’d stop, recover, and start again. I ordered alcohol multiple times a day. Drivers knew my name. Knew my code. I found ways to get more and was borrowing money I couldn’t repay. At that point, I wasn’t living but existing in a cycle I couldn’t see a way out of.
Until, somewhere in the middle of the darkness, something shifted. On a rare 'good day’, I reached out. A friend came round and asked a simple question: ‘Do you think you might have ADHD?’ This changed my life. For the first time, something clicked. Maybe I wasn’t broken or lazy. Maybe there was a reason. I've since been diagnosed with inattentive ADHD which didn’t fix everything overnight but gave me understanding.
Then came support through adult social care services. They saw me at my lowest and stayed. They helped me face things I didn’t think I could and saw me when I couldn’t see myself. Through this support, I was later offered a new home. Familiar. Close to family. A clean, safe space. My best mate and dog by my side. I started getting out more. Walking more. Seeing people again. For me, it was everything.
I also found faith earlier in my journey and was baptised. My faith is personal and I hold onto it tightly, because when everything else fell apart, God didn’t. My church accepted me without judgement or conditions. That kind of love changes you and still shapes my life today. I found real friendships there, genuine ones, rooted in care, honesty, and wanting the best for each other that don’t disappear when life gets messy.
Since June 2025, I’ve been sober. I never thought I’d say that. My mental health is stronger and I’m on ADHD medication.
I know that I haven’t done it alone. I truly believe that the lowest point in my life had purpose. That one day I would stand here and use it to help, support, and advocate for others who feel trapped like I did.
More than anything, I’ve found myself again. Not the version shaped by alcohol. Not the version defined by mistakes. The real me. I sometimes still struggle, but I am not the person I used to be and while I’m rebuilding, I’m still standing and moving forward.
I’ve learned something important: Your past may shape your story, but it does not decide your ending. Life can change in ways you never see coming. Situations like mine don’t just happen to 'other people.' They can happen to anyone.
If you had told me a few years ago that I’d be writing this, I wouldn’t have believed you. But I am. And if you’re reading this, thinking you’re too far gone, you’re not. You can come back from rock bottom, rebuild your life, and find peace again. Sometimes, the moment everything falls apart is the moment everything begins.
