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Teenage alcoholism - a cautionary tale

Date Posted: Friday, April 27, 2007
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No-one plans to become an alcoholic. It’s something that creeps up on you. I was 15 when I had my first drink and 20 by the time I finally admitted that I was an alcoholic.

 

I wasn’t the kind of person it would happen to - or so I thought. We weren’t wealthy but my parents had steady jobs and worked hard to put my brother and me through private school. They taught us to work hard, too, and I had a Saturday job in a grocery store on weekends. I got good grades at school and my parents were proud of me.

 

I’d never drunk before apart from the odd glass of wine at family celebrations. I didn’t even like it but then I started going out with an older boy. He was three years older than me, in my brother’s class.

 

That first drink is as much a teenage rite of passage as the first sneaky cigarette behind the bus shelter but what happens when it becomes something more?

I drank my first beer on the beach, late at night with my boyfriend and a group of his friends. I didn't even like it. It tasted disgusting but I kept drinking because everyone else was. The next day I felt awful. I had a headache and I was sick but because I’d never been drunk before I didn’t realise at first that it was a hangover. I was convinced my parents would be able to smell the alcohol on me and as I sat in class that morning with my head spinning I vowed never to drink again.

 

But it wasn’t that simple. Before I’d been a child but now I was hanging out with older people who did adult things. Drinking was part of their social scene and I didn’t want to be left out. It was such a cliche. I was running with the wrong crowd. Everyone would stock up on liquor and we’d go off somewhere quiet on our bikes. I started smoking, too, sometimes pot. Although I never really liked the taste of alcohol, I got used to it. Vodka was my favourite, usually served with Coke or sometimes straight. I felt grown up and I liked how I saw myself – a glass of vodka in my hand, a cigarette hanging from my fingers. I was confident, sophisticated.

 

Of course it wasn’t long before my parents realised. I was given the usual lecture about the dangers of drugs and alcohol and I promised to stop. But the truth is that it had become a part of who I was. In just a few months I had come to depend on it. I loved that warm feeling as the first mouthful slipped down my throat and the buzz that I got after two or three glasses. I felt I could do anything.

 

What I didn’t realise is that the opposite was true. At school, where I had been a good student, I couldn’t do anything properly. I was handing in homework late, flunking exams. I convinced myself it was because I didn’t care. In reality, I couldn’t handle it. Late nights, coming to school still half drunk meant I wasn’t thinking straight.

 

My parents were worried. They grounded me, sat with me while I did my assignments. I went to see the school counsellor but I wouldn’t or couldn’t admit I had a problem.  I justified my drinking to myself all the time. I was young, I was just having fun. Everyone else did it. What harm could a few drinks do anyway?

 

Whenever I got the chance, I would be back out drinking. I was no longer with my boyfriend but I had other friends I hung out with. They liked to have fun and drinks. They would go on binges but they weren't like me. They could stop and I couldn't. I found that two or three drinks was no longer enough. I could drink half a bottle of vodka without even noticing.

My parents had always planned for me to go to away to school in America or Canada but I was no longer interested. All I wanted to do was get a job and find my own place. Besides, when I finished school, my grades were so poor I don’t think anyone would have as taken me. As soon as I could I moved in with two girlfriends. I worked all sorts of jobs – secretary, store assistant - because I couldn’t hold one job down. I was constantly late. Once my manager found me sleeping off a hangover in the stockroom and sacked me on the spot.

My friends noticed that I was getting out of control but whenever they tried to talk to me, to suggest I should cut back, I refused to listen. I told myself that I could handle it. I could stop any time I wanted.

 

The first time I realised my life was out of control was when I went to a party. I was very drunk. The people I had gone with had left earlier but I stayed and carried on drinking. Eventually I passed out on the couch. When I woke up to find myself alone with two men I didn’t know. One was sitting on the floor next to me stroking my hair. I jumped up. He began to touch my leg and said something like, ‘Come on, you know you want to’. I was still disorientated but I knew I didn’t want this to happen. I tried to stand up but he pushed me back down on the couch. The other one tried to pull my T-shirt over my head. I shouted for help. A couple of guys came in from the party to see what was happening and the others left.

 

One of my friends took me home. I was badly shaken up but even through the drink haze I knew that I was the only one to blame for putting myself in that position. I was too drunk to think about my safety. My life could be over before it even started. I had wasted so many opportunities already. I wasn’t a teenager having fun anymore. I was 20-year-old alcoholic without a proper job or any prospects. I knew that I had to stop but it was almost impossible because drinking had become a way of life. I went to see my family doctor who referred me to a counsellor. I genuinely wanted to help myself but I could never live up to my good intentions. It was like I needed alcohol to get me through the day even though I knew deep down that was what was making my life unbearable.

In the end it was my parents who really helped and sent me to a clinic in Philadelphia. I went on an intensive detox programme and when I left I was prescribed Antabuse, a drug which gives you a violent reaction if you drink any alcohol. I moved back in with my parents and I tried to get my life back together. It was one of the hardest six months of my life. All of my schoolfriends were at college or had good jobs. I had been left behind.

I can’t pretend it hasn’t been a struggle. Some days I didn’t think I could get out of bed but I did come through it. I was lucky that I had such a supportive family. They could easily have given up on me but they never did. When I was at my lowest they pushed me to start studying again. I got some qualifications and trained as a teacher. I haven’t drunk for seven years but I know that I will never be cured. I am an alcoholic. End of story.

Alcohol is a drug. Yes, it can be fun but it can be dangerous too. My story is a warning. Listen to it.

 

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