my greatest achievement is not even on my CV… it’s that I’m sober.
I once read somewhere that the average person tells 4 lies a day. The most common lie is 'I'm fine'.
Two simple words.
These are the two words that almost killed me.
By 29, my drinking had become a severe problem, and I was suicidal. Although externally, I had the material tokens of success, the job, the car, the house and a wife expecting our first daughter. I had reached a place where I would drink and not want to wake up. Life had become mentally and emotionally unbearable, and I didn't want to continue to live the way I was feeling. Nevertheless, if anyone asked how I was, the reply was always I'm fine as a mantra - no one could see the pain behind the smile. On the outside, I was a loud and boisterous personality that most people liked. Still, inside, I felt alone, empty and could no longer cope. No matter how much I suffered, I could never share it with anyone else. At 29, I probably had a body that could have carried on heavy drinking for a few more years, but my spirit was completely broken. My life felt like a house of cards, and the bottom layer was about to give way any minute.
In those last days of drinking, I remember sometimes barely having the emotional strength to get out of bed to face the world. Alone in bed with my head under the covers, I felt safe and protected from the weight of the world I was carrying around. Once I finally summoned the strength to get up and have a wash, I would not even be able to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I couldn't face looking at what I had become, a terrified paranoid emotional wreck. How had I reached this point? I come from a loving family and am the youngest of four boys. The baby of the family who was always doted on. Yet, for some reason, I needed to drink to make sense of life. There are no other issues with alcohol in my family, even in my extended family. Our roots come from the Punjab region of India, and I come from a community known for its heavy drinkers. Still, my drinking stood out. Friends and family would say I drank like there was a hole in the back of my head, and I could not camouflage my drinking in any groups for long. As heavy a drinker as I was, I never saw alcohol as an issue because I was not a daily drinker. My reasoning at the time was, Ok, I am a big drinker and have the occasional binge, but I work hard and look after my family. I deserve to let loose. I am far too successful to be an alcoholic. As much as I kept rationalising my drinking with this thinking, the binges were lasting longer and getting closer together to the point that daily drinking was on the horizon. The consequences of my drinking were increasing in severity. People around me were no longer laughing at my drunken antics. I thought myself a knowledgeable individual, an IT architect by trade. My ego would whisper, 'how can someone as clever as you have a drinking problem?'. I was too busy listening to my ego and not picking up on the clues life gave me that things were far from ok. I would frequently drink to blackout.
It was apparent to those close to me what problems alcohol was causing me externally; however, nobody could see the internal problems I thought alcohol was solving. The paradox of my existence was that my heart was crying out for help, but I could only say “I’m fine”. I used these simple two words as a shield to protect myself by keeping others out, but it was a barrier stopping the help I desperately needed from getting in. There were many missed opportunities to get help during my emotional descent, opportunities I was too afraid to take. I had to reach rock bottom before I was able to get the help that changed my life. I had to get to the point where carrying on the way I was had become so painful that I was starting to see only one way out. That same pain was ultimately what led me to seek help.
I remember the day that I first sought help. I was sat in my car outside a 12-step meeting, full of fear and anxiety to the point where I could barely breathe. Deep inside, I knew that my fear was less than the fear of returning to the life I had been living; something had to change. And something did change that day, although I didn’t realise it until many years later. I left that first meeting with hope, I realised I was not as alone as I had thought. Other people who thought and felt just like me had been through what I was experiencing. The beauty of that first meeting was that a room full of strangers saved my life.
Today, after over a decade in recovery, I live a life beyond what my wildest dreams in addiction could have imagined. I owe it all to recovery and the people in recovery. These people carried me while I didn’t have the strength to carry myself. Today my message to anyone struggling with alcohol is that it is ok to ask for help – it is ok not to be all right. Please don’t suffer in silence. You are not alone. Sometimes, we may hesitate to ask for help because of various reasons. We may fear being perceived as weak or vulnerable, worrying that we'll burden others with our problems. However, it's crucial to remember that no one is an island, and we all need a helping hand at some point.
Asking for help doesn't make you weak or inadequate; it makes you human. It takes courage and self-awareness to acknowledge when we can't handle everything alone. So, let go of any hesitation or pride that holds you back, and reach out. You'll be amazed at the positive impact it can have on your life and the lives of those around you.