Please get help, mum
Claire Green and family. Claire was hiding a secret
Thursday 16th August 2007
It was 7.30am on a Monday and as my son, Andrew, 15, poured milk on his cornflakes, I reached up to the cupboard for a mug. I waited until he wasn't looking, then filled it up. But not with coffee. With something that made me feel much better than caffeine could. White wine.
One quick slurp and my hands stopped shaking. Warmth flooded through me and I felt normal.
'Phew, got away with it again,' I thought.
Being an alcoholic was a constant challenge. Sneaking boxes of wine indoors, going to bed blind drunk, pretending I had a migraine, hiding the empties the next day. I wasn't proud of my addiction. But it'd been part of my life for years.
After an unhappy childhood and being bullied at school, I'd turned to alcohol to make me feel better. I was 15. At 21, I'd met Steve, 20, in The Swan pub, Cheltenham. We'd fallen in love and had our two lovely boys, Richard, 17, and Andrew, 15.
Steve gave me the love and security I'd craved and I stopped drinking. I'd got a job as a part-time sales assistant and sorted my life out. But in 1995, my mum, Daphne, 59, died suddenly from ovarian cancer. It hit me hard. I couldn't deal with the grief and had a breakdown. I had to spend six weeks in the Charlton Lane hospital, Cheltenham.
After I was discharged, the anti-depressants I'd been put on made me feel dead inside. So I took a sip of wine one day and instantly felt better. One glass turned to two, then three. Then a bottle a day, two bottles a day, two boxes.
I'd assumed no one had noticed. But who was I kidding? Of course Steve knew. So in March 2004, I agreed to go and see a psychiatrist about my drinking. But when he'd told me to go to rehab, I'd refused.
'Who'd take care of the boys?' I'd said.
My only comfort was that Richard and Andrew were at school and had no idea what was happening.
Then one morning, I was about to sneak a swig when Andrew walked over and handed me a letter.
'Mum can you read this after I've left for school?' he said.
It was probably his report or a school trip he needed money for, I thought.
I waited until the door clicked shut and ripped it open. The words blurred in front of my eyes as I struggled to focus.
'Dearest Mum,' Andrew had written. 'I write to you from the deepest depths of my heart. When I heard you talking last night I broke down inside. The thought of not having you with
us is unbearable. Swallow your pride, go and get help and enjoy the rest of your life with me, Rich and Dad. I have a big future ahead of me and I need you to be part of it… Please Mum, if not for us then for you… Your loving son Andrew.'
Suddenly I realised Andrew must have overheard me and Steve talking about my drink problem. What a selfish cow I'd been. Sobbing, I grabbed the phone.
'Steve,' I cried. 'I'm going to rehab.'
'Thank God,' he whispered.
I put down the phone and my mobile bleeped with a text.
'Have you read it?' Andrew asked.
'Yes,' I replied. 'And I'm getting help.'
The following day, I went to The Priory in Bristol. For the next four weeks I had therapy and took medication to help the cold turkey symptoms. I felt sick, shaky, tired and desperate for a drink.
But no matter how hard each day was, I'd go back to my room and read Andrew's letter, and that would help me get through it. By the end of the month, I was sober, and I came home to lots of hugs and kisses from my boys.
'You did it, Mum,' said Andrew, his eyes shining with pride.
In the first six months I fell off the wagon twice. But each time, I went to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and got back on track. Now, two-and-a-half years later, I'm still sober. I'm doing a computing course to get a new job and feel happier than ever. Andrew's studying environmental chemistry at university. It's thanks to him and his letter that I've got my life back.
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