Stories from life. “How I lived with an alcoholic”: a real and very scary story of our reader Girls and alcohol treatment history

A noisy company is merrily clapping and laughing next to one of the houses in Chelyabinsk. It seems that they have a meeting of classmates or, say, old friends. They smoke, they talk, they hug. At a quarter to six, everyone climbs the steps of a nondescript office on the outskirts. They are alcoholics.

"I have seen hell with my own eyes"

"My name is Sasha. I'm an alcoholic,” one of the company begins the conversation.

“Hi, Sasha,” the others answer in chorus, sitting in a circle, like in American films about meetings with psychotherapists.

Sasha is forty years old. He is dressed in a warm jacket, stylish jeans and expensive, but not light shoes for winter. Alexander speaks clearly and calmly, as if talking about a football match:
“I started working early, by the age of 25 I had almost everything: money, an apartment in the North, a position as a foreman, a car. I got tired, froze, got bored, began to drink "from the exhaustion". Then more, after a few years of hard drinking, skipped work, I was fired. Then came the white fever. I don't know how many times, maybe 5-6. I do not remember. I coded, swore to myself and others that I didn’t drink anymore, held on for a couple of months, broke down again, “sewn up”, got drunk. "White fever" is not the worst thing. It was terrible when they injected me with something, but I still drank it. All the muscles began to twist, the pain was such that I drank, drank, drank. I have seen hell with my own eyes. Since then I have not drunk. Eleven years. I work, my son is growing.

"Thank you, I'm sober today"

I am Vika. I am an alcoholic.

Hey Vika.

A blue-eyed girl of about twenty-five in a pink sweater and branded sports trousers says that she has not been drinking for 5 years. By twenty, she was an alcoholic and a drug addict. It all started, like many: I went to clubs with friends. I couldn't imagine how you could go out dancing without having a drink. They offered "what is more interesting", did not refuse. Then there was a quarrel with his parents, who were kicked out of the house, two unsuccessful attempts to open his own veins, parting with his beloved, "who does not need a finished drug addict." Vika came here just like that, because there was nowhere to go and nothing to think about. The first time I went to meetings.

But she continued to drink. There is only one law here: if you have drunk today, you can come to the meeting and listen to others, but you yourself do not speak. “Thank you, I’m sober today,” Victoria ends her story.

“The key word here is today,” they whisper in my ear. No one promises: I will never drink again. Can you not drink for 24 hours? Certainly can. Here, do it! And then another 24 hours.

Twelve Steps to Sobriety

The bell is ringing. This is a symbol, for someone of a new life, for others it is just the beginning of a discussion of another topic. A pretty curly blonde is leading the meeting: “My name is Tanya, I am an alcoholic. Today we will discuss how to fill the spiritual emptiness.

“Hi, Tanya,” a harmonious chorus of voices is heard. Tatyana passes a heavy object resembling an egg in shape to Egor sitting next to him. This is another symbol, the tradition of Alcoholics Anonymous - so everyone is given the opportunity to speak, in turn. You can refuse by passing the stone to a neighbor. Egor says that today he will only listen, and now the stone is already in the hands of a young girl who has arrived from Miass (a city 100 km from Chelyabinsk - ed.).

This stone is passed from hand to hand, you can speak when you hold it, then you give it to your neighbor. Photo: AiF / Nadezhda Uvarova

“When I stopped drinking, I thought everything would be fine with me right away,” Gulya confidently begins, clutching a ballpoint pen in her hand. Gulya has beautiful long black hair, an expensive phone and a wedding ring on her finger. But it didn't get better, only worse. Evening came, I was bored and lonely, there was absolutely nothing to do. Before, I would run to the store, buy beer and fish. I gnawed, drank, you look - and it's already morning, but now it's impossible. I'm still at the fourth level, it's hard for me. The only thing that saves is helping others. When I see that someone needs it, it becomes easier, really. A girl called me today. I persuaded her to come to the meeting the next Monday, she said “yes”, I explained that I was not her mother and not her boss, I was just like her, an alcoholic. And that we need to meet and talk.

Gulya clutches a pen in her hands and leans on the table, she gets nervous when she remembers the past. Photo: AiF / Nadezhda Uvarova

Maria, a participant in the meeting, explains the meaning of treatment to me: the system of rehabilitation of anonymous alcoholics is based on 12 steps of recovery. It is impossible to explain them in a few words, but one must understand that it is not tied to either religion or psychology. Although everyone here has their own God and their own system of life values. The last step is "aerobatics": "I got out myself - help another." That is why they travel at their own expense, without any sponsorship, to correctional colonies. She says, in her opinion, alcoholics among convicts - 80-90 percent. Lion's share. Absolute majority. If I had been sober, I might not have stolen. And he didn't even kill him.

wedge wedge

I'm Vera, I'm an alcoholic.

Hello Vera.

“When I stopped drinking, I ran into a problem - what to do with myself,” says a young girl Vera. - There was one extreme, I hit the other. Obsessed with shopping and beauty. She took loans, did not get out of shops and beauty salons. It seemed to me that since I don’t drink, I should immediately be the most beautiful and expensively dressed. Things brought me nothing but material problems. And I realized that I needed to somehow develop, live, went to church, began to look around, it turns out that there are interesting people around, because I was closed in on myself and obsessed with my loneliness. I began to make friends with people, to apologize to those whom I offended. And I was very surprised how I didn’t notice this before: people began to treat me well, forgave everyone I offended, smiled at me, loved me. Thank you, thanks to you I'm sober today.

They do not want to show their faces, not because they are ashamed of alcoholism, but because they are afraid to break loose, then it will be doubly ashamed. Photo: AiF / Nadezhda Uvarova

The word "former" is not used here.

The meeting lasts exactly one hour. This is reminiscent of the hourglass on the table at the presenter. Each participant speaks for no more than 5 minutes. “It’s my birthday today,” says a middle-aged woman dressed in black, “I haven’t drunk for exactly 7 years and 7 months.”

Everyone congratulates her. Someone kisses on the cheek, another shakes hands, the third just touches his fingers to the palm.

The word "former" is not used here. They are alcoholics forever. Everyone starts their speech with this statement. And this is another law: to admit that you are an alcoholic and that alcoholism is not an addiction, not the fate of the weak, but a disease. And she needs to be treated.

They have no sponsors and leaders. All positions, such as an asset and a chairman, are elected. No entrance fees - voluntary donations are collected for various booklets, office rent, tea and coffee with cookies. On the table next to the clock is a box for them. Someone puts fifty rubles, someone a trifle, another five hundred.

A donation box, a candle, a watch, and a bell are all you need for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Photo: AiF / Nadezhda Uvarova

What else to strive for?

I'm Irina, I'm an alcoholic.

Hello Irina.

Irina never had financial problems. This is another category of alcoholics, people of the "middle class", wealthy, managers and owners of companies, practicing doctors, teachers. Those who have achieved a lot in life do not know what else to strive for, they work hard, get tired, and are treated at home with vodka or expensive whiskey.

Irina started drinking with her husband. Her son was addicted to drugs. I drank a lot, binge drinking, quit my job, quarreled with my husband. Then serious health problems began: neurodermatitis, alcoholic hepatosis. She looked sixty at forty. The husband-drinking buddy interfered with his drunken conversations, got behind the wheel, bought vodka and drink at the kiosk, left aimlessly, drank, got into the car and drove home. When the stomach, liver and intestines began to hurt so much that she could not get up without drinking to dull the pain, she admitted to herself: “I am an alcoholic.”

Irina has not been drinking for 8 years, but she tries not to miss meetings: she, like everyone else here, is an alcoholic, not a former one, but simply not drinking now, cured. The husband does not want to help himself, they broke up a long time ago, he continues to drink, no matter how hard Irina struggles. But the son of drug addiction is cured. He is almost healthy. “I understand him,” says the slender well-groomed woman. “I am not afraid of drug addicts and I can communicate with them, help, trust.”

For leaflets, business cards and booklets, money is collected from everyone who donates how much. Photo: AiF / Nadezhda Uvarova

"Sobriety should be happy"

The presenter points to the clock: the meeting time is over. Everyone stands in a circle. They hold hands, say a prayer. Everyone turns to his God - such as he sees him himself. Having stopped drinking, Irina says, it is difficult to overcome one's ego: “I indulged myself, I'm bored - I'll drink, I'm reluctant to get out - I drink and wash windows. Sobriety should be happy, otherwise why stop drinking? And that is why everyone needs to find something that is higher and stronger than his ego. According to our system, it is God. We pray, but it has nothing to do with religion as such. Everyone has their own concept of God.

Nobody is in a hurry to go home. Everyone goes to the next room, where there is tea, coffee, cookies and disposable mugs. They talk, someone invites the meeting participants to visit, the other asks for help setting up Skype. Girls brag about purchased dresses. Three women are planning a trip tomorrow: in Beloretsk, the anniversary of the same society of anonymous alcoholics, two years of organization, and they go there, to friends in Bashkiria, to congratulate. At your own expense, of course.

Elena offered to give me a ride home. She has a new white foreign car and barely noticeable makeup. Elena is an engineer by education, deputy director of a large company. The last ten years. Prior to that, after the death of her husband, she drank deeply. She worked as a janitor, ate what she found in the garbage dumps. She says that's why she went to work - s, drunk - if only there was an opportunity to collect bottles and cans - for vodka or alcohol. At work, the past does not hide, but does not advertise. She lives with her mother and doesn't drink at all. Not for Christmas, not for birthdays. No champagne, no wine. This is another law - do not drink a single gram of alcohol.

The office walls are decorated with nature paintings. Photo: AiF / Nadezhda Uvarova

“Come to us again,” we say goodbye to Elena. “We’re not talking about drinking, but about life in general.”

Surprisingly, this is true. I did not hear advice on how not to drink, stop, gathering willpower into a fist. “It's like a club,” Elena laughs, “friends in misfortune who survived hellish hell. Drunkenness is a global problem, in the country they drink themselves to death by factories. After all, even narcologists come to us, they treat themselves for alcoholism, having lost faith in traditional medicine. There is no difference between an oligarch and a hard worker. Although not everyone recovers: one must very much want to be cured.

About alcohol traditions

My mother is the daughter of an alcoholic, her father died at the age of 40 from a heart attack. All I know about my grandfather is that he drank and raised aquarium fish. Mom never told me anything - neither about her childhood, nor about her first husband. I think she has a lot of unspoken pain in her soul. I don’t ask: in our family it’s not customary to climb into each other’s souls. We suffer in silence, like partisans, with an expression of love, by the way, about the same story.

I have never seen my mother drunk, which I cannot say about my father. Mom drank like everyone else - on holidays. Grandmothers also drank, preferring strong drinks. I remember these family holidays: kind, cheerful adults, gifts, delicious food, good mood and bottles. Of course, no one could have imagined that I would grow up and become an alcoholic. I saw that all adults drink, and I knew that when I grow up, I will too, because drinking on a holiday is as natural as eating a goose or a cake.

Early, at the age of six, I tried beer (my parents gave me a sip), and at the age of thirteen or fourteen at the festive table they poured me a little champagne. In high school, I learned what vodka is.

I almost don’t remember my wedding: when my parents left, I started drinking vodka with friends - and that’s it, then failure

My boyfriend introduced me to vodka - we started dating in the 10th grade. I didn't really like him, but everyone thought he was cool. A couple of months later, we were already drinking a bottle of vodka together every day. After school, they bought a bottle, drank it from a guy at home and had sex. Then I went to my house and sat down to do my homework. My parents never suspected me of anything. I quickly developed a tolerance for alcohol - it was bad only the first couple of times. This is a wake-up call: if you feel normal after a lot of alcohol, then your body has adjusted.

How an alcoholic talks

After school, I entered the Faculty of Journalism. In the second year, she got married and transferred to a correspondence course: she was too lazy to go to college. She got married just to get away from her parents. No, I remember being deeply in love, but I also remember my own thoughts before the wedding. I smoke in the yard and think: maybe, well, why am I doing this? But there is nowhere to go - the banquet is appointed. Okay, I think I’ll go, and if anything, I’ll get a divorce! I almost don’t remember that wedding: when my parents left, I started drinking vodka with friends - and that’s it, then a failure. Memory lapses, by the way, are also a bad bell.

The future husband at that time lived in the editorial office of the newspaper in which he worked. My parents rented an apartment for us and we started living together.

I have always considered myself ugly and unworthy of love and respect. Perhaps for this reason, all my men were either drinkers or drug addicts, or both. Once my husband brought heroin, and we got hooked. Gradually sold everything that could be sold. There was often no food at home, but there was almost always heroin, cheap vodka or port.

One day my mother and I went to buy clothes for me. July, heat, I'm in a T-shirt. Mom noticed injection marks on her arm and asks: “Are you injecting?” “Mosquitoes bit me,” I answer. And mom believes.

Typical alcoholic logic: he never takes responsibility for what happens to him

I remember in detail one day from that period. We were visited by a couple of my classmates. At the height of the booze, we go to a cafe, where we run out of money, and a classmate leaves a gold ring as a pledge. We go outside to catch a taxi. A police car pulls up in front of us. We are drunk, my husband has an open bottle of champagne in his hands. They want to take the guys to the department, and I, being so brave, declare that I have acquaintances in the traffic police. I go around the car to write down the number, winter, slippery - I fall, look at my leg and understand that it is somehow strangely twisted. In a second - hellish pain. The cops immediately turned around and left, and I ended up in the hospital. For nine months with two broken legs.

One fracture was difficult. I had two operations, they put the Ilizarov apparatus. At the same time, I continued to drink, even while lying in the hospital - my husband brought port wine. Somehow she got drunk, being in a cast, fell and pierced her lower lip with a tooth. But in my head there was no causal relationship between what happened to me and alcohol. I thought that it happened by chance, that I was just unlucky, because anyone can fall, and indeed, “the cops are to blame for everything.” The typical logic of an alcoholic is that he never takes responsibility for what happens to him.

About memory lapses

My first husband and I divorced a couple of years after we got married. I fell in love with his friend. Then another and another...

When I was twenty-two, my father's friend invited me to write scripts for a youth series. It was in all respects a pleasant job: I wrote at most a week a month, and the rest of the time I walked and drank. In the same year, my grandmother died, leaving me her apartment, in which I made a real hangout.

In a relatively sober state, fear and anxiety are the main feelings of those years. It's scary when you don't remember what happened to you yesterday. Just once - and consciousness wakes up. You can find your body anywhere - in a friend's apartment, in a hotel room, on bare ground outside the city, or on a park bench. At the same time, you have only a vague idea of ​​how you got here, and you have no idea at all what you have done and what the consequences will be. You're just scared and dark. Why is it dark? Is it still morning or is it already evening? What day is today? Have your parents seen you? You start checking the phone, but there is no phone - apparently, you lost it again. Trying to put the puzzle together. Does not work.

About trying to stop drinking

I took it with hostility when someone hinted at me about my problems with alcohol. At the same time, I considered myself so terrible that when they laughed on the street, I looked around, sure that they were laughing at me, and if they said a compliment, I snapped - they probably scoff or want to borrow money.

There was a time when I thought about committing suicide, but after making a couple of demonstrative attempts, I realized that I didn’t have enough gunpowder for a real suicide. I considered the world a disgusting place, and myself the most unfortunate person on earth, it is not clear why I ended up here. Alcohol helped me survive, with it I at least occasionally felt some semblance of peace and joy, but it also brought more and more problems. All this resembled a foundation pit, into which stones flew at great speed. It must have overflowed at some point.

The last straw was the story of the stolen money. Summer 2005, I'm working on a reality show. There is a lot of work, the launch is coming soon, we plow for twelve hours a day without days off. And here's luck - for once we were released early, at 20.00. My girlfriend and I grab cognac and fly to relieve tension in the long-suffering grandmother's apartment. After (I don't remember) a friend put me in a taxi and told me my parents' address. I had something about $1,200 with me - the money was not mine, “workers”, it was the taxi driver who stole it from me. And, judging by the state of my clothes, he just threw me out of the car. Thank you for not raping or killing.

I remember how, having once again distinguished myself, I told my mother: maybe I should code? She replied: “What are you thinking? You just need to pull yourself together. You're not an alcoholic!" Mom didn't want to face reality simply because she didn't know what to do with it.

Out of desperation, I still went to encode. I wanted to take a break from the troubles that kept falling on me every now and then. I wasn't going to stop drinking forever, but rather I was taking a sober vacation.

I didn't get sober, I just didn't drink alcohol.

In honor of the encoding, my parents gave me a trip to St. Petersburg. The three of us went and stayed with my relatives. Parents with them, of course, drank - how could it be without it on vacation. I couldn't bear to see them drunk. I somehow could not stand it and said in a rage: “Well, why can’t you not drink at all?” Petersburg saved me. I ran away in its rain, got lost among the canals, and then I definitely decided that I would return here to live.

On encoding (it was standard hypnosis encoding), I lasted a year and a half, and my affairs seemed to go smoothly: I met my future husband, there were much fewer problems at work, I began to look decent and earn money, stopped losing phones and money, I got my license, my parents bought me a car. But almost every day I drank non-alcoholic beer, and my husband drank alcoholic beer with me. I didn't get sober, I just didn't drink alcohol.

Non-alcoholic beer is a ticking time bomb. Someday it will be replaced by alcohol, and then the dynamite will work. One evening, when my zero was out of stock, I decided to try the regular one. It was scary (in case of admission, the encoder promised a stroke and a heart attack), but I'm brave.

Coding is not a bad thing on one condition: if you, after putting yourself on pause, start changing your life, actively developing towards sobriety, solving the problems that led you to alcoholism. It is important to move in the other direction.

Having decoded, I, as they say, reached for alcohol. It was a huge - even by my standards - binge. Alcohol returned to my life, as if it never left it. Six months later, I found out I was pregnant.

About Pain Peak

I didn’t think about the child (to be honest, I’m still not sure that motherhood is mine), but my mother constantly said: “I was born when your grandmother was 27, I also at 27, it’s time for you to give birth to a girl” .

I thought that perhaps my mother was right: I am married, and besides, all people give birth. At the same time, I did not ask myself: “Why do you need a child? Do you want to look after him, be responsible for him? Then I did not ask myself questions, I did not know how to talk to myself, to hear myself.

I searched the Internet for stories of women who also drank and gave birth to healthy children.

When I found out about the pregnancy, I was not at all happy, but I promised myself that I would stop drinking and smoking. Gradually. I managed to slow down by giving up my favorite strong drinks, but I couldn’t stop drinking completely. Every day I promised myself that I would quit tomorrow, and I searched the Internet for stories of women who also drank and gave birth to healthy children.

At the seventh month of pregnancy, a placental abruption occurred, I had an emergency cesarean, the child died, and I went into a binge, devoured by guilt for drinking and refusing to lie down for preservation. Blaming yourself was commonplace. He did it, he confessed - and you can live on without changing anything.

At that time, I already had a very severe hangover, I was seriously afraid of delirium tremens. Now it is already difficult to describe this state… You cannot do anything. The head is cracking. Grabs the heart. It’s hot, it’s cold, you can’t lie still, your body twitches, you can’t eat and drink, you throw yourself on vitamins - nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep without light and TV, and even with them it doesn’t work very well - sleep is intermittent and sticky. And a huge anxiety, one that is bigger than you: something is about to happen.

I remember sitting in a car with a friend, and I said: my husband forbids me to drink, I probably have to quit, otherwise he will leave. Girlfriend nods sympathetically - hard, they say, you understand. It was August 2008: my first attempt to tie myself.

About living with sobriety

Alcohol is a very hard form of recreation. Now I'm amazed at how my body could handle it all. I was treated, tried to quit and broke down again, almost lost faith in myself.

I finally stopped drinking on March 22, 2010. Not that I decided that it was on the 22nd, on the bright day of the vernal equinox, that I stopped drinking, cheers. It was just one of the many attempts that led to the fact that for almost seven years I did not drink. Not a drop. My husband does not drink, my parents do not drink - without this support, I think nothing would have happened.

At first, I thought something like this: when he saw that I stopped drinking, God would come down to me on the ground and say: “Yulyasha, what a clever girl you are, well, finally waited, now everything will be fine! I will reward you now as it should be - you will be the happiest with me.

To my surprise, it wasn't like that. Gifts did not fall from the sky. I was sober - and that's it. Here it is, my whole life - the light is like in an operating room, you can't hide. For the most part, I felt lonely and terribly unhappy. But against the backdrop of this global misfortune, for the first time, I tried to do other things, for example, talk about my feelings or train willpower. This is the most important thing - if you can’t go the other way, you should at least lie down in that direction, make at least some body movement.

The first year of sobriety is hard. You are so ashamed of your past that you want one thing: to dissolve, to go underground. I took my husband's last name, changed my phone number and email address, retired from social networks and distanced myself from friends as much as possible. All I had was me, who drank away fourteen years of my life. who didn't know herself. For the first time I was alone with myself, I learned to talk to myself. It was unusual - to live completely without anesthesia, to be inseparably present in your life, without hiding or running away. I don't think I've ever cried so much in my life.

A couple of years before I stopped drinking completely, I became a vegetarian. I think the recovery process started exactly when I first thought about what (or rather, whom) I eat, about the fact that in the world, besides me, there are other creatures who live and suffer, that someone else could be worse than me. Asceticism appeared in my life, which developed me and made me stronger.

Sometimes I remember myself and I don't believe that it was me and not the character from the movie "Trainspotting". Thank God, I was able to forgive myself and finally begin to treat myself well - with love and care. It was not easy and took a lot of time, but I managed (with the help of a psychotherapist). The next step is to develop, albeit slowly and slowly, but go forward every day.

In the summer of 2010, my husband and I quit smoking. I started meditating. Every free minute I read affirmations and convinced myself that I could handle everything.

Three years ago I started. At first, it was something like a diary for me, a platform for reflection: I wrote because I felt an inner need. At first, no one read the blog, but, one way or another, it was a statement about myself - I am, yes, I drank, but I was able to quit, I live.

Beautiful wealthy women come to me, they have husbands and children, and everything seems to be fine. Only every day they secretly drink a bottle of red wine

Then I realized that sitting and reflecting is the same as doing nothing. Because there are thousands like me. They are just as helpless, they do not understand how to stop the war within themselves. Therefore, now I am consulting for people with similar problems. Everyone has different degrees of addiction: beautiful wealthy women come to me, they have husbands and children, and everything seems to be fine. Only every day they secretly drink a bottle of red wine. It is not customary to talk about this, but almost every second person in our country drinks with one frequency or another. That is, drink regularly. And few people admit it to themselves.

I did not want to be ashamed of myself and my past - it bothered me, I felt not free. So I plucked up the courage to talk about alcohol addiction so that alcoholism would no longer be treated as something shameful or top-secret.

I'm being honest: I'm not a psychologist or a narcologist. I am a former alcoholic. And I, unfortunately or fortunately, know too much about how to stop drinking and how not to do it. I try to help those who have realized for themselves that they want to live soberly and are ready to do something for this. In this case, the more information, the better. Therefore, I am here and share my experience - how I drank and how I live now.

Thanks to the photographer Ivan Troyanovsky, stylist and cafe "Ukrop" for help in shooting.

Helped us:

Anatoly Alekhin
Professor, Head of the Department of Clinical Psychology and Psychological Assistance, Russian State Pedagogical University. A. I. Herzen; MD

The end of February, 1996, a month ago I turned 16. How I was waiting for this number! I thought a miracle would happen, a prince would appear in my life or something like that. But nothing happened. I'm still the same gloomy tenth grader in black martens who desperately wants to look cool.

It's a warm spring day, we hang out in the grove. Four girls and a guy whose birthday we are celebrating. This is my first time drinking champagne - more than a sip, and not in the company of my parents.- it works magically. I feel grown up, relaxed, and I love it! After the first bottle, we start a game: we pass a match to each other using only our mouths. With each round, the match becomes shorter, and the game becomes more exciting. In the end, T. and I kiss. This is more than strange - after all, I never liked him.

Then I did not yet know that to make a person more attractive is an easy trick for Monsieur of alcohol. Soon I will be dancing in clubs and singing karaoke. Steal books, jewelry, candies and chips - just to demonstrate courage and sleight of hand. Lying is no worse than Munchausen. Get acquainted first and immediately offer sex. And also take drugs, run away from a cafe without paying, walk around the cemetery at night and drive drunk - nothing was impossible. We found each other with alcohol. And how did I live without it before?

I found a special thrill in hangovers. You drink - and the world is immediately clear, I am weightless, merge with it with every cell and gradually dissolve, as if I were not a body, but a consciousness, a pure spirit. Morning, T. and I are alone in the pizzeria, languidly polishing beer with vodka from a cold pot-bellied decanter. We love each other so much. T. is gentle as a cat, because I have money, and I decide whether to repeat the decanter. I nod to the waiter, T. rejoices.

We have a strange relationship. He is such a typical narcissist. And I, having drunk, each time announced to him that I was leaving. Brought to tears and received emotions. Then she met G. - and left forever. He was caring and loving. Got me hooked on heroin. Then I got tired, and I also left G.. A whirlwind of acquaintances and non-reciprocal loves began to spin (normal guys were not eager to meet a drunkard).

In those years, I was surrounded by many friends - a drinking buddy was easy. But it didn’t matter to me with whom to drink, where and what. I drank with strangers, taxi drivers and cops (thank you guys for not touching me, sorry I don't remember your name). I drank alone, I drank on ICQ, I drank under the radio.

I think I had depression. I didn't belong to myself, I didn't control anything, and I never knew where I would find myself the next morning. I was driven by alcohol. The body roamed uncontrollably around the city, and, believe me, it was a wild adventure. The fact that I'm alive is a miracle, I could have died a thousand times.

And I wanted warmth and peace. Happiness, simple as a sandwich with sugar. I remember wandering with a gentleman, staggering along a dark street from one tavern to another, I looked at the luminous windows and imagined how people live behind them, how early they go to bed and read Jane Eyre under the light of a night lamp. And I remember that aching melancholy - why can't I do it too? Coming home, she laid out the sofa and fell right in her clothes. And dreamed of pajamas with bears. In difficult moments, I disconnected from the outside world and went into myself.. I imagined how I come to visit a fictitious aunt - she lives far away, no one will get to us. In a cozy little house, my aunt is frying pancakes for me, and I look out the window, there is a red mountain ash and a cat is walking. And I don't need anything else. And the aunt asks: “Pour some more tea, Yulechka?”

Alcohol was my medicine, the only remedy that reconciled with reality and gave comfort. I leaned on him like a cripple on a crutch. A sober life seemed dull. But it was worth adding alcohol, and everything flourished. I loved everyone, even myself. Whatever happens, pour alcohol into yourself, and it will be better. And then add - to make it even better, even more pleasant, even more love.

I didn't realize it would be the other way around. I remember how I went for a supplement - alone, to a gas station, because my husband was already asleep, and the shops were closed; how she drank all night, and at five minutes to nine she was already standing in front of the shop door; how she swam drunk and almost drowned; how she was ashamed of her swollen face and hated herself; how it was coded and broken; how with horror I looked through outgoing calls and messages in social networks in the morning. How I was afraid one day to wake up in prison or not wake up at all.

Hangovers were long gone. The next morning, the body did not even take water, every day my stomach hurt. I was afraid to sleep - I went to bed with the light on and the TV on. At least once a week the house is a mess, and I can't get up because my head is splitting, tremors, burned throat, fever, chills, heart and brain behave as if they are leaving me forever. The husband was not happy with this situation, threatened with a divorce. Yes, I myself already understood that the games were over, alcohol would kill me, I had to pull the stopcock. She jerked. I got it on the third try.

The first time was not easy. It seemed that all people knew my shameful secret and made fun of me, miserable. In the grocery store, I trotted through the alcohol section. Once my husband and I bought a 50-gram bottle of rum for soaking dried fruits for a Christmas cake. While we were standing at the checkout, I had a fever due to anxiety - now the cashier will wink and say: “You don’t take something, Yulia. Waiting for more tonight." What a cashier! Having met old acquaintances a couple of times, I pretended that I was not me. I didn’t see my brother for a whole year, retired from all social networks, changed my phone number and email address. I wanted to dissolve or fly to the moon.

Having licked my wounds in solitude and mentally strengthened, I realized that I was tired and no longer wanted to be ashamed. I want to come out and share my experience. So in the fourth year of my alcohol-free life, I started my blog, and every time I jump to the ceiling when it sobers someone up.

At some point, a psychotherapist appeared in my life. Together we found out that I can't express anger, say no, I don't recognize my feelings and I don’t really understand where I end and the other person begins. Sometimes I just recounted my days or the past to her, surprised that she didn't wince in disgust.

There was a feeling that, having tied up with alcohol, I received a box with broken glass at the exit, from which I had to glue a vessel. I wanted it to be beautiful and function properly. Make it so as quickly as possible, because so much time has been wasted for nothing! But I moved slowly and slowly. When despair overwhelmed, she lay down on the sofa, ate chocolate and scrolled Pinterest. Cried and freaked out. Didn't drink. The next day it got easier. I learned that the one who walks slowly will go far, and I calmed down.

Nothing reminded me of alcohol anymore: not only did I distribute glasses and glasses, I excluded all triggers, including the old playlist. I became a vegan, for the first time in my life I looked into myself, found my inner child and tried to love him. In any incomprehensible situation, she meditated. She opened the world of psychology and self-development. I took a course of antidepressants and B vitamins. I thought, read and wrote a lot about “why people drink,” and gradually my demons began to recede.

Now I'm 36. The last time I drank was 6 years ago. How do I live? Wonderful. Got a cat and pajamas with bears. I don’t want to light up, offer my husband a threesome (thank God, he didn’t agree!), write to incomprehensible people and be ashamed of my actions. No more need to escape into the alcohol dope or hiding in the house of an imaginary aunt. I live here and now, a real life without stimulants, and I communicate with real people. My hands hold the steering wheel and, thank God, they do not shake.

The editors would like to thank Studio 212 for their help in organizing the shooting.

We are waiting for your reaction. Do you have anything to say about what you read? Write in the comments below or [email protected]

Chronic alcoholism is an incurable disease, but some manage to achieve a stable remission and stop drinking alcohol. Others gradually descend down the social ladder until they finally degrade. Most addicts make attempts to stop abusing alcohol, which are not always successful. For those who are accustomed to go on a long binge, the stories of alcoholics can give an impetus to stop drinking alcohol as soon as possible.

The story of mother Nastya, tragic

Nastya was born in a village not far from a large regional center, went to school, then went to a pedagogical institute and left home for several years. She then returned to her native village as a teacher. But during this time, the family has undergone major changes.

Her mother, Vera Nikolaevna, worked all her life at a local agricultural enterprise as a milkmaid. The use of alcohol in the team was the norm for men and women, and the latter sometimes competed with the stronger sex in terms of dose. They were not limited to holidays and weekends; in the evening, alcohol was always present at dinner.

Nastya saw the problem of her mother, but persuasion, threats did not help. The woman did not consider herself an alcoholic, she did not want to hear about treatment or coding. Binges became frequent, the appearance at work in a state of intoxication was part of the norm.

Local village alcoholics began to appear in the house. But by that time, Nastya had already married and lived separately on a nearby street. She stopped trying to help her mother cope with the disease. Only after another drinking bout did she complain of feeling unwell and abdominal pain, and asked to be taken to the hospital. The examination showed that the woman has cirrhosis of the liver in an advanced stage. After her condition improved, she was discharged home with a recommendation not to drink alcohol.

But Vera Nikolaevna could not stop. The medicines and diet prescribed by the doctor were forgotten after a week. Binges continued, after which each time it got worse. Other people began to notice this. The skin and eyes took on a yellowish tint, for some reason the stomach grew, and the palms turned red. Mental disorders appeared, after drinking a woman could talk with an invisible interlocutor, she became aggressive.

It all ended one morning when, after drinking heavily, she did not wake up. The daughter, sensing something was wrong, went to visit her, called an ambulance, which pronounced her dead. An autopsy showed cirrhosis of the liver, ascites, which caused a huge belly, as well as signs of multiple organ failure. This is how alcohol can lead to death, only six months have passed since the diagnosis.

Only an insignificant part of alcohol deaths is associated with lethal poisoning. The main contribution of alcohol to high mortality in Russia is characterized by the following data: 19% of deaths from cardiovascular diseases (including heart attacks and strokes), 61% of deaths from external causes, including 67% of murders, 50% of suicides, 68% of deaths from cirrhosis of the liver and 60% of pancreatitis.

Igor's story, criminal

For Igor, addiction to alcohol was the reason for imprisonment. He started drinking alcohol as a teenager, but despite this he studied well at school. He entered the school, but could not finish it, he was expelled for addiction to alcohol and absenteeism. Igor was always capable, he studied quickly, so he found a job at a construction site, and then began to go to work in Moscow.

Returning home was always accompanied by week-long binges, there were friends who were happy with free alcohol. This happened regularly for several years. Work trips also began to be accompanied by active alcohol abuse, but cheap alcohol, beer or cocktails were bought to get euphoria.

Igor received his first term for a drunken fight in which he severely injured his friend. He served 3 years, was released early for good behavior. But after returning home, the old way of life also returned. Job trips alternated with weeks of hard drinking.

Igor's mother did not differ in exemplary behavior and also often abused alcohol. The son's reaction to this was sharply negative, Igor often cursed with her, sometimes used force. He was annoyed by strangers in the house, feasts with an abundance of booze. He himself tried to drink alcohol outside the home.

One day, returning late at night, Igor found his mother in a state of intoxication. He, too, had been drunk for several days. The behavior of the woman seemed unacceptable to him, he began to aggressively argue with her. In a fit of rage, an ax fell under the arm, which Igor set in motion.

The neighbors called the police, Igor asked them about this in the morning. He did not try to hide and fully realized his guilt. Now Igor is serving a sentence, alcohol is now unavailable. Reading helps to fill the void, and before, alcohol was a favorite pastime. Igor regrets his act and hopes that after his release he will not return to this habit.

According to experts, about 70% of murders in Russia are related to alcohol. The MIA figures give a somewhat lower figure of around 50%, but this is likely an underestimate, as many suspects mistakenly believe that alcohol intoxication is an aggravating circumstance.

http://www.demoscope.ru/weekly/knigi/alkogol/alkogol.pdf

Paul's story is hopeful

Paul's family is the most ordinary. He is an only child, he was not deprived of the attention of his parents, he grew up, dreamed, went to school, then moved to a big city, where he tried vodka for the first time at the age of 16. While studying at the institute, drinking occurred only on weekends. The field of its completion and the appearance of stable work came to the realization that you can not wait for Friday evening, but on any weekday, have a little drink before bed.

Gradually, alcohol began to appear in the house every other day, then every evening. Sometimes Pavel got a hangover in the morning at work, but this did not harm labor relations. Only relatives interfered, who claimed that he had problems with alcohol. Pavel shrugged it off and believed that he could stop at any moment.

Gradually, they began to take him for his own in the surrounding drinking establishments, interests disappeared, all thoughts came down to one thing - to drink. If acquaintances told that they had gone on vacation, Pavel automatically counted how much alcohol could be bought with this money.

The day of enlightenment came six months ago, when on the third day, after drinking heavily in a state of severe withdrawal, the realization came that there was no further way. There was an inexplicable feeling of fear for my life, which led to the acceptance of the problem. Pavel realized that he could not cope on his own and turned to his parents, with whom relations had already been ruined.

Parents helped, gave money for coding, and Pavel found a narcologist himself according to the reviews of those who had already given up alcohol. The coding was successful, euphoria in the early days helped to fight cravings for alcohol. But then the desire to drink constantly pestered, sometimes intensified. It was very difficult to fight him, depression set in. Saved conversation with a psychologist and antidepressants.

Now Pavel is gradually returning to normal life. He restores relations with relatives who turned away from him because of addiction, tries to show his best side at work. In a sober life, he realized that alcohol turned him into the dregs of society, and his appearance was disgusting. Now the situation is changing for the better. Pavel is sure that there will be no more place for alcohol in his life.

Conclusion

Alcohol dependence and regular binges reduce the quality of life. They increase the likelihood of serious illnesses that the dependent person is not able to cope with, because. To do this, you need to stop abusing alcohol.

At an early stage, you can stop, the disease will remain, but will go into a remission phase. In severe cases, a gradual degradation of the personality awaits, and death can be a consequence not only of illness, but also of crime.

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We remind you that we are against the distribution, sale and use of psychoactive substances.

Illegal production, sale, shipment of narcotic drugs, psychotropic substances or their analogues and illegal sale and shipment of plants containing narcotic drugs / psychotropic substances are punishable in accordance with law 228.1 of the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation.

Promotion of narcotic drugs, psychotropic substances or their precursors, plants containing narcotic drugs or psychotropic substances or their precursors, and their parts containing narcotic drugs or psychotropic substances or their precursors, new potentially dangerous psychoactive substances is punishable in accordance with the law of the Code of Administrative Offenses of the Russian Federation Article 6.13 ."

“We met with friends. I was a student, he is a recent graduate of Moscow State University. I have known friends for many years, we used to go to the same school. Ordinary intelligent Moscow company. They sang songs, drank wine - like everyone else, it seems to me. He was handsome, sang well, joked witty - the soul of the company. I was very flattered that he drew attention to me. The novel spun quickly and developed very rapidly. We walked around the city, he sang the Beatles to me, read some poetry, told stories about Moscow streets. It was interesting and not boring with him: bright, smart and at the same time soft and kind. I fell in love without memory, of course.

Literally three months later, we decided to move in together. Each of us lived with our parents, we did not want to move in with one of them, we were eager to start our lives, to create a “real family”. Everything was new, everything was great.

We rented an apartment and moved in together. Once they passed by the registry office, he jokingly offered to come in, I supported the joke - they submitted an application. How long had we known each other by that time, six months? Maybe a little more. It seemed to me then that it should be so, that I finally met “my man”, my grandfather went to get married 2 weeks after we met. And then he lived for 50 years in love and harmony.

Played a wedding. After the wedding, his friend from another city came to us, then for the first time I saw my husband very drunk. But I didn’t attach any importance, well, which of us didn’t get drunk?

We began to live. The first months were very good. About two months after the wedding, I became pregnant. We were happy, he spoiled me with goodies, took me to the doctor, attached a photo with an ultrasound above the desktop. At the same time, he drank, but it did not really bother me. Well, a bottle of beer in the evening. He's not lying around drunk! Well, a jar of cocktails. The fact that he at least something, but drank every day, then for some reason did not really bother me.

About two months before the birth, he went on his first binge.

I was completely unprepared for this. All my life I thought that drinking bouts happen to “declassed elements”, it’s “hanuriks under the fence” that go on binges and “eat vodka”. But with me, with my relatives, with my friends, in our environment this cannot happen, because it cannot, period. We are educated intelligent people, our parents are educated intelligent people, well, what a binge. However, it was him. For six days my husband lay, drank and vomited. He didn't do anything else. I didn’t know what to do, so I obediently brought him “for a hangover” (he said that otherwise he would die, that now 50 grams of a hangover and not a drop more). I brought food to his bed that he didn't eat. Could not. Huge as an airship, with her pregnant belly, she went to the local supermarket and bought beer, which she herself had never drunk, burning with humiliating shame. I could not bring myself to tell someone about this, to consult with someone: I told all my friends and family that I had an ideal marriage, a wonderful husband and not life at all, but a fairy tale. And here it is. Gradually, he himself got out of the binge - he simply could not drink anymore. I really wanted to forget the past week. And we all pretended like nothing happened.

Then a child was born. I wrote a diploma and worked from home, the child did not sleep well, so did we. I started arguing with my husband. After a couple of weeks, he went on a drinking binge again. I was horrified. I didn't give him a drop of alcohol for any hangover, and he was still drunk in the smoke every day. When he finally sobered up, about five days later, I made a row and "big talk".

He swore and swore that this was the last time. That it's just the stress of the last few months. I believed. But it was impossible to believe. That's how hell began.

Our life went according to a repeating scenario: for a week he drank soundly, practically lying down, getting up only to go to the toilet. Then for several days he did not drink at all, as far as I could tell, but remained half drunk. Then he began to drink a little every other day. Then every day. Then drink again. Such an endless circle of 3-5 weeks.

I got close to his older sister. She told me that his father was actually an alcoholic, and that his family tried their best to hide it from me. That my husband has been drinking for a long time, and his family held their breath when we met - in the wake of romantic happiness, he hardly drank. They only prayed that I would not find out about this before the wedding, and then they put pressure on us to have a baby (but preferably three and as soon as possible). That his second sister moved out of the house at the age of 17 - just not to live in an apartment with two alcoholics.

I loved him, I loved our daughter, and for a long time the very thought of divorce seemed blasphemous to me. He is sick, I said to myself, he is unhappy, who am I to be if I leave him in such a situation? I have to save him. And I tried to save. Somewhere after the third or fourth binge, I began to insist that we turn to a narcologist. I heard that there is coding and stitching, but I didn’t really know what it was. But I knew for sure that alcoholism is a disease, which means that it must be treated. Why after the third or fourth? Because I denied. I was hiding from reality. I didn't believe that all this was happening to me. I thought I did. That it can't be, because it can never be. But sometime, what cannot be, happens for the third time in a row, we have to admit that it exists.

He was not violent and aggressive, he did not try to hit me. He was a quiet alcoholic, just lying and suffering. When he was drunk, he started to say things. Either he said that I was the dream of his whole life, then, on the contrary, that he hates me. Either he said that he would die soon, or that he was a martyr. That I am a martyr. He was emotionally thrown from one extreme to another. And along with it, I was thrown.

I never drank with him. I was a nursing mother, the right girl. It never even crossed my mind to join his drinking. I was looking for a way out. First on the internet. I read articles by narcologists, I sat on a forum where there were relatives of alcoholics. There I learned that there are special groups. Like Alcoholics Anonymous, only for relatives. Called to support, not to fall into co-dependence, to give an opportunity to speak out. And I joined this group.

The group consisted of several dull women and a curator. Also dull. The first thing the curator said when opening the group was “An alcoholic will never stop being an alcoholic.” And then the participants began to speak. There were a few simple rules: no interruption, no criticism, and no judgment at all. Talk one by one. Do not demand to speak from someone who is not ready. And the women spoke. And I listened to them and was inwardly horrified. Their alcoholic relatives—husbands, fathers, brothers, mothers—were not the dregs of society. They were ordinary people - of those whom I used to respect. Professor at some institute. Railway engineer. School teacher. Even a doctor. And they all drank.

In parallel, I was looking for a narcologist. The cheerleading girls were skeptical about the idea. The narcologists did not help them. They told all sorts of horror stories (I'm not sure from my own experience) about the terrible side effects of stitching and coding, how people became disabled or even died. But I was persistent. I thought that since alcoholism is a disease, a doctor is needed. Finally, on the recommendation, I found a narcologist. First, she went to him. The first thing he said to me was, “Alcoholics are never exes, do you understand that? An alcoholic may not drink. But he will remain an alcoholic forever.” Then we talked for probably an hour. He said what I already knew: that in order to have a result, the patient’s desire is needed, that his strong will is needed, that if he doesn’t want, nothing will work, even lie down with bones. And he also said that you can’t “sew up” a person whose blood contains alcohol. It is necessary that at least three days he did not drink.

And I began to persuade my husband to sew up. Beg. Threaten. Beg. Blackmail a child. He said: “Yes, yes, yes.” But he drank. And he lied. Have us began to appear stash in the apartment. I hid money. He is bottles. I took everything from him, to the penny - he went to the grocery store and got drunk with local drunks. If he didn’t take it away, he drank it all away, and he told me that he had lost or been robbed. And again this cycle: binge - a few days of respite - binge. Usually, at the end of a drinking bout, when he was very physically ill, he agreed to sew himself up. But he never went three days without a drop of alcohol.

Over time, he had strange attacks, when he suddenly turned sharply pale, gasped for air. Once he carried the child to wash and suddenly fell. I was nearby, picked up the baby and looked in horror at my husband, who literally slid down the wall. He did not let me call a doctor, he was afraid that I would “sew him up” forcibly. After some time, he recovered himself.

I was grasping at straws. In the support group, women often shared all sorts of folk remedies that would "definitely help." Once there they told me about such a “panacea”: you take, they say, a teaspoon of ammonia, dissolve it in a glass of water, give it to drink in one gulp - and that's it. Will never drink. I came home and told my husband everything honestly. “You,” I say, “want to stop drinking? But you can't? And here is a super tool. You will drink ammonia and more - never! “We were young and stupid. He obediently took the glass from me and took a couple of sips. He goggled his eyes, coughed terribly, collapsed as if knocked down. While I dialed the ambulance number with trembling hands, he woke up, took the phone away from me and said: “If you want to kill me, find an easier way, or something.” And, of course, he didn't stop drinking.

I began to blame myself. I remembered him - a cheerful joker - before the wedding. I guess I'm such a bad wife that he drinks. I went in a dressing gown, I didn’t make up (I remind you - a baby, a diploma, a job), I didn’t do this and that. I ate myself. I somehow forgot that before meeting me he was already an alcoholic. And that one or two weeks between drinking bouts, he continued to be the soul of the company. And what is going on in our house - only I saw.

About a year later, I finally admitted that I needed to get a divorce. While the child is still small, he does not understand and does not repeat after his father. I finally allowed myself to admit that I did everything I could think of, and nothing helped. And that I destroy myself every day, that from my past - easy-going, cheerful, beautiful, self-confident - there remains a pale, unfortunate shadow, forever crying and terribly tired. We talked and sort of agreed on everything. I asked only that he come sober when he visits the child, nothing more. He went to his parents.

I sobbed for almost a day, I was terribly sorry for myself, the child, my beautiful dream (as it seemed to me, embodied in this marriage), my husband, who would completely disappear without me. The next day he returned and said that he could not live without us and was ready to try everything again. And of course I accepted it. We even went to the narcologist together. Only nothing has changed: the next day the husband got drunk again. I kicked him out again, a week later he came back again. We tried to “start over” three more times. After the third time, he went on a binge for two weeks, I packed my things, the child and left the rented apartment for my mother. After a while we divorced through the court.

The first year and a half after the divorce, I was terribly covered. I could not even watch a movie in which the characters drank something, I became physically ill. I pushed my friends not to drink in front of me. Gradually it faded away. Three years later, I was even able to drink a glass of wine myself. But I still definitely feel this smell - the smell of hard drinking and the smell of an alcoholic: it cannot be confused with anything, neither with the consequences of a violent drunkenness, nor with an illness. I sometimes run into people on the subway - decently dressed, clean-shaven - and I recoil, knowing for sure that this is it. I have an alcoholic in front of me. And I feel fear. I once made friends with a woman who also had an experience of living with an alcoholic, and she told me that she felt the same way. It's forever. There are no former alcoholics. And the wives of alcoholics, apparently, too.