I've already admitted I'm an alcoholic. As I've previously stated I don't consider myself to be a stupid man, and I hope people who know me don't either. This beggars the question "Why did it not occur to you that barely eating (I'm 6'2", and got down to 8st 13), pissing yourself on a regular basis and drinking 150 - 200 units a week may put you in the alcoholic category? It must be obvious to your family and friends, you twat!". Very good point. My answer is that I didn't drink in the mornings or at lunch time on working days, so I just like a drink. Everybody likes a drink!
The honest truth is that of course I fucking knew. I made excuses. All the classics. "I've had a hard day". "I'm sad". "I'm stressed". "Liverpool won". "Liverpool lost"I passed!!". "I failed". "I got the job". It's my/your/somebodies birthday". "Only one more day until the weekend!!". "It's the weekend!!!!". "Back to work tomorrow". Etc, etc etc
I don't know if I envy people who can have a couple of pints and then wave cheerio and go home. This is because I can't imagine what that's like. I don't drink for the company or the occassion. I drink for the drink.Then, this March, I got ill. Really ill, to be fair, but it crept up on me like any other normality.
I was eating so little and getting all my calories from booze, that my weight plummetted. I could barely hold food down and every morning I''d retch up the contents of my stomach, mainly acid. In the end I went to a Dr. She gave me some antacids and arranged some blood tests.
I'm going to digress here, as I really need to share this to explain how low a human being I was at this point. I got made redundant near the end of July and my sister had arranged to come to visit me at the seaside with her two boys, both under 4 at the time (actually they were staying in my ex's place as she was away. Told you we get on). The next day my grandad passed away. Any normal brother would have been solely concerned with comforting his sister and we could have spent the time together, sharing our pain. Allie was whispering again. Now THIS is an excuse to get fucking pissed. I was paralytic for 4 days, barely seeing my family. An excuse to wallow in my own self pity. Allie was loving this. Keep going, my boy. She was no longer a mistress - she was a full time lover and we were doing it round the clock.
I'm not making excuses, but I'm not a monster. I loved that man. He was everything I wished I could be. There are times you beg you could go back and change, and this was one of them. Strangely several of his brothers signed "the pledge" in their youth. It seems their father was an alcoholic too. At least I have never been violent. I just want to explain, maybe to myself, how alcohol controls your mind if you have the right buttons to press.
Back to the story; After unemployment I moved back home and when my sister was round the Dr called and she answered. "Does Richard drink?", came the question. Then it all came out. I had an emergency appointment the next day. To cut a long story short a healthy liver reading clocks in at less than 41. Mine was 206. As I said, I'm quite clever and immediately realised that being 5 times the maximum for healthy was a bad sign. "What do I do?". "Don't drink", was the reply. She then advised me not to stop straight away, but to cut down slowly in case the liver went into shock. This would be a bad thing. Halve the daily intake (I chose wine as an easy unit to measure) and then cut down by 25ml a day to nothing. "Come in for more bloods next week and I'll see you a fortnight", she said.
This may seem a fairly basic equation. Stop drinking = live. Keep drinking = dead in 3 years. I'm guessing you know me pretty well by now so can guess what I did next? "Surely he's not that fucking stupid?", I hear you cry. Oh yeah he is. I cheated on my doseage. I was still caning 3/4 of a bottle of wine a day until my bloods. When I went to see her the week after that she showed me the results,and they were worse. "Have you stopped drinking? These bloods seem a bit strange". Guess what I did next? Surely not? That's right. I lied to my Dr. This woman is trying to help me, to stop me dying, and can I accept it? No. Lets say that one more time. I LIED to my FUCKING Dr. It was at this point I went home and started crying. Face it dude. If you keep drinking you will die. Not maybe. You WILL fucking die. This woman is trying to help you. Do you want to add her to the list of people you've fucked up? I started thinking and wrote the list at the top of my first post. I thought "Fuck it. I'll risk the shock and hospital. I'm done". I composed a text, basically an abridged version of all the apologies I've given in this blog, and sent it to friends, family, colleagues. I begged forgiveness. I begged for help. I even wrote it out and sent it to my Dr and begged her to forgive me. She did. They all did, and for that I am truly thankfull.
Mental. I quit. I'm not going to lie to you. Be under no illusions that stopping drinking when your body is used to that level is pleasant. You will sweat (daily sheet changes), shake, vomit, get headaches and your organs hurt as they struggle to adjust. You will start to reek as that shit comes out of you. You will struggle to sleep. But it passes. I truly promise it does. You HAVE to believe me on this. When you get through that life gets so much better. The pain goes. You feel clear headed. Smarter. I didn't have to lie anymore. I wasn't going to hurt people anymore. You have no idea what not banging back 25 - 30 units a day of a known depressant does for your sense of well being. I was happy, and back on my way 11 stone. Not a lot, but anymore and I'd look stupid.
Over the next three months my stats got better and better. To be honest I found it easy. I told my local pub landlord what was going on and I barred myself, not from the pub, from the booze. The bar staff were amazing. I'd order a pineapple lemonade (no charge for dash) and end up with 2 straws and an umbrella on top. They'd have competitions to see who could make the best non-alcoholic cocktail. Why was I in a pub anyway you ask? This may sound stupid but I don't have sky sports and I love cricket and football.... also I liked the challenge. After about 3 1/2 months of this it all changed. I went to a specialist. Remember that 206? Now 17. Physically I was on the mend. I had to take someone with me and my dad asked the question I'd been dreading. "Will my son be able to drink again?". My fingers were crossed and I was praying for the right answer. "In time, yes", came the reply. FUCK!!! That is the WRONG answer you cock sucker. Don't go fishing with me for fucks sake. Don't open that door even a fucking crack. At that point I knew I was in a world of trouble. As the song goes "I used ta do a little then a little wouldn't do so the little got more and more....".
Last Friday night (13th, unlucky for some. Hopefully lucky for me) I went out with friends. Drank a gallon plus, jager bombs, sambuca, whisky and got home at 3.30. I cracked open a bottle of wine. I woke up Saturday and looked in the mirror. "Face it mate. One is too many for you". So I've quit. Again. This time I'm not going to fuck it up. Allie isn't going to ruin my life any more.
And that brings us to 10 days ago.
Next; The first ten days
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