WeekendWaster

Hi

I've decided to post here and hopefully gain support, knowledge and the ability to share and talk about my problem with alcohol.

So, a little about me.

I'm a 30 year old bloke, from 'Great' Britain. I'm in full time employment, have my own house, and a great girlfriend.

A quick rundown of my issue is that I have a real problem with binge drinking. I have got to the point where I cannot deal with the days of depression, insecurity and anxiety that inevitably follow a binge. Which has led me here - hopefully the first step of at least some improvement to the quality of my life.

I think it's important to give you an idea of my life with booze and intoxicants up to this point.

I started smoking tobacco at around 15, at which time it was customary for me and my schoolfriends to meet up every Friday night to drink together in the outdoors. It was new, the feeling of intoxication, really quite exciting, and something we'd look forward to every week.

When I was about 16, I started smoking hashish. It started off as a weekend thing - out with mates drinking cheap booze in public and a couple of the group would have some 'resin' on them. I tried it, quite enjoyed it, and after a few weeks I was buying it for myself, to smoke by myself.

For a good few years I'd spend at least one or two nights of the week shut away in my bedroom, on my own, smoking a 'fiver' of hash. This developed into every day after a while. I then went to Uni, where 'Skunk' was the usual smoke. As I'm sure alot of you know, cannabis in this form can be very strong, and heady. I smoked an eighth of it almost every day for another year at least. I dropped out of three successive courses, in hindsight as a result of my complete lack of motivation due to my cannabis habit. I was hooked on weed. No question. But I enjoyed it. I moved back home to live with my parents.

During this time, around 8-10 years ago, I along with my friends discovered MDMA. Many incredible nights were had. I have never found MDMA to be addictive, but it certainly got to the point where I was using every other weekend or so, and still smoking alot of weed throughout these days. After a while the good effects of the Es became less and less, the comedowns got harsher and longer, and we stopped taking Es. It wasn't hard to stop, nor was it a concious 'decision' to do it. I think that's in part due to the non-addictive nature of the drug.

I was still smoking weed however. And like the Es, the effects were becoming more and more negative. Paranoid thoughts, anxiety, all the rest. Around the age of 23 I made the decision to stop my daily cannabis habit. And I successfully abstained, for a good 18 months. The next time I smoked, through curiosity more than anything, it brought back all those horrible paranoid feelings and the racing mind, and I immediately realised why I stopped smoking it in the first place.

I have smoked very small amounts since, but rarely on my own, almost always with friends, more for the novelty than anything. I can take or leave the effects of cannabis now. I'm really not bothered about the stuff. And I certainly do not have a problem with it. It's out of my head, and out of my system, which is why I can have a toke on a spliff once every few months and not let it affect my wellbeing. Should a friend with a spliff not bump into me ever again in my life, I couldn't care less.

I had a short stint under the spell of coke a few years later, in my mid twenties. As fun as it was, I stopped using it, as it was very addictive, and very expensive.

Then next came the anxiety and depression.

I sank hopelessly low at this point, and was prescribed Prozac. I stayed on it for a good 6 to 8 months, as it certainly helped with both the anxiety and the depression. The best way to describe it is that it pens in your emotion. You don't 'feel' as much. You don't care as much. Life was getting better, but not back to normal. I think I was becoming a different persona of myself. An unfortunate side effect of SSRIs like Prozac is that they can inhibit the ability to 'finish the job', in the bedroom, and the old boy didn't get as powerful as it used to, if you know what I mean! Being on an SSRI wasn't for me.

I tapered myself off the Prozac, albeit maybe a little too quickly, and felt that it did at least play a part in kick-starting me back to some sort of contentment with life.

That was about four years ago.

It's important to note that my use of alcohol, from right back in my school days, up until now, has almost always been in heavy sessions, or what we now like to call binge drinking.

So, here's where I am now.

I no longer take illicit substances and I think alcohol has become my new weed. My reward on a Friday night after a horrible week at work. My escape from the mundane life I feel I live. My treat.

I often drink alone, and usually take the opportunity for a drink should the situation arise. For example, if I have a day off during the week, on the night before I'll get some cans and a bottle of wine in, sit in my own company and happlily get smashed. At the weekend, if I go out to the pub or wherever, I find it very hard not to drink to oblivion. It's like I cross a line - once I'm slightly drunk I care less about the negative consequences of drinking, and more about the great feeling I'll get that night from downing shots and drinking Stella. The drunker I get, the more contrasted that equation becomes.

I lost my driver's licence for 15 months in 2006 for drink-driving; forgot to mention that.

As I've become older, I've found that my hangovers are becoming steadily worse. Whereas as few years ago, I'd get a bit of a headache the next day, these days I endure a physical hangover the day after (headache, nausea, etc), then for at least the day after that I get the 'mental' hangover.

Typically I wake up feeling incredibly drained. Quite anxious. And very depressed. Not as depressed as before I went on the Prozac a few years ago, maybe half that much, but still depressed enough for it to ruin a good day or two. I also feel very insecure. I feel like I've been mentally poisoned. Usually after the 2nd or 3rd day of hangover I will wake up feeling relatively normal.

And therein lies part of the problem.

By the time the next weekend comes along, I'm right back on the booze, with no thought whatsoever to how I felt just days earlier from my last binge. Which, considering how truly dreadful I felt, certainly makes me think PROBLEM.

When I put it in perspective, at least a third of my existence is currently spent under the effect of alcohol, be it 'positive' or negative. That just doesn't sit comfortably with me any more.

But I'm stuck in this cycle it seems.

In my opinion, another part of the problem is the culture of the UK. Going out at the weekend invariably means a drink will be consumed. In fact, I'd say the social life of the majority of 16-35 year olds in this country revolves around drinking. It's what we do. It's socially acceptable. It's cheap. It's easy. The challenge of breaking free from this boozy culture is something I find quite intimidating. What do I do instead of going out for a pint (or ten)? Could I feasably go to the pub and drink lemonade all night as my friends get smashed? How the hell can this work?

I need to get to the answers of those questions, that's for sure.

I cannot imagine where I will end up if I keep feeding this monster.

Until now I have never given much thought to the possible physical effects of binge drinking, although anyone can tell you that kidney failure, liver damage, and a whole host of other problems could be just around the corner.

But I never expected alcohol to have such negative mental effects. I've done some stuff in my time, as you've read, and these 'hangovers' are an easy match for the harshest, darkest of comedowns.

It cannot possibly end well for me if I carry on down this road.

Incidentally, today is one of my dark days. Wednesday night was heavy. And my mind was made up. Time to change.

So here I am. Day one. A friday night with no work the next day, but this time there's no aclohol in the house. There's no bottle of wine, or octet of Stella sat in the fridge.

Day one.

I'd love to hear any opinions and experience you lot have regarding this issue. Have you been there? Did you beat it? Are you still there?

Thanks for reading!