WAKING with a jolt, my head and heart thumping, I had no idea where I was or any recollection of the night before.
This had become my ‘normal’, a terrifying feeling fuelled by the bottle of vodka and several glasses of wine I’d got through the previous day.
A once enjoyable few drinks with friends had spiralled into an alcohol addiction, but I couldn’t see it.
A blackout here and there, unexplained bruises and an apology to whoever I’d fallen out with after one-too-many sambucas – I thought this was just the price you paid for a good night out.
As a sociable 25 year old living in London, it didn’t occur to me that it wasn’t normal at all.
Nor could I see that my nights out were gradually becoming more chaotic, and that the amount I was drinking was spiralling.
A couple once found me drunkenly stumbling around, miles from home, and were so worried they took me in for the night.
Another time I fell into a table at a swanky bar, smashing drinks everywhere.
The night before my 30th birthday got so wasted I hit the pavement face first, shattered a front tooth and spent the morning of my big day in a dentist’s chair.
Despite dozens of incidents like these, it would be another four years before I truly twigged that my drinking was out of hand.
And two more after that before I’d end up in rehab — physically addicted and completely broken by booze.
First sips of Hooch
Looking back, the signs that I’d become an alcoholic were always there.
From my first sip of Hooch at the age of 15, I always drank to get drunk. And why not – drinking was fun!
As a teenager it felt new and exciting. At university I practically had a degree in partying.
And once I entered the world of work, everyone seemed to be at it.
British women are the world’s biggest female binge drinkers, according to a 2023 report by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD).
A typical night out would start with several glasses of wine or fizz, progress to shots, and often end with me the last one standing — or falling over — at the bar.
Claire Weekes
Twenty-six per cent finish six drinks or more in a single sitting, at least once a month.
By my early twenties I was drinking far more than that, several times a week.
A typical night out would start with several glasses of wine or fizz, progress to shots, and often end with me the last one standing — or falling over — at the bar.
I’d be out most Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights and there’d usually be a cheeky lunchtime or post-work session with colleagues, too.
Boozing also played havoc with my love life. I’d get sozzled on dates to calm my nerves and partners would tire of my drunken behaviour.
More than one relationship came to an end because, in the words of one ex-boyfriend, I was “a nightmare” when I drank.
Boozy blackouts
I also didn’t realise at the time that I used booze to deal with every emotion. If I was happy, I drank.
If I was sad or worried, I drank.
When I was 28, I suffered a vicious assault while on holiday in Thailand, and in the months that followed I used alcohol as a crutch to try and get over it.
This, I now know, was the start of my relationship with alcohol turning sour.
I drank to cope with what had happened, and in the meantime the blackouts and embarrassing incidents became more frequent.
I’d often end up in floods of tears at the end of a night out.
I tried to kid myself that drinking was still fun, but in reality I was going into freefall.
Nights out gradually turned into nights in with boxes of wine, to avoid falling over drunk or falling asleep on the night bus on the way home.
It was like trying to wrench myself out of a toxic relationship. I hated what alcohol was doing to me… but I kept going back.
Claire Weekes
Hangovers would cause my anxiety to go through the roof and I started having panic attacks.
I’d turn up to work hungover and sneak off to the pub at lunchtime by myself, to ‘top up’ and feel vaguely normal again.
Things only became worse when, at 31, I moved back home in a bid to sort myself out. By now my finances were a mess and my career was stalling.
I clearly had a drink problem by this point but unbelievably, I still didn’t see it. I saw drinking as the solution to all the other problems I had.
And so I carried on, until one day I woke up with the shakes. Once again, I turned to alcohol to fix it.
Now I’d crossed a line and there was no going back.
Drinking round the clock
I started carrying vodka around in water bottles to keep the shakes at bay. Before I knew it, I was drinking round the clock.
The descent from there was fast and frightening. I was fired from my job for being drunk at work.
With no routine, my drinking really took off. And because I was living at home, it didn’t go unnoticed.
Women are advised to drink no more than 14 units a week.
At my worst I was more than doubling that every single day — ploughing through a bottle of vodka and several glasses of wine – easily polishing off seven bottles and 30 glasses a week.
Things came to a dramatic head when my mum found me unresponsive one day at home.
I was taken to hospital where they had to give me tablets to stop the withdrawal symptoms as the alcohol left my system.
By this point I was completely addicted.
Finally forced to admit I had a problem, I joined a local alcohol support group and started going to AA meetings.
But despite the damage I was doing to myself and everyone around me, still I couldn’t give up.
I’d manage a few weeks, find a new job and start to get back on my feet. Then something would set me off again.
It was like trying to wrench myself out of a toxic relationship.
I hated what alcohol was doing to me, but because getting drunk felt comforting and familiar, I kept going back.
Am I drinking too much alcohol?
According to the NHS, you could be misusing alcohol if:
- you feel you should cut down on your drinking
- other people have been criticising your drinking
- you feel guilty or bad about your drinking
- you need a drink first thing in the morning to steady your nerves or get rid of a hangover
Someone you know may be misusing alcohol if:
- they regularly drink more than 14 units of alcohol a week
- they’re sometimes unable to remember what happened the night before because of their drinking
- they fail to do what was expected of them as a result of their drinking (for example, missing an appointment or work because they’re drunk or hungover)
If you’re concerned about your drinking or someone else’s, a good first step is to see a GP.
They’ll be able to discuss the services and treatments available.
You can also contact:
- Drinkline national alcohol helpline on 0300 123 1110
- Alcohol Change UK
- Alcoholics Anonymous helpline on 0800 9177 650
- Al-Anon Family Groups helpline on 0800 0086 811
‘I’d finally had enough’
The next few months passed in a chaotic blur. More hospital visits. Huge rows with my family when I was drunk.
Taking myself off to hotels for days on end to drink alone.
Unable to hold down regular work, any money I did have quickly dwindled to nothing.
And then it came. The moment I’d finally had enough.
I was drunk when it happened, but it wasn’t huge and dramatic. I simply broke down, unable to carry on as I was anymore.
Within three days I was at a rehab facility in Bournemouth. My family were amazing, rallying round to fund my stay.
In the first week I shook from the alcohol withdrawal and cried constantly.
But as the shakes subsided, I finally felt like a weight was lifting.
Before, the booze would barely be out of my system before I’d relapse.
Finally, I was able to break that cycle and with a clear head, get to the bottom of why I drank the way I did.
Rehab helped me to see that my relationship with alcohol never had been – and never would be healthy, and that I had to say goodbye to it for good.
I was there for six months and will be forever grateful I was able to.
The number of women dying from alcohol-related liver disease is rising — with 2,700 deaths recorded in 2022 — the highest number on record.
If I’d carried on the way I was, I could have been a statistic too.
A typical night out for Claire would start with several glasses of wine or fizz then progress to shots[/caption]
On the other side
I left rehab ten years ago, and whilst recovery hasn’t been easy, it has been the best thing I’ve done.
In the early days there were lots of ‘sober firsts’ to navigate.
Birthdays and Christmases without a drink felt tough at first.
But I’d use the tools I learned in rehab to get me through.
If I felt tempted to drink, I’d call a friend in recovery for support, or remind myself how terrifying the morning after a blackout used to feel.
Waking up the next day without that terror always felt like a win.
As other areas of my life improved too, any temptation slowly died.
I found a new job and made a fresh start, renting a small flat in Bournemouth near the sea.
Relationships with friends and family, that my boozing had left hanging by a thread, slowly repaired.
Chaos, which seemed to follow me everywhere when I drank, disappeared from my life.
I now even enjoy sober dating, something ‘drunk me’ would never have imagined.
Just as my drinking problem crept up on me, so too did the gradual realisation that I’m far happier sober.
Now I can honestly say I don’t miss alcohol at all.
Like most toxic relationships, once you’re out the other side you realise just how much better off you are.
I drank to deal with every emotion – happiness, sadness or worry. When I did eventually get sober, learning to sit with these, rather than pour wine or vodka over them, was tough[/caption]
