That I could become addicted to alcohol after happily living without it for 25 years was, and continues to be, as surprising to me as I’m sure it is to my friends and family.
I’ve never been someone to go bar hopping, or to binge drink until I passed out. Growing up, alcohol wasn’t a part of my world: there was no wine at dinners, no beers at Christmas or even that much champagne on New Year’s Eve. Whenever I’d go to parties, people would ask me why I wasn’t drinking and I’d just shrug and tell them I didn’t feel like it.
So when I was fired for drinking on the job in my mid-20s, I couldn't believe it: how did it get to this point? At the time, I remember thinking this event would be the catalyst for change -- after all, who gets fired for drinking and doesn’t stop afterwards? But addiction is a pernicious beast, and despite realising I was now in trouble, I couldn't just stop.
I was still going to my new job; I was getting home safely, and I was having normal conversations with friends and colleagues. No one suspected that every time I went out for a coffee break, I would have a drink instead.
I was still going to my new job; I was getting home safely, and I was having normal conversations with friends and colleagues. No one suspected that every time I went out for a coffee break, I would have a drink instead. Every day, planning where and when I would have my next drink was at the forefront of my mind, and I would live my life based on my proximity to alcohol as well as its availability.
Yet, inside, I was feeling awful -- and so ashamed. Any control I thought I’d had over my alcohol consumption had long since slipped away, but still I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone about my struggles -- not even my mum.
The social narrative around addiction also didn’t help: while I knew I was drinking more than what was safe, public representations of people addicted to alcohol usually focused on homeless men living by the side of the road, swinging their empty beer and wine bottles at passersby. The image of an alcoholic who is employed, studying at university or even both -- as I was -- just doesn’t exist, leaving us with the collective impression that heavy drinking is only done by those who have given up on society, or been forsaken by it.
The image of an alcoholic who is employed, studying at university or even both -- as I was -- just doesn’t exist, leaving us with the collective impression that heavy drinking is only done by those who have given up on society, or been forsaken by it.
Getting help is also not as straightforward as it may seem. When I finally summoned the courage to look up private rehab centres online, I was shocked to find that they cost upwards of $10,000 a month -- money I certainly didn't have, and probably never will. And then, by chance, I came across an advertisement from -- a national addiction treatment and research centre based in Melbourne -- on Facebook, calling for people battling an addiction to participate in a unique, six-month treatment program that aimed to provide all the support they would need, from detox all the way to outpatient care.
I filled out the form, never once thinking I would qualify: I had a job, I had a loving family and I had friends. Thankfully, I was accepted into the program, and it’s changed my life.
Being filmed while you’re recovering from an addiction is certainly a “different” experience, but one which I was ready for if it meant getting better. I was already at the point where I knew I needed help, and having film crew suddenly turn up made it seem all the more real.
"Being filmed while you’re recovering from an addiction is certainly a “different” experience, but one which I was ready for if it meant getting better." Source: SBS
The experience was transformative, and illustrated just how many misconceptions and myths exist around addiction in the wider community. I learnt that having all the support in the one place -- doctors, psychologists, nurses -- as well as consistent access to a peer support group is paramount to recovery. There really needs to be a support system in Australia where you go to one place, and everything is organised for you, just like it would be if you had cancer or another chronic condition.
The experience was transformative, and illustrated just how many misconceptions and myths exist around addiction in the wider community.
Perhaps most importantly, I learnt that when you have unflinching support, care and patience behind you -- when someone simply refuses to give up on you -- you start to feel valuable again, as though you are an individual with your own story and set of circumstances, and that addiction is a health condition like any other.
I have also learnt that it’s very difficult to fight addiction in a culture like ours, which glorifies drinking and gambling yet abandons you when you do too much of it, or worse, praises you for it.
For anyone struggling with addiction, or for anyone who knows someone who is or has struggled, I just want to say: no one chooses to be an addict. We need to realise this in order for the stigma around addiction to disappear, and for people suffering to be given the support they deserve.
While addiction will not happen to everyone, around one in five Australians will have an alcohol, drug or gambling problem in their lifetime. And until we realise addicts are not just homeless men holding brown paper bags on the side of the road, nothing will improve.
For crisis support: Lifeline 13 11 14 or . For alcohol and drug support: 1800 250 015 . For gambling support: 1800 858 858 or
Addicted Australia premieres Tuesday 10 November, 8.30pm on SBS and SBS On Demand. The four-part documentary series continues weekly on Tuesdays at 8.30pm and will be available with simplified Chinese and Vietnamese subtitles.
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