My Story Continued

Addiction My Story

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To this day my biggest regret is becoming a blackout drinker. One incident in particular haunts me to this day. I went drinking with my friend Eoin, whom I knew from the hospitality sector and was introduced to by another friend. I knew he was a fellow alcoholic so drinking with him for the evening was a great idea at the time. I can vaguely remember drinking in three pubs, we took shots, had pints, tipped the staff and had the craic. I believe it was my payday, the only day of the week I could afford to be pub drinking. In the last pub money was getting tight and regretfully I believe I suggested we go for cans. All I can remember from then was getting the knock on the door two days later. Eoin had not reported to work and was considered a missing person. I had no memory of leaving him and was blissfully unaware of the seriousness of the situation at the time. I later went on to bring the guards to all my drinking spots I had including squats. I was questioned for weeks by the guards, they couldn’t understand how a person could drink so excessively he could blackout.

Eoin’s body would later be retrieved from the first drinking spot I brought the guards to. I felt a lot of guilt and anger which fuelled my addictions to new levels. To this day I don’t know what happened to Eoin but I pray regularly, selfishly hoping it was a decision he made himself, one that wasn’t influenced by me in any way. (Eoin I hope you are at peace now, it’s been a while.) I should have ran to Cuan Mhuire Rehabilitation after that but I didn’t. I decided to live by the bottle and die by the bottle. My street drinking became a daily occurrence and I would gamble every opportunity I got. I would later be taken in by homeless services (The Fairgreen, Cope Galway you will be in my heart forever) again and my addictions just escalated from there.

I was homeless before this Government made it popular and I loved it. It allowed me to pursue my two loves in life, alcoholism and gambling. I lacked all the things most people gain through maturity; self-discipline and responsibilities. My only responsibility was to pay me rent every week, which didn’t always happen. I felt free, or so I thought. I was a slave. I learnt recently where the word addiction comes from. Apparently there was a slave called Addictus who wasn’t allowed to speak or do anything without his master’s permission. I am and always was a slave to alcohol and gambling at times too. I’ve never been in a relationship my entire life, to be honest I’ve never given myself an opportunity to live. Alcohol and gambling always came first, to friends, to family and to jobs. Trish Mullans (Addiction Counsellor) once told me the biggest problem an addict has is they have their priorities wrong. I firmly believe this to be one of many challenges an addict in recovery faces.

Entering the homeless system to me was like being awarded freedom of the city. I lost a lot of my morals and did things I’m not proud of. My begging got progressively worse. I’d have no problem approaching strangers for money and/or cigarettes. A busker called Brendan was always very good to me, he would often even bring me for a pint in a late bar I could still get served in after his set. The buskers in Galway were always very good to me. Looking back now they like many enabled my alcoholism and gambling.

At about the age of thirty two I came close to death’s door twice. The first time I blacked out, woke up in hospital and had to get stitches, I was then sent back to Abbey House where I was living at the time. The following morning the gaffer Peter (Respect Peter, Respect, that’s all I can say) told me that my wound was seeping and should go back to hospital. I didn’t pay attention, all I wanted was to get a drink. I went to town that day, I could only drink two cans and wasn’t myself. My forehead swelled up and an ambulance was called for me by a fellow street drinker. I then spend days on an antibiotic drip. I was in withdrawals too. I ended up having five surgeries on my wound. I had a rare Strep A infection. I was told if I had waited another 24 hours to come to hospital I’d be dead. It didn’t scare me at the time, death seemed to be a better option to living and relapsing. Upon discharge I continued to drink and gamble.

A few weeks later I picked up a head injury. Rumours are I was knocked out and hit my head off the floor. A lot of people doubted my complaints of how sore it was. A doctor in A&E, who was coincidentally the doctor for homeless services, was concerned with the head injury. I later went on to find out I had a bleed in the brain. I spent seven days in bed being looked after by the staff in Abbey House (The kindest bunch of legends on this planet, I wouldn’t be alive without them). The decision was then made to send me for surgery in Beaumont. Again I didn’t care if I lived or died as long as they put me on Librium. After a few days I was transferred back to University Hospital Galway. I swore to myself I would never drink again. Most addicts I know are great at coming up with reasons to justify using. (Even now I feel like I deserve a drink because I’m doing such a good job transcribing my old journal to this digital format) I was no different. I was in a head injury unit sober for the first time in a while and decided it was time for bed. That night someone came over to my bed and I woke up to him urinating on my possessions. I was happy he did it, he gave me an excuse to discharge myself and go back drinking. A few hours later I was back on the streets down the Spanish Arch drinking. I was blessed that Abbey House took me back wounds and all, they went out of their way many times to keep me alive.