My first rehab was in 2016. Rejection entwines other tough and uncomfortable emotions – fear, anger, abandonment – and has been a major influence on my addictions to both drugs and alcohol. Rejection was ingrained into my psyche as a young child.
I began drinking heavily in 2010 on a boys’ trip to Thailand. This was the beginning of my battle with alcohol. I wanted to relocate and live in Thailand after this trip and, to the credit of my mates, they tried to talk me out of it. They knew more than I did and were aware that my plans would end in disaster. I love them to the death, but I didn’t listen.
I sold my business in early 2011 and returned to Thailand in April. The intent was to stay for three months and find my feet, before returning home to finalise my move. I lasted just over a month – it was a disaster. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I was alone in a foreign land, unable to speak the language, promised business deals that
never eventuated while many people rode my coat tails and looked to rip me off. It was nothing that I imagined. My mates were encouraging me to return home. I did so with my dreams shattered, alone, no business, depressed and extremely angry. I hated life, had lost all motivation and was a shell of the person I no longer knew.
I sat at home and pondered my situation. The depression was heavy, weighing down on me like never before. The black dog was snarling, barking, and had me trapped on the merry-go-round of self-abuse. I just wanted to lock myself away from the world. I had money in the bank from the sale of my business and personal savings. That is when my drinking problems escalated.
For the next eighteen months I sat at home: blinds drawn, doors locked. The couch was my safe place. I rarely slept in my bed or spoke to my friends. I didn’t want to speak to anyone. My friends tried to pick me back up, and I love them for that, but I was not in a mindset to take notice – or care. Just leave me alone!
My daily routine consisted of heading to the bottle shop as soon as I woke up, anywhere between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. I would purchase one or two bottles of vodka and a packet of cigarettes, then return home and lock myself away for the day. Just sit there drinking and smoking. Each and every day, for eighteen months. I didn’t cut my hair; I grew a beard and my weight ballooned to over 110 kilograms. I resembled a cave man.
I had purchased a BMW prior to my ill-fated trip to Thailand. I was sitting at home one night, drunk as usual, and wanted to get out of the house and visit a mate. I knew
I was drunk and shouldn’t be driving. Strangely, I had a bad feeling that something was going to happen if I drove. That feeling didn’t stop me. I drove anyway.
I merged onto the Frankston freeway. I wonder how fast this BMW can go? I floored it. I didn’t give a fuck. I clocked 240 kph before I slowed down to the speed limit.
Almost immediately there were two police cars behind me – flashing blue and red emergency lights. I had no idea where they had come from. The freeway seemed clear as I was speeding along. For a split-second I thought about hitting the gas again and making a run for it. The pursuit policy of Victoria Police at that time would mean they could not pursue me, but I knew I was fucked, so I pulled over.
I exited my speeding rocket ship and solemnly made my way to the passenger side to await my fate. A sergeant alighted from his vehicle and approached me. Several constables also alighted from both police cars. Trainees. I have to take my chance with the sergeant.
‘Can I have a word with you in private please, Sergeant?’ ‘Sure,’ was his reply.
Out of earshot of the other junior officers, I explained that I knew I was drunk, that I was a former police officer, and asked him if there was any possibility he could let me go. I was met with a negative response.
‘Maybe ten years ago I could have done something, but not today,’ he said with a look of apology.
There was nothing I could do to avoid my fate. I tested positive roadside and was conveyed to the Chelsea Police Station. I have to say, the boys were great. I was charged with the drink-driving. I blew 0.141. I was never charged or
interviewed about the dangerous speed and driving. They looked after me. A young constable interviewed me who was extremely apologetic prior to conducting the interview. ‘I’m really sorry,’ he said almost sorrowfully. ‘I really
don’t want to be doing this.’
‘That’s okay, mate,’ I replied. ‘You’re just doing your job, don’t worry about it. I fucked up. It’s not your fault.’
The sergeant approached me at the completion of my processing. He looked me in the eye and extended his hand, which I took gratefully – a firm handshake with a respectful look of acknowledgement. I thanked him and the other members involved, for treating me with respect and some compassion. I lost my licence for fourteen months. I knew I had dodged a bullet with the dangerous driving ignored.
My money began to run low after eighteen months. I knew I had to finally get back to work. I didn’t want to but there was no other viable option, apart from committing an armed robbery. Even in my fucked-up headspace I was never going down that path. Self-destruction is one thing, but I could never use violence against innocent people. My thought process was simple: walk into the bank and ask for a loan to restart a business again. I had equity in my house. Collateral. What I did not take into account was that I had not worked for a year and a half and the bank was never going to lend me any money under that circumstance, no matter how much equity I had in my home. I was not expecting that. Suddenly I didn’t know what to do. I began to panic. What were my options?
There were only two options available that I could see – sell my house or call my dad for financial assistance. At that
stage I had not spoken to my father for six years. We had a huge falling out and I refused to contact him. The hardest thing I have ever done in my life was to pick up that phone and call to ask for help. It was my only option. I was not prepared to sell my house. I expected him to tell me to fuck off, before hanging up the phone. But he didn’t.
Although I felt rejected as a child, my relationship with my father is better now than it has ever been. I am sure he will read this book and feel hurt and upset at some of the things I have written. We have our ups and downs, disagreements and even full-on arguments, but I finally understand him now, although it’s taken me fifty-six years.
My dad was a hard worker all his life. He worked tirelessly to provide for our family and he always wanted the best for me. He pushed me constantly to be the best I could possibly be, but I’ve always thought he has never been satisfied with any of my achievements. However, I now realise there is a huge difference between wanting the best for his son and being disappointed. I am deeply grateful to my dad for providing the best life he possibly could for me.
And this is when our relationship changed. This was when I finally realised how much he did care, love and worry about me, his son. He listened to what I had to say. He never chastised me, never said I told you so, never said a word while I was talking – he just listened, and said he would help me. I can honestly say that my dad saved my life that day. I am forever indebted to him.
I started another business, a gardening service. I put an ad in the paper and off I went, but I kept drinking. Not as much as previously, but still a lot. Nothing stopped me.
I worked during the day and then polished off a bottle of grog at night. By this stage I had changed my drink of choice to gin. Then I would front up to work the following day and do it all over again. I tried to stop on many occasions. I knew I had to stop or eventually I was going to kill myself. I was slowly committing involuntary suicide. I would stop drinking for a while but invariably hit the bottle again whenever I faced the slightest hurdle.
My mother passed away in 2015 – lung cancer as a result of smoking. It should have been a wake-up call. Yet I continued to drink and smoke.
I never became physically violent, but I was a verbally aggressive drunk. And I continued to drink and drive. I verbally abused those closest to my heart and at one point texted menacing messages to a family member of someone very close to me, threatening to punch the shit out of them. This resulted in a complaint and I was arrested and charged. Another run-in with the law.
It was 2016 that I came to the realisation I needed professional help. My family and friends had encouraged me in the past to seek assistance. I was a male – stubborn – I didn’t need help. But I did. I was slowly killing myself. I finally went to rehab at Beleura Private Hospital in Mornington. I didn’t have private health insurance at that time so I paid for it myself. It cost $17,000 for three weeks.
I was nervous. My thought process was illogical. I was going to be locked away for three weeks with a bunch of no-hopers, drunks, losers and generally dickheads. My thoughts could not have been further from the truth. My group consisted of an ex-army veteran, a physiotherapist,
a lawyer, a doctor and some other very successful people running their own businesses. There were certainly one or two people I had no affection for. There will always be someone who rocks my boat. Overall, I actually loved my time in rehab and discovered that most alcohol-dependent people are very intelligent.
I dived into the program, and while some people joked around and tried to make fun of it, I put my head down, listened, learned and took copious notes. I felt confident. I cannot praise the staff sufficiently. By the end of the three weeks, I was confident I had broken the shackles and learned how to control my alcohol consumption. I continued with the program as an outpatient, attending AA meetings and weekly men’s group sessions at Beleura. Sometimes men just need to speak to men and we gathered once a week to discuss our progress and how life had changed for us. It was great.
But I became overconfident. After six months my thought process changed. I have this licked. My attendance at the outpatient program began to wane. I stopped going to AA altogether. I didn’t need to anymore. I have this. I no longer had a problem. That was until I hit my first real hurdle and I reverted to the bottle. One drink is okay, isn’t it? Everyone falls off the wagon, don’t they? But it wasn’t one drink and before I knew it, I was worse than before.
This became a routine for me over the course of the following four years. In and out of rehab, each time believing I had again beaten my demons. Only to fall back into the alcohol. There were times I just wanted to die. Three weeks of heavy drinking, day after day, becoming so ill that I
vomited bile. I would have welcomed a bullet to the back of the head – I prayed for it. There had been times during these binge sessions that I really did want to end it all. On more than one occasion I sat in my car, engine running with the hose connected to the exhaust pumping fumes into the cabin. The only reason I never followed through with these lame attempts was that I could not tolerate the odour. True. I was blind drunk on each occasion. I never attempted this when sober.
There were other times when friends would come to my house when they knew I was drinking, just to check if I was still alive. There was one occasion when a friend walked out of my ensuite and asked, ‘How did you break the window in there?’
I just looked at them with a blank stare. ‘What broken window?’
Sure enough, there was a broken window. Not just broken, but smashed. I have no recollection of how that occurred. On other occasions I found holes in the plaster walls, two in the bedroom and one in the dining room. Again, no recollection. I would drive drunk to mates’ houses and then back home again. The following day they would ask if I recalled driving to their house at 3 a.m. I didn’t believe them. No fucking way, I would remember driving there. They would show me CCTV footage of me arriving and leaving – no recollection, scary. What the fuck was I doing? Where was this going to end up? Yet through it all, my friends remained steadfast by my side.
I completed my final rehab in early 2021. This became a turning point for me. I realised that rehab did not work
for me: the same people kept returning, same faces, same stories. Everyone was continually falling off the wagon. I left rehab three days early. I’d had enough. I had to change the way I approached my problem. I had tried everything in the past. Rehab, AA meetings, meditation, cognitive behavioural therapy, even medication to stop the urges to drink – nothing worked. I was at a loss. I had no idea what I was going to do. It was a desperate time. I understood that if I could not get sober then I was eventually going to die.
The problem was that I hadn’t let go of the past. I was still blaming people. Blaming the bullies from my childhood for my anger, blaming my father for my insecurities, blaming Keith Burns for ruining my VFL dream. I was blaming everybody; except the person I should have been blaming – me. The penny dropped. I was the problem. Not anyone else. It was up to me. Why has it taken me so long to realise this? Have I been in denial for so long? What can I do now to change my situation? What can I learn from this?
I surrounded myself with positive and successful people. I removed the negative and judgemental people from my life. I had finally begun to open my eyes and realise what life was all about. I managed to forgive myself, and those who had hurt me in my past. And all the while, my friends stood by my side telling me how proud they were of me. I was blessed. Then one day a friend gave me a book to read. She had been dealing with her own personal battles for some time.
Not drugs or alcohol, but some issues that had caused her severe pain.
As she handed me the book, she just looked at me and said, ‘Read this, it’s changed my life.’
And to be honest, I had seen the change in that friend. What had bothered her in the past no longer seemed an issue. She was calmer, controlled, at peace with herself and the world. I had tried everything else. Why not? What have I got to lose? I had everything to gain.
I took the book and I read it, and it did change my life. Everything in the book just clicked with me. It made sense of the world and everything in it. It was the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle that I had been searching for. It put everything into perspective and I felt as though there was a different approach to life within reach. The title of the book is The Power of Now. The author is Eckhart Tolle. The book has become my bible. I refer to it constantly in everyday life, especially when life throws one of its hurdles in front of me. No one has an easy run with life. There are challenges to face every day. They can still be difficult, but I know now how to approach them. At times I jump straight over, other times I need to drag myself over, crawl over or ask someone to assist me over. There are many people out there suffering from various diseases and afflictions: alcohol dependency, depression, ill health or just a tough life. I have become close to some of these people and I am honoured to call them my friends. They are intelligent people, who have or have had professional careers and been successful in their lives. Some of them still experience demons on a daily basis. I cannot recommend The Power of Now highly enough – it changed
my life. It could change yours.
Alcohol use disorder will continue to be a struggle to control, for the rest of my life. The temptation to reach for the bottle in times of hardship remains strong, but I keep
reminding myself of the last time I hit the booze. It wasn’t pretty and I almost lost everything; my son, my friends, my business, my life. All alcohol does is cause more problems. The problems never go away, they only get worse. I am at the stage where I have put myself through enough pain, and one needs to say to oneself, ‘I don’t want the pain anymore.’ I have not gone into huge detail regarding my addictions and dependencies. I would be writing for days and I felt I only needed to give a brief picture to make my point. Some people who read this will judge me and look upon me as a law-breaker, underachiever and even a criminal. That is fine, because it’s actually true if you break it down. I am not worried or concerned by what people think. I am sure this book will ruffle a number of feathers and cause some heated discussion. Perhaps I will even get some flak and/or payback from some people. None of that bothers me. I know that I am a good person. A good person who has done some bad things and made terrible decisions. I have paid for those decisions, both in person and to society. I have learned from
those mistakes.
‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first
stone.’
– John 8:7
Would I do anything different if I had my time again? Of course, I would. But that’s the point. No one can have their time back again. What happened cannot be changed. Prior to reading The Power of Now, I was continually depressed over my past – now I just live in the present moment, the Now.
Since mid-2022 I can say that everything in my life has been falling into place, thanks to my friends who never gave up on me. With my work life and other opportunities opening up, I have never been happier. I am content with life. Now I ‘see’ life and the world. I don’t just look, I see. There is a difference. It has taken me a long time, but I have found my place in the world, with the help of my friends. I hope you know just how much I love you all.
