On a cold dark day in January 2001, six days after my 50th birthday, my sister delivered me to the doors of Broadway Lodge treatment centre in Weston-super-Mare. I was desperately ill, underweight and severely depressed. I felt hopeless. My life was in ruins. For several years I had been trapped in the cycle of alcohol dependence and abuse.

If I was in despair, then so too were my family and friends. Those last years were marked with attempts to stop drinking, failures to do so, large doses of antidepressants and admissions to psychiatric hospitals. I was wracked with shame and guilt. I had hurt many people, including the ones I loved the most. Alcohol had taken me over like a dark possession. I was in my own private hell.

My drinking had started normally. In my teens and 20s it symbolised conviviality and friendship. I only drank with others on social occasions. I had been a happy child, achieving at school, and eventually I became a teacher. I met my future husband while we were students together.

We were very happy, bought our first home and eventually welcomed our two beautiful sons. Life seemed rosy. In 1980 I chose to leave teaching for a while to spend time with our little boys.

My early 30s found me in full-time teaching again, running a home and family. Life was hectic. I started to enjoy a glass or two of wine in the evening at the end of a busy day, congratulating myself on my achievements. Time to relax and a drink was my reward. However those couple of glasses gradually increased and became a ‘need’ rather than a treat. I tried to cut down. Other people noticed my drinking and I became an embarrassment in social situations. I became unreliable and frequently went to work with hangovers.

My family urged me to stop drinking and I tried. I attended psychotherapy, cognitive behavioural therapy, took Antabuse (a drug which has an adverse reaction when alcohol is consumed), saw psychiatrists, took antidepressants. Sometimes these methods gave me a short respite, but then I craved and drank again.

By the mid-1990s I had become a secret, lonely drinker, smuggling vodka into my bedroom and drinking it neat for a ‘quick fix’. I had also become a binge drinker. I could abstain for a period until I could stand it no longer and the result was desperate binges. My moods when drinking swung from initial highs to blackouts when I couldn’t remember what I’d done, what I’d said or where I’d been. My family never knew what state I’d be in when they came home or whether I’d be there at all.

Eventually, in April 2000, with both my sons away at university, my husband left me. He couldn’t live with the hopeless alcoholic I’d become. I didn’t blame him – I didn’t want to live with me either.

Nowhere to go

In December 2000 my last binge led me to my fourth admission to psychiatric hospital. I then had the opportunity to go to Broadway Lodge. The idea of a ‘treatment centre’ or ‘rehabilitation unit’ terrified me. I didn’t know what to expect. Nobody I knew had ever been to one, but I had nowhere else to go.

After admission, I was immediately struck by the care and kindness shown by the medical staff. I was put on a detoxification programme, shown my room and given a folder outlining treatment and a very structured timetable. I was taken to meet the other patients in the coffee lounge. I balked at the idea of communal living because I’d been living in loneliness and isolation for so long. I was astounded that they were chatting and laughing. What could possibly be amusing about addiction? But these people welcomed and assured me. They knew how I felt – they remembered their first day.

I was expected to join the activities immediately. No lying in bed feeling sorry for myself! I had to make a start and join in. From 7.00–9.00am we were kept busy with group work, lectures, therapeutic duties, videos and assignments. I was allotted a personal counsellor for frequent one-to-one sessions. I was able to open up and discuss things I had never shared with anyone before. I wasn’t blamed, condemned or told to pull myself together. An important therapeutic tool was sharing with others, both in and out of group, our experiences and problems. I learned how to “trust, risk and share”. And I began to feel better.

My peers came from many different backgrounds and they were many different ages, but we all had one thing in common: we were all there, whatever our particular addiction, to learn to face life without our ‘props’ and to lead useful lives again. There was a wonderful feeling of belonging. We laughed and cried together.

Physical craving

In Primary Care (eight weeks) treatment was based on complete abstinence and followed by the first five steps of the Twelve Step Programme used by Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous and other similar self-help groups. I learned that alcoholism was a disease with a physical craving and mental obsession towards alcohol. I learned my powerlessness over alcohol, its consequences and was offered the tools of faith, trust and hope in its place.

I was given a choice to regain personal responsibility to change attitudes and behaviours of the past, to begin to redress the wrongs I had done to myself and others. I didn’t have to do this alone. People were there to support and encourage me. My friends and family visited and recognised the changes in me.

At the end of the initial eight weeks, I decided to go on to Secondary Care for a further 13 weeks. I was feeling so much better and wanted to continue treatment. I felt safe to move on. Part of the requirement in Secondary Care was to attend at least three meetings of AA each week and learn more about the Fellowship. We were urged to continue this involvement when we left treatment. I was only too glad to take these suggestions on board and today I am an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I left Broadway Lodge in June 2001 and moved on to the Third Stage house in Bristol. Here I continued to attend AA meetings and I found a home group and a sponsor.

This is where I am today. I have bought my own flat and settled here. I do service in AA, helping other alcoholics on their road to recovery. It’s a privilege to be able to help others in return for the help I received.