I told myself I was not an addict

As I sit here writing this story, not even I can really believe it has been 365 days, and counting, since I took my last beer.

I vividly remember waking up the morning of April 12 2014 - it was a beautiful sunny Sunday morning for many, but for me, it was a gloomy dark day, having spent the better part of the early morning throwing up my guts.

The previous night, I had drank two liters of whiskey, and I remember thinking this must be the day I would finally meet my maker.

At that moment, my throbbing head threatening to split open thanks to a terrible hangover, I made the decision to never again take another alcoholic drink.

Up to now, I am not sure if my decision was influenced by this near-death hangover and hugging of the toilet for hours, or my mother’s ten year-long prayers for my sobriety. Whatever the case, it has been one year since my last drink.

THE BEGINNING

My exposure to alcohol started at a very young age. I remember one day my dad picking me up from school, and on our way home, we stopped at his favourite local bar.

When I say local, I truly mean the rundown dusty village bar, the kind of bar that no matter where else you go to drink, you still find time to stop by for just one more drink. Ironic, isn’t it?

“Aaaah moja tu and then we go home,” my dad casually assured me. Of course, we were there for a while. As it happens in most local bars, it did not take long before my dad and his friends had more beers on the table than they could actually drink. To date, I have never really understood the obsession with having countless beers on a table.

“Moja tu.” There is nothing as abused as this statement.

What was to be one or two for the road for him, ended up been one too many for myself, as I cannily stole one bottle of Guinness from their table and indulged myself. I was nine years.

At first, the bitter taste was a complete turn off, but the buzz afterwards was a feeling that excited me. It made no sense at all why anyone in his or her right mind would drink such a nasty tasting drink, but as the buzz kicked in, so did the feeling of excitement kick in too, and that for me, marked the curiosity that triggered the beginning of my drinking problem.

Years passed by before I drank any more alcohol, but I never really forgot the feeling that most people describe as getting high, or the buzz, from my first taste of alcohol.

Perhaps this was mainly because my mum never let my dad pick me up from school after that incident; I will never forget the look that my mother gave my father when we finally got home late in the night. Both of us could barely walk straight.

When I finally got to high school, I could now pursue my thrill for the buzz. With the little money I got as pocket money, I could afford to buy cheap vodka, assuming it was vodka.

I was not alone, in this; I had found several birds of the same feather, and we flocked together. We formed a click that no one could stand, but at that period, I was having too much of a good time to realise that I was headed for disaster. We kept our drinking a very well-guarded secret, and instilled fear in anyone that seemed likely to expose us to the administration.

My drinking  continued till I completed high school and joined university. Over the years, I secretly continued drinking, not thinking I was gradually developing a problem. As far as I was concerned, my life was not skipping a beat. I was aggressively pursuing my education and doing very well.

I successfully completed my undergraduate degree and then enrolled onto my masters program, both times graduating at the top of my class, never mind that I had a full time job. Clearly, I was in total control, or so I thought.

I remember an incident where my friends and I decided to go binge drinking until 6am in the morning, yet we all knew we were expected to report to work at 8am. It became a game, and whoever would not make it to work, was expected to buy everyone else alcohol later that evening. For fear of having to buy a day’s worth of alcohol for my friends, I did not miss work, not even a single day. Whether I was productive or not is a story for another day

PEER PRESSURE

I remember days when I told myself enough was enough, but the peer pressure would not let me. I was the cool guy that had helped my friends acquire and appreciate a taste for a good whisky. I was known as the party animal that loved drowning down bottles and bottles of whisky. I did not go to the club to get tipsy, I went there to get wasted, period. I was the last person my friends expected to quit.

Drinking daily to the point of staggering is an expensive habit, and needless to say, all our salaries were only good for paying rent and the bar bill.

I tried to quit several times, but each time, I talked myself out of it

“You are doing very well, you have graduated with both your undergrad and masters degree, you have an amazing job, you are driving a good car, you have no problem,” a voice within would always whisper. I never lacked positive things to say to myself that justified that my drinking was not a problem. I believed I was fully functional; therefore seeing no reason to change anything in my life, especially my drinking.

Looking back, by believing I was in control, and fully functional, I missed many opportunities. I cannot recall a particular instance that I know for a fact I missed out on an opportunity, but without a doubt, I missed out on really finding my life’s purpose much earlier in life.

The last decade, I made multiple attempts at sobriety. Many of the said attempts were prompted by massive hangovers and close call incidents that brought me very close to death.

I was also doing bad financially, since most of my salary went into buying alcohol. Like most drunks, I would promise myself to spend a certain amount, only to find myself driving to an ATM to replenish my wallet.

While I had all intentions to quit drinking, I kept hearing a voice that convinced me that “I wasn’t that bad, that I am a functioning alcoholic” and that made it ok. I remember many times when I was too drunk to drive, but I still got behind the wheel and drove, telling myself that I wasn’t that drunk, that I knew the road like the back of hand - risking the lives of innocent road users due to my selfish drunk self. I remember an incident where my friends and I went drinking, and in the morning, (we were still steadily drinking) he started vomiting blood, but instead of rushing him to hospital, we ordered more whisky and poured him a glass, assuring him that he would feel better once he drunk it.

Looking back, it was very stupid of us, but in our drunken stupor, it did not occur to us that he could have been dying.

After many years of trying to kick this dangerous habit, last year became my breakthrough year. I remember battling to stay focused and fighting the temptation to walk into a bar afterwards.

As some pastors would say, the devil is a liar. When I told my friends I had quit drinking, offers for free drinks began flying my way from all sides. At first, I stopped socialising with most of my friends, and turned down invitations to parties. I had to make a conscious decision to uproot myself from anybody and anything I perceived as bad influence.

I was also very fortunate to have gotten the urge to have a relationship with God, and in that pursuit, I was lucky enough to find Mavuno church. This church became part of my transformative journey, and has continued to be. I no longer felt that I was losing something because I no longer took alcohol. Before I stopped drinking, I would spend my Sundays in bed, nursing a hangover. Now Sunday morning finds me fresh and invigorated. I had found my new buzz, and I had found a new source of high.

But staying sober was not easy, especially those initial days. I remember one day, as I drove home from work in the evening, stopping by the roadside to admire a Heineken advert on a billboard. For about five minutes, I stared at that ice-cold bottle of Heineken with longing. The thirst at that point was real, but I was determined not to look back, so I resumed my journey home. This journey has not been easy at all, and to be honest, it is a battle that one has to be ready for. Choosing sobriety is the easy part, maintaining it is a battlefield. 

YOU TOO CAN DO IT

That said, I strongly believe that anyone with a drinking problem is just one step away from sobriety. Simply acknowledging that you have a problem and making the decision to walk away from the alcohol is the first step towards sobriety. Like me, some people are able to make this first step by themselves, but others may need someone to take the walk with them. You could be that person for someone, so look around you and see if someone needs your help.

One year on, I am telling my story, not that I deserve a pat on the back, or even to be congratulated, but to show that anyone can become an alcoholic, even that educated man, that talented CEO, that brilliant professor. These are people you would not expect to have a drinking problem.

Take me for instance, I seemed to be doing well, and unlike the stereotyped mental picture we have of drunks – dirty and unkempt and poor, I had a job, was well-dressed and well-groomed, and seemed to have my life figured out.

I am also telling my story to let you know that there is hope in recovery, so if you are that person that believes you aren’t that bad like I did, you may very well be right. You are not that bad right now, but it will get worse.

What I know for sure is that alcoholism is progressive, and I can assure you, if you keep drinking, one day you will be that bad.