Stories about drunk people. Major changes in the lives of people who quit drinking alcohol in any quantity

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

The story of Nastya’s mother, tragic

Nastya was born in a village not far from a large regional center, studied at school, then entered a pedagogical institute and left home for several years. She then returned to her home village as a teacher. But during this time, serious changes occurred in the family.

Her mother, Vera Nikolaevna, worked all her life as a milkmaid at a local agricultural enterprise. Drinking alcohol in a group was the norm for men and women, and the latter sometimes competed with the stronger sex in terms of dose volume. It was not limited to holidays and weekends; alcohol was required at dinner in the evening.

Nastya saw her mother’s problem, but persuasion and threats did not help. The woman did not consider herself an alcoholic and did not want to hear about treatment or coding. Binges became frequent, and showing up at work drunk became the norm.

Local village alcoholics began to appear in the house. But by that time Nastya had already gotten married and lived separately on the next street. She stopped trying to help her mother cope with the disease. Only after another binge did she complain about feeling unwell and have abdominal pain and ask to be taken to the hospital. The examination showed that the woman had 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 medications and diet prescribed by the doctor were forgotten after a week. The binges continued, after which each time it became worse. Other people began to notice this. The skin and eyes acquired a yellowish tint, for some reason the stomach grew, and the palms became red. Mental disturbances appeared; after a binge, the woman could talk to an invisible interlocutor and became aggressive.

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

Only a small proportion of alcohol-related deaths are associated with fatal 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, his addiction to alcohol became the reason for his imprisonment. He started drinking alcohol as a teenager, but despite this he studied well at school. He entered the school, but could not graduate; he was expelled for his addiction to alcohol and truancy. Igor was always capable, learned quickly, so he found a job at a construction site, and then began to travel to Moscow to work.

Returning home was always accompanied by week-long drinking bouts; there were friends who were happy to have free alcohol. This happened regularly for several years. Traveling to earn money also began to be accompanied by active abuse of alcohol, but to obtain euphoria, cheap alcohol, beer or cocktails were bought.

Igor received his first sentence for a drunken brawl, in which he seriously injured his friend. He served 3 years and was released early for good behavior. But after returning home, the old way of life also returned. Trips to earn money were followed by weeks of heavy drinking.

Igor’s mother was not distinguished by exemplary behavior and also often abused alcohol. The son’s reaction to this was sharply negative; Igor often argued with her and sometimes used force. He was irritated by strangers in the house and feasts with lots 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 himself had also been on a drinking binge for several days. The woman’s behavior seemed unacceptable to him, and he began to aggressively argue with her. In a fit of rage, an ax came to hand, which Igor used.

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 his sentence, alcohol is no longer available. Reading helps fill the void, but previously, alcohol replaced my favorite pastime. Igor regrets his action 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. Data from the Ministry of Internal Affairs gives a slightly lower figure - about 50%, but this is most likely underestimated, since many suspects mistakenly believe that alcohol intoxication is an aggravating circumstance.

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

Paul's story, an encouraging one

Pavel'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, studied at school, then moved to Big city, where I tried vodka for the first time at the age of 16. While studying at the institute, drinking occurred only on weekends. After it ended and a stable job appeared, I realized that I didn’t have to wait until Friday evening, but had a little drink before bed on any weekday.

Gradually, alcohol began to appear in the house every other day, then every evening. Sometimes Pavel was hungover in the morning at work, but this did not harm labor relations. The only people who interfered were his relatives, who claimed that he had problems with alcohol. Pavel waved it off and believed that he could stop at any moment.

Gradually, he began to be accepted as one of their own in the surrounding drinking establishments, his interests disappeared, and all thoughts came down to one thing - to drink. If acquaintances told us that they had gone on vacation, Pavel would automatically recalculate how much alcohol he could buy with that money.

The day of epiphany came six months ago, when on the third day of the binge, in a state of severe withdrawal, the realization came that there was no way forward. An inexplicable feeling of fear for one’s life appeared, which led to acceptance of the problem. Pavel realized that he couldn’t cope on his own and turned to his parents, with whom his relationship was already damaged.

My parents helped, gave me money for coding, and Pavel himself found a narcologist based on reviews from those who had already given up alcohol. The encoding was successful, the euphoria in the first days helped fight the craving for alcohol. But then the desire to drink constantly pestered me, sometimes intensifying. It was very difficult to fight him, depression set in. A conversation with a psychologist and antidepressants saved me.

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

Conclusion

Alcohol addiction and regular binge drinking reduce the quality of life. They increase the likelihood of serious illnesses that the addicted 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 remission. In severe cases, gradual degradation of personality awaits, and death can be a consequence not only of illness, but also of crime.

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My name is Victor, I have lived all my life in the city of Pushkino, Moscow region, now I am 54 years old. It all started when I was a little over 30: I left my job at school because my salary wasn’t enough for anything, and I had to support my family. I bought my own minibus and started transporting freight. Sometimes he worked part-time at a construction site. The work was hard, but profitable. Then the opportunity arose to make flights to Europe and bring parts for foreign cars, and I opened my own store in Pushkino. But I felt that I had less and less strength, even though I was still young. I, like many men, sometimes drank a little more than normal to relax. It seemed to me that there was nothing wrong with this. Until I was told that my father had died. I visited him rarely and the neighbors were the first to know about his death, although 8 days had already passed. An examination showed that he died while drunk.

I was seriously scared, my wife had been saying for a long time that I shouldn’t drink more than I should, and I decided to stay out of harm’s way from alcohol. I went to the first clinic I came across, where after a short conversation they sewed an implant into me for 3 years, they said that if I drink, it will be bad, I might even die. I didn't drink even longer, probably about 10 years without a drop. The son had grown up by that time, the relationship with his wife was strained and they periodically talked about divorce. I started drinking sometimes, just so I wouldn’t feel so sad. The business worked somehow, so there was money for good alcohol. Acquaintances began to appear, with whom I sometimes spent evenings over a bottle or two.

As my wife later said, during this period she bought and gave me advertised drugs for drunkenness, but neither I nor she felt any effect from them and I did not stop drinking, on the contrary: I began to drink even more. My wife sometimes looked for me all over Pushkino and found me unconscious and dirty. The store had to be closed because I was not able to run it. When my wife’s brother arrived from Moscow, he was shocked that she tolerated this in the house. I didn’t work, I sat at home all day, drinking, watching TV, and my wife worked, cleaned, and cooked.

My wife explained to her brother that she didn’t want any of my friends or family to know that I was drinking. Then her brother put my wife and me in the car and took me to First Step in Pushkino for anonymous treatment for alcoholism. Of course, I don’t remember this, simply because I was on a drinking binge. Something became clear already in the office at the clinic, when I was lying under an IV. My head hurts, I'm thirsty, I feel nauseous. But you can endure it. I won’t say that I was in the best condition, but I am still amazed at the tact and patience of the narcologist and nurse.

I found out that I would be in the clinic for alcohol addiction treatment for about a month, then I would undergo a course of rehabilitation and psychocorrection. I felt disgusted with myself, as if I was somehow helpless and couldn’t stop drinking on my own. Yes, during the treatment process, many times I wanted to give up everything and run, because working with a psychotherapist only seems like empty chatter, and when they pull all your ins and outs out of you, when you realize how much you ruin the lives of your loved ones, how you look from the outside, it becomes unbearable It’s hard, even though a man shouldn’t complain about mental pain.

Read a very frank story of a man or guy who decided to quit drinking because there was nowhere else to go. About all his misadventures, and how he eventually overcame his bad habit.

I've been drinking for a long time. About 14 years old. I still remember my first glass of moonshine, which I drank on November 7th with my friend Seryozha. This day is sacred for everyone Soviet man, so the whole Soviet people drank and partied then.

We stole moonshine from my father. Just pour out 500 grams of the smelly, still warm potion from a three-liter jar and add plain water instead. The moonshine was potato. That is, the mash was placed on potatoes, in large 40-liter flasks, and then distilled in the kitchen, in a homemade apparatus.

This was a judicial matter and therefore secrecy was carefully observed. They usually made moonshine at night. My father was not a professional moonshiner, Gorbachev’s initiatives simply forced ordinary people to resort to such tricks to satisfy their, so to speak, basic needs.

Having obtained fire water, I hid the jar for the time being and after waiting for the holidays, we decided to commit our first “courageous” act. My parents were already out and about when we asked to visit a friend. Having taken the precious loot from the cache, I came to the planned party. Having poured the glass halfway, Seryoga said:
- Drink!

Trying to appear like a seasoned man, as if this was not the first time we had drunk something different, I closed my eyes and drank the scalding liquid in one gulp. All half a glass at once. Those around me looked at me with envy and shudder.
- Cucumber, take a pickled cucumber! — One of the boys told me.
I waved my hands in the direction of my mouth, choking on fusel fumes, grabbed a jar of cucumbers and washed it down with brine.
- Well, how? – asked Seryozhka.
“Cool,” I squeezed out and showed him my thumb.

Seryozha immediately poured another half glass.
- And now me! He said conspiratorially quietly, without taking his naive, blue eyes off me.
Everything in my head swam, nausea set in, and I suddenly felt hot.
“Drunk,” I suddenly realized. “So this is how it turns out,” I thought.

I felt incredibly happy at this thought and laughed out loud:
- And I'm drunk! - Everything is double before my eyes!
The objects around really did behave strangely. I was rocking and it seemed like the whole house was rocking.
Seryozha did not linger and also drank his dose. He hooted masterfully and also washed it down with brine.
- That’s cool! “That was all he could say.”

I poured myself some more. It seemed the world had changed. I became brave, strong, cheerful.
I wanted even more of this happiness. The blood began to hum happily in my head.
- More! - More! - Demanded by an excited brain.
I drank the second glass, almost throwing it back up. The taste of moonshine was simply disgusting.
- But what can stop me now? “It’s fun to be drunk,” the thought was spinning in my head. I obviously liked it.

I went to the mirror and looked at myself. The eyes turned red, the reflection blurred
. It's not very good. Parents, even though they are drunk themselves, may notice. In addition, Seryozhka and I were quite stormy from side to side. Gray, of course, was pretending more. After drinking the second glass, he simply began to fall off his feet. We started carrying him in our arms, trying to help him get up. But he only mooed and shouted songs. He seemed to like it too.

Fooling around, we opened a can of scarce condensed milk that was hidden at a friend's place for the holidays and we all got dirty trying to eat it. The condensed milk made us feel sick and we vomited in the yard for a long time, throwing out the remnants of surrogate alcohol from our young bodies. Then we still floundered in the freshly fallen, first snow, pestering passers-by and shouting obscene songs, for which passers-by threatened to turn us in to the police. But we had fun and weren’t scared at all. And it stuck in my brain - when I’m drunk, I’m strong and fearless!

Naturally, in our youth, we drank not often and only a little. A bottle of fortified port 777, for three, was a magical drink. One day, on New Year, we even managed to buy three-star Azerbaijani cognac. To this day I remember him with disgust.

As I grew older, I met geologists who came from the “fields” as fabulously wealthy people. Salaries in hand were given in thousands of rubles and they instantly melted away in drunkenness and orgies. We, seventeen-year-old boys, liked the company of these cheerful, bearded people, who had seen life and, moreover, were absolutely not greedy. They happily treated us to drinks and cigarettes. They told stories from life and just funny stories.

At the age of 18, I went to work as a loader at the base. A new adult life, unknown to me, began. Every morning, a team of 8 people, loaders, bought 20-30 liters of beer and drank it all during the day, instead of water. Sometimes we switched to vodka, fortunately it was available through storekeepers. Even when there was an absolute shortage in the country, we were able to buy many things and products for ourselves “through connections.” The salary was 300-400 rubles. For a young guy at that time, that was serious money. But everything went back to drinking and partying.

After the army, I returned to another country. He left to serve in the Soviet Union and returned to the CIS. The crazy nineties began. My friend, Seryozhka, began to engage in racketeering, working with northern highways, gutting truck drivers. Soon they did not share the sphere of influence with another group and their entire gang was shot in one of the showdowns. They just took out the Kalash and unloaded the clips on 20-year-old boys playing adult games. Seryoga died. I also tried to get into the criminal business, but I came to my senses in time and took up legal trading.

The drinking continued almost every day. A lot of money began to come in, and this had to be noted, with partners and suppliers, with cops and bandits, with wives and mistresses. A bottle of beer in the evening became mandatory. Then two, then three. Business began to collapse. I was simply not interested in making money, since I already had everything.

One evening, I realized that I had become addicted to alcohol. I decided not to drink anymore. I haven't drunk for a week. Then he took the beer again. Then I didn’t drink for a month. And so on with varying degrees of success. The dependence was obvious. So days, months, years passed. I couldn’t get enough of regular beer anymore, so I started buying strong beer. One and a half rubles for the evening and the world is beautiful.

But the body began to malfunction. While you’re drinking, it seems like nothing, but when you stop drinking, everything comes out. And when I was drunk, I became violent. It’s better not to go outside at all, you’re tempted to fight, or even kill someone, just like that.

One day I got drunk and realized that I had no more strength, I needed to do something. I called a friend, a priest of the Protestant church:
- Valera come! - I feel bad!
- What's happened? he asks.
“I’m drunk, I need help,” I answer into the phone...

Valera arrived in 30 minutes. I happily greeted him, having previously run to the store for the “last” can of beer.
“I’ll finish it and won’t do it again,” I decided to myself.
Brother Valera, like a wise man, listened to me and finally said:
- Satan is tormenting and testing you.
– You need faith in God!
“You can’t overcome such power on your own.”
I looked at him in confusion with drunken eyes and could not understand whether he was telling the truth or whether he wanted to intimidate me?

I myself am a believer, but not a religious one. I read a lot of books on this topic and realized that there is only one God. They just call it differently. But my mind refused to believe that Satan was personally interested in your worthless personality. After seeing my brother Valera off, I went to bed, deeply puzzled.

For several days after this conversation, I flew as if on wings. I didn’t drink and didn’t even drink. But Friday came, I quarreled with my wife over a trifle and got drunk on beer again. I was sitting alone at home and suddenly such sadness came over me.
- Well, what is this?
“Can’t I, an adult, strong man, stop drinking this vile potion?”
- Yes, I can do anything! You just need to believe in yourself!
“I’ll take it and throw it right now, all the beer glasses, out of the second floor window.”
- And let only your Satan try to stop me!
With these thoughts, I grabbed a glass of beer (you know the tall, thin-walled one) and shouted:
- Well, what can you do, Mr. Satan?
He threw it out the window with all his strength, straight onto the asphalt... There was an alarming silence.

I couldn’t believe my eyes and instantly sobered up. The glass lay on the asphalt, absolutely intact, its label glistening under the lights.
- This can’t be! — A thought flashed through my mind: “This can never happen!”
A glass whose walls were only a millimeter thick, a glass that even fell to pieces in the kitchen on the linoleum, suddenly turned out to be whole and unharmed.

My drunk brain didn't have time to compare the facts. I had about 10 of these glasses, seven of them I broke, accidentally dropping them, or even just putting them in the sink. One is downstairs and two are still on the shelf. I went to the kitchen and took the remaining glasses. He turned them over in his hands. Regular beer glasses. These are given to beer companies for various promotions. I once collected a whole collection of them and used them for ordinary purposes for their intended purpose.

The experiment had to be repeated. I went to the window, looked down and was convinced of the existence of the first glass. There was no one around; it was already night outside. I swing and throw another glass down, a quiet clink is heard, the glass bounces off the asphalt and falls intact next to the first.

Goosebumps start running all over my body. Maybe it's a "squirrel"? - Flashes through the sobering brain. I pour the rest of the beer into the sink, take the last glass and realize that now I will definitely quit drinking forever. I’m reading a prayer and suddenly I remember the lines from the Bible “Do not tempt your Lord.” I hesitate a little, because I really am tempting.

I decide to throw away the last glass. I throw, I hear the sound of breaking glass - thank God! The glass flies away from the rest of its fellow sufferers. The edge of the glass breaks off, but is almost intact in appearance. This is good, it means I’m definitely not a “squirrel”, I’m calming down.

Having prayed again, I go outside to remove the glasses from the asphalt and generally clean up around the house.
We need to start doing good deeds.

A new sober life begins tomorrow!

Have you read it? So stop drinking. The new year has just begun, there is a reason. Just a reason not to drink, but to quit. For good. Forever.

The article mentions famous people who talk about their lives before and after drinking alcohol, as well as how they came to absolute sobriety.

They come to the consensus that without alcohol, their reality has become brighter and much more interesting - this is the main reason for the complete loss of interest in alcohol.

“All drunkards stop drinking, but some manage to do this while they are still alive.” Sad joke. Alcohol addiction is very serious, and indeed not everyone who acquires it manages to stop. Once you become an alcoholic, then it is no longer possible to stop being one, you can only move into the category of quitting alcoholics if you try really hard.

One of my friends once said that a person stops drinking when he reaches the end. But this concept is different for everyone. For some, this is if he has been demoted from general to colonel, but for others, lying under the fence is not yet an end. He himself, from time to time, and in between, actively promoted sobriety. Eventually, his wife kicked him out of the house. I don’t know whether he reached his end, or whether he’s alive at all. Sometimes the signal is very clear and unambiguous. Alexander Rosenbaum, for example, considered himself a strong drinker, believed that he could drink a lot without harm to his health, and even claimed that there was no such disease as. He quit drinking after he got drunk, and only the timely arrival of an ambulance saved the singer’s life.

However, a threat to life does not always stop alcohol consumption. Grigory Leps drunkenness led to the hardest. One day, during another attack, doctors literally pulled him out of the other world. This made a strong impression on the artist, and for a long time he abstained from drinking, but then began to allow himself to drink alcohol again.

Sometimes, it is not fear for one’s life at all, but shame, the awareness of how far one has fallen, that helps a person stop drinking. In young age Raymond Pauls was a pianist in an orchestra who often performed in restaurants and at dances, where alcohol was a necessity. Life gradually turned into one continuous binge. It got to the point that friends took Pauls to a special clinic. The sight of degenerate alcoholics gathered together, and the understanding that he himself had become one, led the musician into a state of shock. According to him, he stopped drinking: “immediately, in a second and completely - not at all and never.”

Here's a famous actor Alexey Nilov(Captain Larin in “Cops”), went to the hospital more than once in order to stop drinking. But he lasted no more than 2-3 days, and again “took it to his chest,” finding drinking buddies among the patients of the same hospital, and sometimes among doctors. Alexey believes that it is impossible to code him, but if he really wants to, he himself can give up alcohol for a while. As an example, he gives a story when he, but was not encoded, without telling anyone about it. And yet, I didn’t drink for a year after that, and everyone thought that coding helped.

There is still no consensus in society about what it is: some consider drunkards to be irresponsible egoists who need to be punished, others as sick people who need to be treated.

According to Larisa Guzeeva: “Alcoholism is a terrible disease, like the flu or jaundice; alcoholics should be treated, not scolded.” Larisa herself began drinking to spite her drug addict husband, trying to somehow influence him. It ended with treatment, and not only for alcoholism, but also for chronic diseases caused by drunkenness. Now all this is in the past. Drinking, as it were, places a person in another reality, very limited and distorted, but which makes it possible to solve all the problems that arise with another dose of alcohol.

As a result, the whole meaning of life comes down to the opportunity to take this very dose, and only then does interest in other aspects of life appear. And the further you go, the more difficult it is to get out of this.

According to evidence different people who have managed to get rid of cravings for alcohol, there is no universal solution for everyone. Someone can really stop drinking on their own by finding a serious reason for this. Such, for example, as your health or the well-being of loved ones. Some people cannot do this, and such a person needs help, support and treatment.

However, what all former drinkers agree on is that without alcohol, their reality has become much brighter, more interesting and multifaceted. And according to them, this is the main reason for the complete loss of interest in alcohol in present life.

You can find out about those actors who were unable to overcome alcohol addiction and left for another world from.

Stop drinking. Good sobriety to you!

“We met through friends. I was a student, he was a recent graduate of Moscow State University. I knew my friends for many years; we once studied at the same school. An ordinary intelligent Moscow company. They sang songs, drank wine - like everyone else, it seems to me. He was handsome, sang well, joked wittily - the life of the party. I was very flattered that he paid attention to me. The romance started 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 to be with him: bright, smart and at the same time gentle and kind. I fell madly in love, 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 own lives, to create a “real family.” Everything was new, everything was wonderful.

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

They played a wedding. After the wedding, his friend came to us from another city, then I saw my husband very drunk for the first time. But I didn’t attach any importance, well, who among us hasn’t gotten drunk?

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We started 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, and attached a photo of the ultrasound above my desk. At the same time, he drank, but it didn’t bother me very much. Well, a bottle of beer in the evening. He's not lying around drunk! Well, a jar of cocktail. The fact that he drank at least something every day for some reason didn’t really bother me then.

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

I was completely unprepared for this. All my life I believed that drinking bouts happen to “declassed elements,” it’s the “hanuriks under the fence” who go on drinking bouts and “eat vodka.” But this cannot happen to me, to my loved ones, to my friends, in our environment, because it cannot, period. We are educated, intelligent people, our parents are educated, intelligent people, what a binge. However, it was he. For six days my husband lay there, drinking and vomiting. 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 him food to his bed, which he did not 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 couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone about this, to consult with someone: I told all my friends and family that I had an ideal marriage, a wonderful husband, and that it was not life at all, but a fairy tale. And here it is. Gradually, he himself came out of the binge - he simply could not drink anymore. I really wanted to forget the past week. And we all pretended that nothing had happened.

Then the child was born. I was writing a thesis and working from home, the child did not sleep well, and so did we. Started to quarrel with my husband. A couple of weeks later he went on a drinking binge again. I was horrified. I didn’t give him a drop of alcohol to help him get drunk, but he was still drunk every day. When he finally sobered up, about five days later, I started a scandal and a “big conversation.”

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

Our life followed a repeating scenario: for a week he drank continuously, practically lying down, getting up only to go to the toilet. Then for several days I didn’t drink at all, as far as I could tell, but I remained half-drunk. Then he started drinking a little every other day. Then every day. Then I started drinking again. Such an endless circle of 3-5 weeks.

I became 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 - on the wave of romantic happiness, he almost didn’t drink. They only prayed that I would not find out about this before the wedding, and then they pressured us to give birth to a child (or preferably three and as soon as possible). That his second sister moved out of home at the age of 17, just so as 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 told myself, he is unhappy, who will I 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 see a narcologist. I heard that there was coding and stitching, but I didn’t really know what it was. But I knew for sure that alcoholism is a disease, which means it needs to be treated. Why after the third or fourth? Because I was in denial. I was hiding from reality. I didn't believe that all this was happening to me. I thought it was my imagination. That this cannot happen, because it can never happen. But when something that cannot be happens happens for the third time in a row, you have to admit that it exists.

He was not violent or aggressive, he did not try to hit me. He was a quiet alcoholic who just lay there and suffered. When he was drunk, he started saying all sorts of things. Either he said that I was the dream of his whole life, or, on the contrary, that he hated me. Either he said that he would die soon, or that he was a martyr. That I'm a martyr. He was tossed emotionally from one extreme to another. And I was thrown along with him.

I never drank with him. I was a nursing mother, a proper girl. It didn’t even occur to me to join his drinking sessions. 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, prevent people from falling into codependency, and give them the opportunity to speak out. And I went to such a group.

The group consisted of several sad women and a curator. Also sad. 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 several simple rules: do not interrupt, do not criticize, and do not judge at all. Speak one at a time. Do not demand to speak from someone who is not ready. And the women spoke. And I listened to them and was internally horrified. Their alcoholic relatives - husbands, fathers, brothers, mothers - were not the scum of society. They were ordinary people- one of those whom I used to respect. Professor at some institute. Railway engineer. School teacher. Even a doctor. And they all drank.

At the same time, I was looking for a narcologist. The girls from the cheerleading group were skeptical about this idea. Narcologists did not help them. They told all sorts of horrors (I’m not sure from my own experience) about creepy side effects sewing and coding, how people became disabled or even died. But I was persistent. I believed that since alcoholism is a disease, then a doctor is needed. Finally, based on a recommendation, I found a narcologist. First I went to see him myself. The first thing he told me was: “Alcoholics are never ex-alcoholics, 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 for there to be a result, the patient’s desire is needed, that his strong will is needed, that if he doesn’t want, nothing will work out, no matter what. And he also said that you cannot “stitch up” a person who has alcohol in his blood. He must not drink for at least three days.

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

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

I was clutching 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, let it drink in one gulp - and that’s it, as if by hand. Will never drink. I came home and told my husband everything honestly. “You,” I say, “want to quit drinking?” But you can't? But there is a super remedy. Drink ammonia and never again! “We were young and stupid. He obediently took the glass from me and took a couple of sips. His eyes widened, he coughed terribly, and collapsed as if he had been knocked down. While I was dialing the ambulance number with trembling hands, he woke up, took the phone from me and said: “If you want to kill me, find a simpler 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 wore a robe, I didn’t put on makeup (let me 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 for one or two weeks between binges he continued to be the life of the party. And only I saw what was happening there at home.

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 had done everything I could think of and nothing worked. And that I destroy myself every day, that all that remains of the me I used to be - easy-going, cheerful, beautiful, self-confident - is a pale, unhappy shadow, always tearful and terribly tired. We talked and seemed to agree on everything. I only asked that he come sober when he visits the child, nothing more. He went to his parents.

I cried for almost a day, I felt terribly sorry for myself, my child, my beautiful dream (as it seemed to me, embodied in this marriage), my husband, who would be completely lost without me. The next day he returned and said that he couldn’t live without us and was ready to try everything all over again. And I, of course, accepted it. We even went to a narcologist together. But nothing 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, my child, and left the rented apartment to live with my mother. After some time, we divorced through court.

The first year and a half after the divorce I was terrified. I couldn’t even watch a movie in which the characters drank something, I felt physically ill. I told my friends not to drink in front of me. Gradually this faded away. Three years later I was even able to drink a glass of wine myself. But I still definitely smell this smell - the smell of binge drinking and the smell of an alcoholic: it cannot be confused with anything, neither with the consequences of violent drinking, nor with illness. I sometimes run into people on the subway—decently dressed, clean-shaven—and I recoil, knowing for sure that this is it. In front of me is an alcoholic. And I feel fear. I once became friends with a woman who also had experience living with an alcoholic, and she told me that she felt the same. It's forever. Alcoholics are never ex-alcoholics. And the wives of alcoholics, apparently, too.”