Friday, 9th March 2012, was just a typical day for me as it started. I had woken up after a night of heavy drinking feeling sick, shameful and fearful, so to get rid of that feeling, I did what I had been doing for some time to alleviate that feeling, I took another drink, I needed to stop shaking it did not matter that it was only 7 am, it was 12 pm midday somewhere! that was always my go-to answer whenever I was asked: “is it too early for a drink.” I had some wine, got the girls up for school and dropped them off, and then I went to a place called the bridge programme. Bridge is a substance misuse programme based in Northampton, Uk.
Bridge recruits, trains and supervises volunteers who have had drug or alcohol problems themselves or close contact with people who have. They act as mentors or support workers to clients with drug or alcohol problems. The aim is to help Bridge members deal with their substance misuse by providing practical support concerning social aspects that negatively impact their lives.
As well as offering members the opportunity to engage with a mentor, Bridge has developed and constantly review a programme of physical and other activities that are available to members. Also, they offer members assistance with education, training and employment and housing issues. Members can benefit from all the services Bridge provides or choose those that would be most beneficial (either alongside or independent of a mentoring relationship).
Members must be at least 18 years of age and have had a problem with alcohol or drugs. They will also have some motivation to control, reduce or cease their drug/alcohol use and benefit from the support and encouragement of volunteers who have direct experience. Volunteers are trained for their role and fill an important and sensitive position. This programme sounded perfect to me. They even had an onsite gym that I could use whenever I wished to. I parked the car, and walked around the corner, found the door that I was looking for and walked in. Oh my goodness, the walls were dirty, and wallpaper was falling off the wall.
I climbed the unvacuumed stairs and met with a lady behind a desk, I signed in, and I remembered I had not paid for a parking ticket for my car. Oh, I said I haven’t put a ticket on my car. I will be right back as I fled down the stairs. I am sure she was thinking the same as me, “shall I just do a runner” I felt very uncomfortable. Regardless, I returned, and I sat down and told another stranger about my drinking, how much I was drinking and the massive issues that would constantly develop due to my alcoholism. I can not remember if I told her the truth. But I know I was desperate for help. This was the 3rd or 4th organization that I had tried to get sober with. Nothing worked. So, please forgive me for this next part that I am about to say. Today I have been educated, but on that day nine years ago, I thought I was better than the people I saw around me, better than the people who were scruffy-looking, non shaved, young no-hopers. I had a house, a car, a business. I was not like these people at all. If only they did this kind of thing for posher people! Oh yes, I thought it. So far up my arse, I couldn’t see any daylight. Writing this, I hang my head in shame that I once ever thought I was better than anyone. I am an alcoholic, nothing more, nothing less. The only difference between a homeless alcoholic and me was my park bench was my sofa. I left the bridge programme telling the organizers I would be back next week, not sure either of us believed me.
I picked up two bottles of wine on my way home and headed for “My park bench.” The girls were going to their dads for the weekend, so I did not have to worry about collecting them from school. All I needed to worry about was my partner, and things had gotten so bad between us that we only saw each other once a week on a Friday night. That is all I had to stay sober for, one night per week, couldn’t even bloody do that. While slowly getting drunker, I stumbled across the website for a 12 step recovery program that works through meetings, and I read some of the stories. I identified that’s me. That’s just how I behave but remembering that in 2003 I had been to one of those meetings and didn’t think it was for me. At that meeting, I was greeted by a lovely lady, and she said, Hello, my name is Leslie, and I have been sober for 15 years, Wow this Shit don’t work if you are still coming after 15 years! I completely missed the information that she was trying to tell me. She was sober and had been for 15 years due to those meetings. I heard many stories in that meeting that night, but I looked for the differences, not the similarities, and I never returned. Here I was nine years on and worse than ever, worse than some of the stories I had heard in 2003. I had accepted that I was an alcoholic, and I honestly thought I would die like that. The next moment I am aware of is my partner shaking me to wake me up. Shit. I had been caught again. He was furious, but I was adamant; they were not my empty bottles.
I have not been drinking, I would say, I pleaded with him, I don’t know how they got there. Lying came so naturally to me. I had done it for so long to try at least and cover up my drinking over the years. Then I hit rock bottom. I smashed the bottle and went for him with it. I had always been a very aggressive drunk, but not to my loved ones. He grabbed my arm, and that broke me. I knew I had pushed him to his limits. We are done, he yells and walks out the door. I had heard that many, many times before, but this time I knew that he meant it. I dropped to my knees and cried, cried as I hadn’t cried since the passing of my amazing Dad in 2000. I didn’t know what to do, I had tried and tried so hard not to drink, but I couldn’t stop. At that point, I was given the gift of desperation. I had only two choices, I was either going to put myself in front of a train, or I was going to get well (and I don’t say that lightly). Thank goodness I chose the latter choice. The only thing I had not tried was Rehab. It was expensive, where would I get the money from? Who cares? I will figure it out.
I ring a friend. She wasn’t a friend, more a drinking companion. I tell her what has happened and told her I need her to ring around all the nearby Rehabs and whoever can come and get me today; that’s where I will go. I go to get a bottle of Vodka; hey, what do I have to lose at this point. I ring my mum. She is an old lady who is in hospital. I was so selfish back then. Alcoholism is such a selfish disease. I tell her I am admitting myself to Rehab. She is so worried about me, had been for so many years. I ask if I can borrow some money, how much? I don’t know yet, I say.
I ring the girl’s Dad, tell him I am admitting myself to Rehab. Can he look after the girls while I am there? He tells me I am selfish! Always thinking only about my self, any proper loving father wouldn’t even have to think about it, but I am not going to use this as a slag feast. My friend had phoned around, so many, and the Rehab’s name where I was going was The Haynes Clinic in Bedford. They were driving out to get me at about 7 pm. I continue to swig my Vodka and coke and anxiously await their arrival. Was I doing the right thing? Oh, christ, I was nervous. I still had no idea how much this was going to cost. They may have told me, but I was too drunk to remember. I paid a £2000.00 deposit. I have no idea what the time was when Gorden and Mark arrived in the big black minibus to get me. It was all such a blur now. I told them I wasn’t going to leave until I had finished my Vodka, and Gorden said, “that’s fine, mate, cause it is going to be the last drink you ever have.” To be fair to him, as I write this, So far to date, it was the last drink I had. Before we left, I had another Acquaintance turn up and talk me out of it, telling me that I was not that bad. I remember screaming at him, ” IM A FUCKING ALCOHOLIC AND I NEED HELP.
Northampton to Bedford is about a 40minute trip, but it felt like I had been in that minibus for days, and all I could ask is, “are we there yet?” “Are we there yet?” “Are we there yet?” but it was not an exciting tone like from a toddler excited for a holiday destination. Welcome my new nickname, yeap. I was then lovingly referred to as Are we there yet. I got taken to a lovely house and introduced to my new housemates. I was crying. What the Hell was I doing? Rehab? That’s so hardcore. I had no idea what this place was like. I was too drunk to care when my friend was calling around. But fear had sobered me up a little now. I had no idea if I could afford it. Suddenly I felt like a fraud, and Only I could blag myself into Rehab without paying for it first. I don’t remember too much about the first night. During my stay, my house manager told me that I saw the residential doctor on my first night, but I don’t remember. I remember being told that I could not go to bed until I had started my detox medication, but they couldn’t give it to me until 2 am because of how much alcohol I had drunk. I remember my house manager telling me that I was not allowed visitors for the first week, and I couldn’t see my girls for two weekends. I was not happy about that and started rambling about how no one would tell me that I couldn’t see my girls. It was pitch black. I had no idea where I was, and I could focus because I was so drunk, I start and fail miserably to climb the gate to get out. I was not staying there a minute longer. The house manager says to me, look, it is late, stay tonight and see how you feel in the morning. I went to bed, walking into the wrong room looking for the bathroom. I wake a stranger up in his bed, oops, not the toilet.
In the morning, I get up very sheepish, very afraid, no idea what awaits me. I go downstairs to all the people I had met the night before, not remembering any of them, all men, different ages and very different ways of life, that was very apparent. Everyone was so friendly, but I felt like a little girl who had lost her parents and oh my nerves, I cried some more. My house manager was so lovely, and she was the only lady there, she hugged me. I told her that I didn’t know if I could afford to be there, and she told me not to worry about any of that, and they would sort it out for me on Monday. so I spend the weekend feeling like a fraud. One of the other residents had recorded me the night before trying to climb over the gate. It was hilarious, and the funniest part of that story was the entrance was, in fact, not even locked. I could have just undone the latch. Monday came, and the house manager took us for our first session. Three houses came together for the sessions, so in total, there was about 15 of us. I first had to go to the office and sort out the finances. 4 weeks cost £11000.00 (equivalent to about $20000.00) shit! So I get on the telephone with my mum and between we manage to beg, steal and borrow the extra £9000.00 I needed. I only finished paying that back five years ago, and I am so proud to say I did it as I was excellent at not repaying money to people. During those four weeks at Rehab, I would have done whatever they told me to. If they had told me to run around the park naked, I would have done it. If they said jump, I would have asked how high?
I was desperate, and these people seemed to have the answers, and I had nowhere else to go. Rehab was my last resort in getting sober and turning my life around. IT HAD TO WORK, but I heard clear instructions. It only works if I work it. The Rehab was based on a 12 step program, the same 12 step program that I spoke about earlier, but this time I was ready to listen, prepared to learn. We went to meetings every day, and that was not a choice. If you didn’t go to the meetings, you had to leave the program, and it was as simple as that. They made us clean the houses and cook everyone’s dinner, they were very hard on us, and I can’t lie; I expected some time off from housework and cooking with how much it cost, but I just got on with it, did as they told me. THIS HAD TO WORK. In those four weeks, I looked at myself and not blaming others. I looked at how I had hurt people and not just about poor little old me, I learned and digested some honest home truths about myself, and this was only the beginning. In those four weeks, I felt so safe, so protected from alcohol. Given a chance, I would have stayed for longer, but I couldn’t afford it. I met some of the most amazing people in those four weeks and have a connection that can never be broken. I am still in contact with some of them today. I saw people succeed, and I saw people fall, alcoholism is a killer, and I will be eternally grateful to everyone, including the staff I met at the Haynes clinic, as they flattened the path out to start my recovery journey.