My Story

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Where do I start? My first memories of my childhood are ones of being a thief. I was the youngest sibling of five and was spoilt, I’m spoilt to this day. My memories of stealing include stealing money from my brother for premier league stickers and one time I really hurt my Mother by stealing my uncle’s phone on a visit to his home. When my family stopped holding cash because of me I would steal from their credit cards. To this day I don’t know how they haven’t disowned me. When I became homeless I never had to steal again, If I did I would have been beaten up. I found it easier to beg for two euro than to steal anyways. I found primary school very hard, I would put a brave face on yet I struggled with how my principal treated me and others. My early memories include the pub a lot, I was always fascinated by them. There would be drinking in my Mum’s house too. My Mother’s partner is fond of a tipple, I can accept today thanks to Aoife in Bushypark Rehab that he too has his own demons, he grew up in the troubles in Derry.

At school my principal was both mentally and physically abusive. This was the 90’s and rarely heard of in that period. I was popular at school yet never felt like I belonged. I had my first drink at the age of eleven or twelve and everything changed. The day of my confirmation after taking my pledge was the day I had my first drink. I drank with my best friend (a friend I regrettably chose alcohol and homelessness instead of, I’ve actually about six friends whom I pushed away too for the love of a poxy pint. I’m sorry and I miss you all dearly).

I progressed to drinking cans at the weekend until I was about fifteen. At about the age of eleven my Dad killed himself. The last memory I have of my Dad was when he came to my primary school without permission. My principal and him were there to ‘change me’. Regretfully my last memories are of kicking him and wishing he was dead. Another regret I have is being a bully in both primary and secondary school. Little did my victims know, I was bullied myself in the estates I grew up around. It was almost my way of paying it forward. If any of you are reading this from the bottom of my heart I’m sorry.

At the age of fifteen I had the privilege of meeting Clipper. At the time he leased two pubs and an off licence. I was too young to work in his pubs but he gave me the opportunity to help out in his off licence. From then on I was fascinated by alcohol and my dreams were to own my own chain of pubs one day. At sixteen I was promoted to glass collector in one of his pubs. At sixteen I was also given permission to go on a post junior cert/pre leaving cert holiday and had to go to Dublin to get an emergency passport. I needed my Dad’s death cert to get the passport. ‘Cause of death: asphyxiation’ I would later  go home and Google asphyxiation only to learn that my Dad had killed himself by hanging.

 

My drinking progressed as my hospitality career did too. I went from Shandys (Beer & Lemonade) to one pint after work, to two pints after work, to four, six and so on. I was always harmless as a drunk but I was a stupid drunk. It transformed my mind. My gambling progressed too, there was horse racing in the pubs and poker machines. (I still gamble but I’m attempting the ‘Harm Reduction’ model and only gamble a certain percent of my income.) Escapism became part of my identity. Little did I know I would go years without any identity and too afraid to look for one sober.

I also resented my family for years for not telling me how my Father died. I know now thanks to Bushypark rehab that my resentment was just a complete lack of acceptance on my part. Times were different back then too, there was a stigma about suicide in them days. I went on to get fired from my job and re-hired over ten times at least, alcoholism triggered depression and I struggled to get out of bed for work a lot. By seventeen I was breaking the law. My first charge was for crashing my friend’s car drunk, with no licence or insurance. I’m grateful today the five year ban I received prevented me from killing someone on the roads. I have never driven since and that’s eighteen years ago. Little did I know back then that this would be a life time relationship with the court system and the guards. 

 

Throughout my early and late teens there were early warning signs that I was an addict. From stealing to feed my habits, to puking and hiding duvets, to not showing up to work, to falling off building sites, to showing up to school intoxicated, to not allowing myself a proper education and the list goes on. A lot of people put trust in me and all I did was throw it back in their face. Between addiction and self-sabotage (another addiction I have) I could never open my eyes and see the hurt I was causing others. I have always had an evil sociopath side to me. I know I have also had and still have a nice side to me too, I just had no respect for it. Today I can see clearly the good, the bad and the ugly.

 

As I’m writing this its making me a small bit angry. Angry at the addict inside me. I realise re-writing this in six and twelve weeks time is probably a bad idea. I have dwelled on the past for long enough. I’ve easily given myself a twenty year sentence thinking of the mistakes I have made. I need to be more present. I can fantasize about the future too much too, I believe that comes as a trait from gambling. At present, I brushed my teeth without getting sick, I’m clean, I have a roof over my head, my family can sleep at night without worry, I’m not wasting frontline workers’ time and most importantly I have been able to live without the need for a drink or drug. (Again, at present my gambling is manageable) I have a higher power today too, I’m writing this in memory of the faithful and unfaithful departed.

 

In my early and mid twenties my disease progressed. I believed I had found the answer however. The answer was geographical relocation. I thought it was anyway. I dropped out of an opportunity of education to go and work in Dublin. My addiction followed me to Dublin, it must have come in my suitcase or something. I thought I was a real hot shot in Dublin, I was ready to take over the world. In reality I was just a bum in employment. I worked in some of Dublin’s top bars and hotels. I was given great opportunities but I drank, drugged and/or gambled them all away. I’d always end up back in Galway broke and depressed. I continued to get good jobs in Galway, most only lasting a few weeks. I wish I was willing to get off the roundabout back then.

More opportunities came my way. I was fortunate enough to have a brother working for Emirates in Dubai. I packed my bags and off I went. I was never drinking again. Thankfully there was no gambling out there, however, I didn’t earn enough for an alcohol licence. Some Indian friends of mine hooked me up with an alcohol dealer. I would go on to drink scotch whisky by the bottle then. Any big tips I made in employment I wouldn’t share with everybody working the shift as was protocol. I had four jobs in my lifetime in Dubai, every time I was fired and flew home to Ireland each time. (I’ve never actually apologised to my brother for being such a burden, he gave me great opportunities) This time in my life was the beginning of the end. I put my family through a lot of disappointment in these years, I felt like I belonged in the gutter, I still struggle to feel like I deserve to be happy. 

 

Then began my homeless career. When I flew home from Dubai for the last time I was pissed from the free drinks on the plane. I hadn’t a cent in my pocket and my only option was to get a lift from the guards into Dublin city centre. I stayed one night in Merchants Quay and they paid for my bus back to Galway the next morning. I was as depressed and suicidal as ever, all of my own devices.

 

It was a relief to get back to Galway, I would have been known to the guards, hospitals, homeless services and most importantly the street drinkers. Between twenty to thirty I have lost a lot of years I cannot remember. I’m not sure exactly when but I was a ‘picker’ in those years. The homeless Polish introduced me to the art of ‘picking’. At the time I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Galway is a party city with a population of about 70,000, 18,000 of which were students. The art of ‘picking’ involved walking past Galway’s most popular late bars and nightclubs looking for drink that people would discard of prior to entering these places. In layman’s terms we basically went around picking up people’s leftovers and we could justify it too. We were recycling before it was popular, we’d also put the empties in the bin therefore cleaning up the city one sloppy leftover at a time. Addicts can be masters at justifying our means. Survival in addiction is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Always scheming and thinking about how I am going to get the next drink, drug or bet.

 

Covid scared me off picking drinks so thankfully I don’t have to do that anymore. I’m also waiting on a part time course which will allow me work around my alcoholism which helps too. At the time of writing this I was in rehab and had choices I could make. I’m sober today too and can make the right choices, I’m only an arm’s length from the wrong choices too however. Today the option I hope I choose is sobriety. It’s been an option I’ve taken for granted before, I truly hope it is the option I take for my remaining days. I lost a friend recently and have come to appreciate that life is delicate and precious. (RIP Godfrey)

Last July my addiction councillor Tom Holton suggested maybe it’s time to get off the roundabout and he is right. At present it’s my motivation, two weeks ago the only exit I could see on the roundabout was suicide. I’m looking forward to looking at new exits on the roundabout I have never seen before. Simple exits, like listening to music, going for a run and writing this blog. I’m looking forward to making amends with friends and family. Amends to anyone who turned around and gave me a spare two euro for a can of Linden Village. I believe I can be a good person outside of addiction.

 

In my late twenties and thirties I became a blackout drinker. I was in and out of living in squats too. These squats included the Palas cinema in the Spanish Arch and a house opposite the guards station on Mill Street. We were very savvy self-sufficient alcoholics back then. I would get paid on a Monday and share my loot, it would be returned to me on a Wednesday or Thursday when others got paid. We had a battery powered radio back then, none of us were in a financial position to purchase even a cheap smartphone to play music on. We kept the house clean and were even rewarded with the owner of the property telling us we could stay for Christmas if we agreed to leave in January.