As Sick As Our Secrets Read online

  At some point, I passed out. I hadn’t had alcohol for nearly five years so the booze took hold of me quickly. In the past, I’d been able to take in vast quantities without it affecting me but not anymore. I was well and truly sozzled.

  Chapter 11

  SOPHIE

  I woke up to the sound of a thunderclap going off between my ears. The pain was horrendous. If I moved my head, it was excruciating. Slowly, I opened my eyes. There was no comfort there. I closed them again. I was sinking in a sea of nausea and my whole body ached.

  As my mind sprang into life, the initial thought was one of terror then bewilderment. What had I done? My memory of the previous night was sketchy. I remembered putting on sad music and crying. What I did know was that in a moment of madness I had thrown away the good work done over the last few years by drinking. My skin tingled. I had a sudden coldness that hit me at the core. I couldn’t think straight.

  Frustration and disappointment were overtaken by fear. Fear won out hands down. Fear encompassed my whole being. How could I live with myself now after this? Friends and family would be so let down by my actions. They would never understand the pressure I was under to drive me to this. I had not had my crutch by my side for so long now.

  Last night I had needed my anaesthetic once again and now my throat was on fire. The whisky had not worked at all. The poison poured out of my pores as the sweats compounded my sense of unease.

  In such a short space of time, the low mood I suffered from had increased tenfold. Life seemed futile. All sense of purpose had been stripped from my being and a thought came in that the only solution now was to drink myself to death. I was alone, and no longer felt I could cope with life.

  I couldn’t believe how quickly my thinking had changed from one of hope to me spiralling out of control. I had well and truly arrived back in hell. The curtains stayed closed as I crawled out of bed to the bathroom. I only deserved darkness in my life now. I sat retching, clutching the toilet pan as I worried about unknown tragedies that were about to descend on me.

  Had I spoken to anyone last night? Had I upset anyone in blackout? All those feelings of regret that I used to experience came back. I couldn’t face a cup of tea. I shivered and shook. I managed to get myself into the kitchen but curled up in a corner. The tears flowed as I thought about the mess I had made of my life.

  I contemplated suicide but then remembering my last unsuccessful attempt; I realised that wasn’t a good idea. I hated alcohol with a passion for what it had done to me. What should I do? I needed help but the compulsion to drink took over me. Anger arrived like a hurricane. I didn’t deserve this, but I didn’t think anyone would understand.

  Slowly, I moved to the sink and turned the tap on. Splashing my face with cold water, I then filled a glass and drank it. My throat was so dry. My hands shook uncontrollably. Nausea welled up in my body and I vomited into the kitchen sink. I checked around the room to see if there was any alcohol left but the bottles were empty. I felt afraid to leave the flat, but I needed another drink. My body wanted to lie down but my mind wanted to drink. I looked at the time. It was 8.30. I presumed it was morning but it could have been evening.

  I looked down at my body and I saw the bruises, not knowing where they had come from. Panic set in. What had I done? Had I invited anyone into my home or was this just from my drunken effort to get to bed last night? For all I knew I could have killed someone without even knowing. That was how powerful alcohol had a hold on me. I couldn’t remember a thing. Remorse overwhelmed me and sucked me in deeper to that dark pit of loneliness. I was just a no good drunk who didn’t deserve anything good to happen in her life. I had to get a drink.

  I got dressed without showering. My clothes hadn’t been ironed, but I didn’t care. Personal hygiene was the bottom of my list when oblivion called. I needed to get out of it as quickly as I could. I wasn’t bothered who saw me yet I was fearful of being seen.

  I walked around the corner to the local Tesco Direct. I couldn’t take the car as I could still be over the limit. I bought tomatoes and lettuce, thinking that buying them as well as the booze wouldn’t make my early morning purchase look as bad. I bought a bottle of vodka and a box of wine.

  I’d got a story firmly implanted in my head. If anyone stopped to ask me what I wanted all that alcohol for, I would tell them it was my birthday and I needed last minute things for my party. They hadn’t seen me buying drink before so I didn’t think they suspected I had a problem. The only party I’d be having was a pity party on my own.

  As I put the items in my plastic shopping bag, a sense of relief came over me. I would be okay now. Within a few minutes, I was home and helping myself to a large glass of wine. I swilled the liquid round in my mouth then swallowed. The taste was bitter, but the effect was euphoric. I sighed a big long sigh. I was back on the merry-go-round of addiction. Alcohol was my friend again. I even managed a smile.

  As I sat drinking, some of the things I learnt in rehab came back to me. I tried to block them out. I thought about the friends I made in treatment and how I had now let them down. Maybe I knew at the back of my mind I was going to drink again. It was what I was good at.

  I had to sober up to go and see Dad in hospital but I would leave it until tomorrow. I had drunk too much today and I couldn’t let him see me like this. He had enough to think about. I didn’t want him worrying about me as well.

  I drank solidly for the next three days. I phoned the hospital and left a message for Dad to say I was sorry I hadn’t been but I had the flu. It wasn’t completely a lie. I had a bad cold that had developed so felt I could justify staying away from hospital but it didn’t make me feel any better about myself. I didn’t want to pass on anything to those poorly patients.

  By the following day, I felt so ill I knew I had to stop drinking. My resolve was strong. I decided to go to the hospital first thing before any stupid thoughts came in that might try to justify why taking a drink was a good idea. I arrived at Dad’s ward. I was filled with self-loathing. I’d managed to clean my teeth that morning, and I bought mints in the hope that there were no lingering telltale smells of alcohol on my person.

  Dad had been through major surgery, a triple bypass and he looked better than I did. His expression was of shock when he saw me. I hadn’t realised how bad I must have appeared.

  “Sorry to hear you’ve been ill, love,” he said.

  “Yeah, this flu kept me in bed for the last three days. I’m sorry I couldn’t come and see you but I didn’t want any germs spreading through the ward and I worried about you catching any infection.” I coughed to add substance to my words.

  “It’s okay, love, I understand.” He frowned at me suspiciously

  “Can I smell alcohol?” he asked

  “No, no, I don’t think so.”

  He looked perplexed.

  “Oh, I know what it’ll be. It’s that hand sanitizer at the door. I used some. There’s always alcohol in those things.”

  “Yeah probably,” he replied.

  I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I felt so uncomfortable. I sat for a while longer making small talk. I wouldn’t be able to keep up this facade. I suspected Dad knew what happened. All that was on my mind was to get another drink. I loved Dad but with him being in hospital, it was a nuisance in my life.

  I didn’t want to take responsibility for caring for him but knew I had to step up my game. That fact irritated me. All Dad wanted was my love and attention and I didn’t feel capable of giving that. I was empty inside. Alcohol robbed me of the emotions I should have been feeling. It destroyed my sense of duty and all I cared about was getting my next drink.

  Rushing out of the hospital, I made my way to the nearest off-licence. I was so glad to get home. With the curtains closed, and the blinds drawn I could drink in the darkness of my flat. No one had been in touch with me. That cemented my feelings of woe. I felt sorry for myself big time. I was alone, and no one cared. I drank and passed out. Woke up, drank some more,
then passed out. Day turned into night without me even noticing. I lay in bed drinking. I heard my mobile ringing but ignored it. I wasn’t intending answering it, anyway.

  Sometime later I picked up my phone and scrolled through it. There were a couple of missed calls and messages from Steph. I couldn’t return her call at the moment. I had drunk too much. I phoned her the following day. Believing that I was sober enough, I tried to put on a front that everything was okay.

  “Hi Steph,” I said. My chin quivered. I clenched my jaw and bit my lip. I was thankful that she couldn’t see me as my appearance would tell all with my bloodshot eyes and shaking body.

  She was straight on my case. “How come you haven’t been going to see Dad?”

  “I’ve not been so well myself, Steph. I’ve had a bad case of flu. It was going but then it came back with a vengeance.”

  “We’re going to have to sort things out for him coming out of hospital. He’ll need your support, Sophie.” I sighed too loudly. I felt irritated with Steph. I wasn’t happy with her giving her orders from two hundred miles away in London - “What’s the matter?” Steph asked. This wasn’t said with a caring tone, more of an accusing manner. I remained silent. That silence must have raised her suspicions. “What is it, Sophie?”

  “Erm well, I’m not coping too well with things at the moment. I’m off on the sick from work.”

  “Have you had a drink?”

  I felt a pang in my chest, then heat and tingling in my face. How did she know?

  “No, of course not.” My tone was indignant. It annoyed me how Steph had always been able to tell when I was drinking. She only had to walk into a room after I’d had some booze and she would know. I could never fool her.

  “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” she shouted. I started crying.

  “Sophie, how could you. You selfish little… I can’t believe you. Poor Dad’s there in hospital and you’ve let everyone down again.”

  “I, I, I…”

  “I don’t want to speak to you, Sophie. I am so annoyed. Your behaviour is beyond belief.” Steph ended the call. All I heard was the voice in my head saying, you may as well drink now, you’ve done the damage.

  There was no denying my life was a mess. I had no boyfriend, a sister that hated me, a father who needed me and yet I was unable to fulfil my family duties. I had genuine reasons to be fearful. I still wasn’t sure if the police were going to charge me, I had the possibility of Randy’s henchmen returning. I also had something from my past that was eating away at me. Every time I tried to push it down, it kept bobbing back up to the surface.

  I began to worry about the amount of money I was now spending. Also, I was fearful about my job. My main concern though was whether people might know if I was drinking or not. I kept telling myself I didn’t care, but that was so far from the truth. I cared too much.

  I went on a two-week bender. By the end of which, no one was speaking to me. I couldn’t kid myself that I was a party animal anymore. All my drinking had been done at home alone with the curtains closed. I didn’t want to drink, but I had to. Every morning I woke up and told myself I wasn’t going to have a drink that day. Sometimes my resolve lasted until lunchtime. Other times, if there was some still by the bed from the night before then I’d be drinking within a minute.

  I was afraid to look in the mirror for fear I’d be too repulsed at what I saw. My hair was unbrushed. My face was makeup free and unwashed. My clothes were dirty. I couldn’t cope with doing any laundry. I wasn’t making it to bed most nights. I passed out in the chair with the lights still on.

  Work had been in touch, leaving a message because I wasn’t answering my phone. I’d been too afraid to phone them back. I thought they’d guessed what I was doing and had sacked me already. I scanned the room in disgust. There were empty bottles everywhere.

  I couldn’t carry on like this and I had to do something. I didn’t just feel broken I felt I’d been shattered into a million little pieces. I phoned Aaron for help.

  “Hi, Sophie, not heard from you in a while.” He sounded cheerful. My voice quivered as I spoke.

  “Aaron, I need help.” He didn’t ask any questions. I was sure he knew. It was the sixth sense that other addicts have.

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “Yes please.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  I tried to tidy up, but I had no energy. I felt so weak. Any actions were futile. I lay on the sofa. I was feeling physically and mentally sick. I couldn’t wait for Aaron to arrive. What was I going to do? My world was crashing down around me.

  Chapter 12

  SOPHIE

  For the last two weeks or however long I’d been drinking, I had stomach pains. I also had backache and constant diarrhoea. I didn’t think it was a coincidence. I had no appetite so was very weak and fatigued. My normal slender frame now looked like one of skin and bone with more bone than skin. I waited for Aaron to arrive. Terror came and took over me. I felt utterly bewildered at how things had ended up like this.

  The doorbell rang, and I made my way over to the entrance of my flat. I could hardly walk. I found it easier to crawl there. When I opened the door, Aaron’s expression took me by surprise. It was as though he’d come into contact with an alien for the first time and not a very friendly one at that. I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror for some time because I knew I wouldn’t like the picture I saw back. As sad an excuse for a woman as was possible, the loathing I felt towards myself was huge.

  For all his upset at the sight of me, Aaron threw his arms around me.

  “Come here,” he said. “What are we going to do with you?” I began to cry, more out of relief that I had let someone into my isolation.

  “What’s been going on?” he asked. My voice trembled, and I found it difficult to speak.

  “I just started drinking and I couldn’t stop.” My drinking had been nothing like the good old days out with friends. This had been done in secret and on my own away from prying eyes. It hadn’t been pleasant, just a necessity.

  “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I tell you what. I’ll make us both one and if you can’t drink it, don’t worry about it.”

  He walked into the kitchen and I heard him mulling about. I was sweating profusely. He came in with two mugs of hot tea and passed one to me. My hands were shaking so badly, I couldn’t hold onto the mug.

  “Let me help,” he said. He came over and took the drink from me. He put it to my lips like he would if caring for a small child. Thankfully, the warm liquid stayed down. I had virtually tried to drink myself to death but in that moment, drinking tea, it felt good to be alive.

  “Thanks for coming over, Aaron.” I tried a half smile in his direction.

  “Don’t mention it. It’s what friends are for. I’m only glad you phoned. It’s a privilege to help.” My tears began to flow. Aaron watched on. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, what are we going to do with you?”

  “I don’t know.” I couldn’t think straight at the moment. I was surprised I’d had the gumption to phone Aaron.

  “Let’s try to get you in to see your GP. See what he can do to help. Does he know you have a problem?”

  “No, last time I went straight to rehab which I arranged myself.”

  “Where’s his number?”

  I scrolled through my phone as the trembling continued. Aaron took control and managed to get me an emergency appointment for 11.30 that day. I was so grateful to him.

  “Thanks for sorting that out,” I said.

  “No problem. Now, do you have any more alcohol in the house?”

  “I, I don’t know. I don’t think so,” I replied. Aaron’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you but do you mind if I take a look. We don’t want you finding anything to tempt you.”

  “No, that’s fine.” Part of me was happy going along with what he said and
another part was reluctant to give up my booze.

  I heard Aaron clunking through cupboards. Being in recovery himself, he knew the hiding places an alcoholic might have. I couldn’t kid a kidder. He returned to me and sat in the lounge.

  “I found a small amount of vodka left in a bottle under the sink so I’ve poured it away.”

  “Thanks, Aaron. I don’t understand why I do that, hide bottles from myself.”

  “It’s okay, now, can you eat something?”

  “No, I’m not well enough for that.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to clear out your empties. I saw a few while I was rummaging around.”

  I rose from my chair to help him.

  “You sit down and rest. You won’t have any energy at the moment. Where do you keep your bin liners?”

  “I’m not sure.” I felt disorientated. “Oh, it’s the third drawer down in the kitchen.” I sank back into the chair. I didn’t have the will to argue with anyone right now. I would have done whatever was asked of me.

  “You okay with me going in your knicker drawer?” At this, I managed a laugh.

  “I don’t think there are any bottles hidden in there but you can search the whole house, I don’t mind. I’ve nothing left to hide.” My body still shivered as I slumped in the chair. The tremor of my chin seemed to magnify as Aaron glanced at me. His expression was sad.

  “Leave it to me then,” he smiled. I heard the bottles clinking as he worked his way through the flat. There were probably enough to fill a bottle bank.

  I was glad Aaron made the call to the doctor and not me. I would have been fobbed off when they told me there were no appointments but Aaron insisted on something being done for me. He came along with me to the surgery. It was good to have his company as half of me wanted to run away and get another drink. As the minutes passed, the stark realisation of my actions kicked in. To say I was remorseful now was putting it mildly. The longer I sat there waiting, the worse I felt.