Eventually

I have absolutely no doubt that had I not stopped drinking alcohol, I would have slid even further down that slippery slope to 'proper alcoholism' - where I would have lost everything, my family, my home, my job and my health.  I'd be drinking cheap vodka for breakfast full time (I was already getting to be a part timer at it).

Eventually, I'd be suffering from advanced liver disease:  I'd have almost luminous yellow tinged eyes that would seem to bulge out because my face was so thin and gaunt.  My skin would be a funny browny colour - almost like a sun tan, but not.  I'd be so thin from the lack of appetite that all I could do would be to lie on the sofa watching shit TV, dozing on and off because I was so exhausted.  My home would be fitted with various disability aids to help me get in and out of the shower, the house, up the stairs to bed.  My muscles would have wasted away, I'd be skin and bone and would look like I had an eating disorder, with the exception of my round bloated abdomen which I would have to have drained every two weeks.  I would look and act like I was twice my age.   I'd have to take a cocktail of drugs just to keep me going for the day and it would be very difficult keeping them down.  I'd have to try hard not to vomit them back up.

My husband and children would be worried sick about me, would hate me, would resent me all at once.

I'd get thinly disguised looks of horror from visitors - those people who I hadn't managed to alienate.

We would have to sell the house or face being repossessed because the mortgage isn't being paid because we are a salary down now that I can't work.  I can't claim much in the way of benefits.

There'd be endless visits to the hospital to see consultants, prodding, poking, personal questions about my drinking:  How much, how long?  You must tell us the truth which is hard when you have your spouse sitting next to you and you have been secretive and lying for all these years.  Those visits where you are told your liver is beyond repair.  This is your life now.  Just one more drink of booze will kill you.  The trouble is that you want that drink - you need that drink.

This, unfortunately, is my friend's situation with her husband (the one I have mentioned previously).  I haven't visited since my last encounter, but went this weekend to drop off my friend's birthday card.  The visit was awful.  Horrendous.  In just a few months there is a massive difference in how her husband looks.  He was a strapping 6 foot odd big built man who used to play sport a lot.  Instead of the 20 stone he weighed - he is now just 11 stone.  He looks like an extra out of the walking dead - limbs hanging, shuffling, dazed and unable to speak clearly.

They have been told that the only option left is for him to have a liver transplant.  His consultant is dubious because of the past history of relapses.  He's not strong enough either and, of course, he needs to go on a waiting list if he is suitable for a transplant.

My friend said she hates her husband now.  She resents him.  She hates that she has to help him with the simplest thing.  She hates the endless trips to the hospital where she has to listen to her husband's attempts to lie about his drinking.  Then she has to listen to the truth.  He didn't really get this ill after only a year of heavy drinking.  She hates seeing other patients with the same problem - various different shades of yellow.  There are those who leave the hospital opening a can of lager.  She hates that her chidren are suffering.  They have been acting up at home and at school.  They are both at important impressionable ages. 

He is obviously no longer working.  His severance pay ran out a long time ago.  She is struggling financially.  She is scared to open the letters coming from her mortgage lender.  She knows what they say.  Her utility providers are about to refer her outstanding bills to a debt collector.  They are coming to install prepayment meters.  She owes her retired parents money.

She wants to leave him but feels that she can't.  His family don't live in this country.  If she leaves he'll have no-one.  She feels responsible for him but resents this.

This is what can happen when alcohol controls you.... when you can't stop at just one.  You don't just fuck up your life.

Luckily, sensibly I saw the light and quit in time and for this I am thankful for my 404 days sober.  This will not be my 'Eventually'.  I only need to conjure up an image of my friend's husband to imagine my 'Eventually' if I drink alcohol again.