Personal Story

Preamble

 

Dear Reader,

 

My name is Simon, and I am the founder of Quit-Lab-Club. I am writing to share my experiences, knowledge, and insights with those who may find them valuable and supportive in their journey to overcome addiction.

 

I do not assert that the expertise I have acquired is universally applicable, entirely accurate, risk-free, or scientifically validated. Each of us has unique biochemical differences, and what has been effective for me may not necessarily work for others, may not be advisable, or may not be safe to attempt. Therefore, I strongly recommend seeking medical advice or professional guidance first. However, if you choose to proceed independently, please exercise caution and pay attention to your body's responses.

 

First, I will outline the thoughts and ideas I've developed through basic research, trial and error, consistent introspection, self-evaluation, and analysis. I've pursued my own path, often encountering frustration and confusion, but growing increasingly delighted and assured. Achieving popular milestones or extraordinary feats has never been my focus. Not aiming high or setting challenging benchmarks is a crucial part of my approach (and I will later explain why). This is a life-long journey, not a race. There is no finish line, only continuous and sustained evolution. What I am about to describe is an ongoing experiment where I am both the “scientist” and the “lab rat”. Welcome to the Club!

The Truth

 

I am an addict. I have been using and abusing alcohol for decades. I intentionally use the term “addict” rather than “alcoholic.” I will elaborate on this distinction later, so stay with me.

 

My first encounter with the substance was at the age of 13. Initially, I drank sporadically, like most people, celebrating major events with friends or just for fun. In my twenties, I began drinking more regularly and sometimes excessively. It was mostly with friends during events, but occasionally on my own due to boredom and frustration. Celebrating events is common, and it should have been fine. However, drinking alone occasionally should have been a warning sign. I chose to ignore it. Consequently, I continued down this path, and about a decade ago, I fell into regular heavy consumption, which unsurprisingly brought a myriad of problems.

 

How did I manage to drink for so long without facing consequences earlier? I'm not entirely sure. My genes might have played a part. Additionally, I've always maintained an active lifestyle, consistently working out, learning new things, working hard, setting goals, and achieving results. Everything seemed to be within a "normal" range, more or less. However, in my forties, I found it increasingly difficult to imagine celebrating anything without a bottle on the table, and I often needed several drinks just to get to sleep. The amount I consumed in one sitting steadily increased, while the quality of alcohol I chose declined. Initially, I drank only hard liquor, beer, and occasionally good wine. But eventually, I switched to cheaper wines and even worse, sugary, high-alcohol RTDs. My hangovers became heavier and longer. What I didn't realise then was that my occasional heavy hangovers were mild withdrawals.

 

Eventually, I began taking extra sick days to recover, drinking in the morning, sometimes even on the way to work, hiding bottles from my family, and drinking secretly at night after they were asleep. I kept changing jobs, and my bank account dwindled to nothing. My finances were severely strained, leaving me penniless, barely holding onto money for a week or two after payday, and just surviving until the next one. I started defaulting on my child's education payments, wasting money trying to "medicate" my mild withdrawals with more drinking, leading to more withdrawals. Increasingly, I found myself waking up in a police cell, with no recollection of the previous night's events. Regularly penniless, repeatedly jobless, habitually irritable and abusive, filled with negativity, dishevelled and untidy, I continued down the destructive path of alcohol abuse and addiction.

 

Surprisingly, it was quite easy for me to completely refuse drinking at a party, especially when I was with my family, and I did just that on several occasions! However, if I hadn't made that decision beforehand, I would have indulged in every drink available at the outings. Once I opened a bottle, I made sure it was empty—no leftovers allowed—before leaving or grabbing another one, and then some more! Gradually, I began drinking until I passed out at the table, on the floor, in the bathroom, on the footpath—anywhere. I simply didn't care!

 

Insights

 

I often found myself questioning, “How do some people live their lives without constantly including alcohol in their routines and activities?” I marvelled at how they could enjoy life without the buzz of alcohol. During these moments, I felt miserable and anxious. I would think back to my early days, believing that I too could manage without alcohol and enjoy just a few drinks without longing for more or planning my daily activities around it. Yet, these thoughts left me filled with regret, depression, and increased anxiety. Amidst the brain fog from my binges and withdrawals, I couldn't grasp the subtle hint leading to my realisation. I couldn't understand why I started drinking in the first place or why I always craved more. I couldn't comprehend how most people could have a glass or two without constantly wanting more. Then, one day, it became clear to me that I had a problem.

 

I embarked on the journey to quit drinking multiple times with some success! I managed to stay away from alcohol for as long as 8-10 months on various occasions, though I eventually relapsed and drank even more during those setbacks. I reached out to my family for support, visited clinics, used medications to avoid DTs and seizures, and even attended an AA meeting, but nothing seemed to work. After one of my most intense binges, I decided to check myself into a psychiatric ward rehab, hoping they would help. Instead, I found myself locked up for five days in a tiny solitary cell with just a worn-out mattress and a flat, blotchy pillow. Doctors and nurses checked on me and gave me pills a couple of times a day, but for the rest of the time, I was completely alone. The first two days didn't matter much since I was heavily sedated, but when I sobered up, my initial reaction was to freak out, like I always did when waking up sober in a police cell, to get attention and get out. However, I realized that freaking out in a psychiatric ward was expected and would only lead to more sedatives or antipsychotic drugs, which wasn't my goal. I wanted to get out, and I understood that the only way was through total compliance and showing clear signs of recovery. So, I chose to stay calm and wait, even though it was incredibly challenging. My perception of time changed. My day revolved around meals, and I savoured every bite, eating slowly and enjoying the taste and process. That's when I learned—or perhaps rediscovered—how to appreciate and enjoy even the smallest things, or find something to appreciate and enjoy in difficult situations. This realisation was what truly uplifted me, not the institution with its doctors, meds, advice, recovery checklists, and brochures. I later understood that rehab could be unpleasant and boring, but there is always something valuable to learn in the process.

 

It was evident that they intended to keep me in the ward, albeit in improved accommodations and conditions, for some time. However, I needed to leave. I had a part-time job and an interview scheduled for a full-time position the following week. Consequently, I insisted on being discharged immediately. After explaining my reasons and expressing my willingness to resort to a hunger strike, they reluctantly agreed to let me go. In hindsight, declining their long-term "treatment," which included attending 12-Step programs, was one of my first sound decisions.

 

Hitting Rock Bottom

 

During my five days in solitary confinement in the psychiatric ward, I reflected deeply, as much as my gradually clearing mind allowed. I found the 12-Step program they offered to be entirely unsuitable for my situation. The program emphasises spiritual connections, family support, sexual relations, cravings reduction, trigger avoidance, and depression treatment. I am not religious, and while I do not entirely dismiss the existence of a higher power, I do not believe it revolves around a deity. I place my faith in science and myself. My family was in no position to provide meaningful support. I did not experience any significant cravings for alcohol, at least not by my definition. Having been an intermittent smoker, I understand what constitutes "cravings." At that time, I did not identify any clear triggers. I could easily navigate store aisles filled with alcohol without any urge. I could refuse a drink even when I desired one. I have never suffered from depression, and although I regret some past actions, these regrets have never driven me to drink. Consequently, I firmly insisted on being discharged on the sixth day, and thus I found myself on my own once more.

 

It's not too hard to guess what happened next. I crushed the interview and landed a full-time job. I managed to stay off the booze for over a month without much trouble. That is, until I came home from work one day and found the place empty. My family had just up and disappeared. There was a letter on my desk saying they couldn't live with me anymore and that I should just accept it. That was the kind of "family support" I mentioned before. They probably planned their exit while I was still in rehab, or maybe even earlier, who knows? In total disbelief and anger, I did what some people might do in that situation. Yep, I reached for a bottle of whiskey. Fast forward two weeks, and I was sitting in my room surrounded by empty bottles and cans, drunk as can be with shaking hands and a pounding, burning headache. I was already in withdrawal while still being drunk... not a good sign.

 

To make matters worse, I ran out of cash right on Christmas Eve. No more booze to ease off, and all the clinics were shut until January 4th. I had two options: call an ambulance and check myself into the same psych ward, or go "cold turkey" and see what happens. Spending Christmas Eve and New Year's Day in a tiny cell didn't sound appealing, and I knew they'd keep me longer this time. So, I decided to tough it out and went "cold turkey," staying in bed all day, drinking lots of water, and eating whatever was left in the fridge. I survived three rough days with barely any food or sleep, but eventually, the headaches and shakes eased up, and I started to feel like I'd make it. On the fourth day, I cleaned the house, tossed the bottles and cans, and did my laundry. New Year's Eve seemed more hopeful. I whipped up a decent meal and sat down to play my favourite online game. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Out of nowhere, I lost interest in the game, thinking, "Why am I even playing this?" Feeling shaky, I moved to another room to watch TV, only to realise I didn't want to do that either. I felt like doing nothing, and I had no idea why I was even there. Suddenly, I felt sick, and the pounding headache came back with a vengeance.

 

I'd read enough about withdrawal symptoms to know what was going on. By day five, just when I thought I was finally in the clear, I started getting DTs (Delirium Tremens). Feeling totally confused and dizzy, I packed my "emergency bag" with everything I'd need for a long hospital stay, got my phone ready to call an ambulance, and started taking a bunch of supplements I luckily had stocked up. I was taking quadruple doses of different amino acids, vitamins, antioxidants, and adaptogens. I went way over the recommended dose of Valerian Root, taking 4 pills every 3-4 hours instead of 2 per day. I was dealing with arrhythmia and tachycardia. My heart was skipping and racing at 130-150 beats per minute, and my blood pressure was around 180x90. I heard weird noises, and shadows seemed to be moving around the room. I was completely confused, dizzy, and really scared. I stayed like that, confused and shaken, for four days straight. I think I might've had a mild seizure at some point, but I'm not sure. The symptoms came in waves that lasted for hours. During these moments, I would reach for the phone, ready to dial the emergency number countless times. Somehow, I narrowly avoided the worst of the delirium, thanks to my crazy supplement intake, or at least that's what I think. Either way, I finally hit rock bottom, and the only way to go was up…

 

Analysis

 

I consider December 31st, the day I first experienced delirium tremens, as my new birthday, or more precisely, the day of my rebirth. I have been alcohol-free for three years without attending support groups or taking prescribed medications. Unlike my previous attempts, I did not plan to quit drinking; I simply lost the desire to drink, which I believe is a significant distinction. In my view, "quitting" often involves setting high goals and standards, planning steps, working towards deadlines, and expecting results within a certain timeframe. I did not engage in planning or goal-setting; I simply transformed my life all at once.

 

My close encounter with severe alcohol withdrawal symptoms was a pivotal moment. Despite being frightening and potentially dangerous, going "cold turkey" through intense withdrawals was a true revelation for me. I had attempted to quit drinking with prescribed medications and attending AA groups several times before enduring those five agonising days. Each time, I meticulously set dates, planned my actions, and anticipated achieving my goals. Yet, I eventually returned to drinking. So, why did this approach succeed when the "recommended approach to success" I had tried numerous times before did not? I will explore this briefly.

 

First off, I’m convinced that there can’t be any “end goal” or final result when it comes to ditching alcohol or any other addiction. And you know what? That shouldn’t even be the target! Forget about setting dates, times, and milestones—it’s just not practical. It becomes an obsession. Let me explain. Imagine I’ve decided that quitting alcohol is my ultimate goal. Sounds amazing, right? But guess what? I could have achieved this “ultimate goal” the very first moment I said, “I quit.” There it is, I’ve reached my “ultimate goal,” time to celebrate! Champagne, please! But then what?

 

Focusing obsessively on abstinence and making it your primary concern can lead to becoming enslaved by this obsession and, consequently, the substance itself. This approach is more about avoidance than genuine recovery. Abstaining from alcohol or any addictive substance or behaviour is a lifelong journey, not merely an "end goal." Quitting marks a pivotal moment from which a new phase of life begins. It should not be tied to a specific date with expectations and anticipations, as these can lead to failure. If you are committed to starting this new phase of life, begin immediately. Living without the substance is not an "end goal" or "ultimate result," but a continuous journey lasting until your final day.

 

To put it simply, hit the “reset” button and permanently remove whatever has been blocking your reality. Restart your life from the moment before you took your first drink, tried that drug, or engaged in any other destructive behaviour. Continue living your original life without that toxic, destructive baggage, and remember to learn from it. You might choose to recognise the date of your rebirth, as I do, but I believe counting days from that moment is counterproductive. Instead, make each day meaningful. Ask yourself: What else can I achieve today?

You may experience setbacks and relapses on this journey, potentially multiple times. However, if you do not attach high standards and expectations to your life, these setbacks are not significant. Simply rise, regain your focus, analyse the situation, and persist in your path, continuing as if nothing occurred. The frequency of your setbacks is not what matters; rather, it is your ability to recover each time. As Winston Churchill famously stated, "Success is not final, failure is not fatal. It’s the courage to continue that counts."

 

Something to Ponder

 

Conquering an addiction is often misunderstood; it's a formidable challenge. We all have our vices, often without even realising it. Our biochemical differences mean that some people exhibit more pronounced signs of addiction, while others show fewer or none at all, with many falling somewhere in between. For some, addiction is a devastating force, impacting their health, relationships, and lives; for others, it's merely an annoyance. It's crucial to understand that tackling addiction is like playing a game of "whack-a-mole." When you manage to suppress one addiction, another can emerge. For example, after I stopped drinking, I began to binge on sweets, something I didn't do before. It took time for me to recognise that my sugar addiction mirrored my alcohol dependency, with similar patterns of anticipation, indulgence, and withdrawal. Scientists refer to this as "cross addiction," though I believe mine was always present. Notably, sugar and alcohol are metabolised similarly, both being addictive and harmful to our health.

 

In short, an addiction is all about fulfilling a need or substituting something. Breaking free from an addiction means finding a new way to meet that need, just like the substance did. Now, I've consciously redirected my energy into a passion for cleanliness, busy daily routines, hard work, running, and extensive workouts. Yes, I’m totally hooked on these activities, and they give me that “desired escape” from negativity, making me feel amazing! I’ve also discovered the answer to a question that had puzzled me for years: “How do people live their lives without incorporating booze into their daily activities?” The answer is simple: Remember how you lived before the addiction. If you can recall it vividly, you can rewire and reinvent yourself. This is the key! No need for support groups or meds. Meds only target symptoms without tackling the root cause, like applying a band-aid to an oozing ulcer. It might prevent further contamination and excessive bleeding, but it doesn’t heal the ulcer or address the root cause. Without identifying and addressing the true reasons or causes, you’ll always fear slipping back into the abyss. You’ll always depend on someone or something for support and encouragement. You’ll never feel truly free!

 

Many scientists assert that addiction is not a disease, and I firmly agree with those who say it is a brain function disorder. While it is indeed a disorder, it remains a choice—initially a conscious one, and over time, increasingly unconscious. Addiction can evolve into a condition known as "dependency." It is only when someone becomes metabolically, not just psychologically, dependent on a substance that I would accurately classify it as a disease.

 

Support groups often advocate the perspective that addiction is a disease and that individuals struggling with it are powerless. I respectfully disagree with this viewpoint. Acknowledging that “I’m powerless” can provide an excuse for relapse and a way to avoid taking responsibility. It suggests, “It’s not me, it’s the substance I can’t resist. It’s not my fault. It’s beyond my control.” This notion implies that the substance somehow forces itself upon me, which is illogical. The reality is that it is my choice, and I am not powerless. I am fully in control of my life and my decisions. You are not powerless either; taking action now can make a significant difference. You have the potential to achieve freedom.

 

At the start, I promised to dive deeper into why I eventually call myself “an addict” instead of “an alcoholic”. So, here we go! Consider whether you can swap your substance of choice for something else. For example, would you still have a strong craving for alcohol if you were using marijuana? If the answer is yes, then you might be a true alcoholic, craving alcohol specifically and not other substances. But imagine if the substitute gives you the same effects, keeping you away from alcohol effortlessly, and you’re more than satisfied with it. In that case, you’re likely not addicted to alcohol itself, but rather using alcohol as a means to achieve your main goals or desired outcomes, whatever they may be. For me, this rings true! I’ve never had explicit cravings for alcohol, but I did crave escape, forgetting, and numbing myself.