My name is Julian and I am an alcoholic. I am a member of the AA in Cape Town, South Africa. I have been sober almost five years now. Stopping drinking has not been a problem for me over the last five years. In fact, that was the easy part. It’s the rest of my demons that are the problem. It’s the anger, the guilt, the nonsense in my mind that tells me I am not good enough, and it’s the ever prevailing need to find meaning in my life.
My father is the catalyst in my life. He was an abusive man, a drunk and a serial womaniser. At a young age I used to sip some of his beer when he was not looking or when there was just a little left in his glass or the bottle. I somehow knew that it was wrong, but that did not stop me.
Drinking and being abusive was the norm for my family when I was growing up. During the week, my dad would drink and this ultimately ended in shouting matches with my mother. Before long, things became physical and my mother would end up bleeding. My siblings and I were either shivering, crying or silently praying that he would die. It was a nightmare that we relived almost every night. Just hearing my father’s voice when he came home from work (the few times that he actually worked) made me tremble with fear. Like clockwork, my mother would smell liquor on his breath and the arguments would start. As a result of this, he would drink his wages and we would starve the next week. My father often left our home for months at a time, presumably to his other family, and we would not hear from him. I found this to be true years later when I followed him to his other family. The times he was not home, we were happy and content. But it was not just my father who drank, it was the men and women in our neighbourhood. Constantly fighting and stabbings would happen over weekends. Our lives in that neighbourhood were surrounded by addicted men and women who destroyed lives, their own and ours.
Those early years of mine ensured that I would never drink, beat my wife or dare not to work one day. I never drank throughout out my teenage years. Never. I started to drink a glass of wine and a Guinness beer when I was about to leave London to come home to Cape Town in September 1995. I was a proud teetotaller. It was unusual for a journalist not to smoke or drink during those times. My peers all drank and smoked. I happily sipped on my soft drinks. I did not need to blend in to be seen. I was quite capable of socially fitting in. I had no need to be the centre of attention, it came naturally to me. After all, I was hundred of kilometres away from my abusive father.
But then drinking became a part of my life, again. Succumbing to peer pressure I took a sip of wine and beer – and all my memories of my childhood came flooding back. I could remember the taste of that beer that was left in the bottle. It was almost instinctive and I needed more.
Back in South Africa, I began to gradually drink only red wine. I was like every other regular person. I only drank minimally at dinner time or at social dinner parties. I always wanted to be in control. I remembered the effect alcohol had on us as a family and I was not going to be my dad. Never. Post-1995, I drank socially and gradually it increased and eventually turned into binging over the last 18 years. During that time my drinking got out of control. I never believed it. I was not a drunk. I was the happy guy, the guy that everyone loved. I would pick up the phone and call my friends and we would either end up at the most expensive pubs and bars in the city or in the sleaziest. During this time, I got married and tried to manage my drinking. I was not a heavy drinker then, but there was always wine, beer and whisky in my house. Often in those times I would binge drink and stay out on a <span class=”aBn” tabindex=”0″ data-term=”goog_1801582313″><span class=”aQJ”>Saturday</span></span> morning watching rugby and football matches in a local pub, drinking throughout an eight hour stretch. I watched teams on the television that I didn’t even support. It was simply about the drinking and for as long my money lasted.
I became my father, without the physical abuse part. I was everything he was and I could not stop it. I looked for occasions to drink. I hosted parties or on my travels I often drank alone in the hotel pub. I travelled more and more and drank alone more and more. Drinking became a numbing drug to me. I drank to forget, drank to remember, drank to get angry, drank to pity myself. I was restless, I began to wander, to not be happy with my present situation. I wanted to be free. Needless to say, my first marriage failed dismally. And the ensuing freedom I got meant more drinking, partying and simply living my life the way I wanted. Against all knowledge of the abusive nature of alcohol – cunning, deceiving and lying – I became my father. I did not care if anyone knew I was drinking. Hell, I flaunted my drinking at work, at functions and amongst my friends. After all, my friends lives were shattered too. We were consumed by our collective failure and became victims of our own undoing. We blamed everyone else except ourselves. We turned to alcohol like it was our long lost friend, the stranger at a bar became our therapist. I spilled my soul more than I can care to remember as I drank and felt sorry for myself. I knew what to do, but I could not stop myself. My life as I knew it was in a downward spiral. I had many people trying to intervene, and I didn’t care for them or listen to their advice or encouragement. I flaunted my drinking in front of my parents who were now both much older and more civilised to each other. I hated my father and I hated my mother for staying with a man that did not love her.
They say in the AA we should try to stay away from people and places that drag us back into the abyss of alcoholism. I had a trying time adhering to this before I eventually stopped drinking. After my divorce I met a woman who later became my second wife. She unknowingly became my angel, my lamp, my light as I slowly woke up from my deep and troubled life. It was hard to leave my alcoholic life for this woman. I tried to cling onto it like nothing before. She believed in me, forgave me and encouraged me to get help. I eventually did. My first foray into an AA meeting was almost five years ago on a rainy Wednesday evening. I was early for the meeting and I saw no lights on in the old church building near my house. It was raining and my mind was telling me to leave. The little I knew about the AA was what I saw on TV or read hurriedly on the internet. Eventually some people came and I ventured into the room. Soon afterwards more and more folks came in. Chairs were placed out, a table in front was set up and within minutes I found myself sitting with a bunch of alcoholics in recovery. I was not going to say anything. I was here to observe and to critique at the end. An excuse for me not to return. To my surprise, everyone hugged me when I said I was a newcomer. Weeks went by and I started to admit to myself and to the group  that I was indeed an alcoholic. It felt strange. It felt invigorating and it released my demons. I eventually found my way back to God and I embraced the 12-step programme. I have heard hundreds of stories over the last few years and I’ve shared mine.
Attending meetings and working with a sponsor is a must for the newcomer and the old timer alike. It has its rewards. My life at home changed. I have a meaningful relationship with my wife and children. My cravings have stopped. My ability to self-destruct has stopped. I now fill my time with positive things. My old friends are gone and I am surrounded my positive and caring family. My wife has been my champion and I am forever indebted to her for her belief and trust in me.
It has been a slow process, a deep process and one that I am not done with yet. I still have my demons, my fears, my resentments and my anger to deal with. But I take it one day at a time. At least I am really sober now. Â I now live outside South Africa in Antwerp, Belgium and until this day my sobriety is intact.
Julian J.