Kiwi photographer David James, also known as Marlborough Lights, tells the Herald about his battle with alcohol addiction and journey to recovery.
Fashion photographer David James, AKA @marlborough_lights, on how creativity helped him recover from addiction.
This article deals with alcohol and drug addiction. Please see below for helpline information.
I had seen what alcohol did to my father and I didn’t like it - he would get angry, and there was always a fear of violence when he got drunk, or him doing something reckless. Alcohol and my dad were an incredibly disruptive force in the household. I remember swearing I would never, ever drink.
There were some traumatic moments during my childhood that really impacted me as a younger adult, and after my dad died when I was a teenager, I eventually picked up the bottle for the first time at 17. The world felt like a hostile place, and I found relief in alcohol. I remember my first time drinking, a couple of sips of sparkling wine with something nasty in it, and the cloud I’d been living under suddenly lifted. I felt this immense freedom, and I thought, “This is the answer to everything, I never want to stop doing this”. Alcohol gave me a way into the world, a passport into life again.
I soon found my tribe: a group of friends who were into the right music and drugs and drinking. My drinking got progressively worse, and I stayed in that for about 20 years. I’d been pushing away this terror and anxiety that was slowly building as a monster. Every time I woke up it would smother me, and the way I could quiet things down was to pick up a drink (as well as to get rid of the hangover). With alcohol, I could function. I could hold down a job, I could do the housework.
At 21, I found myself in Toronto, Canada. Through a bit of luck and hustle I got a fulltime job at a photography studio where I spent four years learning my trade, the craft of photography and the energetic hum of the fashion business. Sure, I was drinking heavily still, but I was in my 20s. Speed [amphetamine] was readily available, and cheap, and you could work long hours. I thought, “This is great. I can hang out with the crew and work 12, 13, 14-hour days and then hit it hard”. It was “work hard, play hard”.
Eventually I came back to New Zealand. My partner at the time was getting fed up with my drinking. My downfall then was not a romantic story. There was a lot of heartbreak and a lot of regrets around not getting the help I needed at the time. She eventually left.
Back in New Zealand, there was a bit of speed going around. I would have it in the morning when I was feeling hungover, then have more, anything to keep me up and drinking or working. Around that time I stumbled into digital photography, and started shooting bands and gigs. New Zealand fashion designers liked the look. Musicians come with their own story, an attitude, and I really loved trying to capture that energy. Eventually I had a handful of really great fashion clients in New Zealand and I got a big enough ego to make the decision to go back to North America, so I moved to New York. That’s when things really blew up.
It’s a drug supermarket over there. You can get anything you want faster than a pizza, and drinking during the day was kind of acceptable. I fell hard and fast, and in two years I found myself out of work, with no money, and literally sleeping wherever I could. I was getting into some hard drugs when I could afford it, and eventually I was that guy drinking out of a brown paper bag, falling asleep on a park bench. I was in denial, thinking, “I’m here in New York, this city won’t beat me!” Meanwhile, I was selling my camera gear and my dignity to keep my addiction alive.
My parents found out what was going on. Mum and my stepdad couldn’t afford to fly me back, so they had to pass the hat around the family. I landed in Auckland, got off the plane, went to the duty-free store and got a bottle of Jack Daniels. They’d given me money for a cab and I totally disappeared in Auckland for another month and a half. I was burning bridges with friends. Almost dead. I was 38.
I really had nowhere to go in the end. I found myself back home in Westport, where my mum lives. My father had passed away, and needing more help than my mum could offer me, I found myself in a publicly funded rehab in Blenheim. I had to wait a few months for a bed, and public health put me in Marlborough. I was really sick when I first entered, and I really I felt like I’d failed in life, like, “What a loser, my life’s over”. But it was actually the best thing I ever did.
What rehab helped me realise was that I was using alcohol and drugs and not facing who I was, all of the trauma. My first sober month at rehab was like being that 17-year-old taking his first drink again. I remember saying to a clinical staff member: “I feel awful. Why?” He said, “That’s the world, man, welcome to being an adult.” Without all of those chemicals to numb everything, the old feelings of anxiety, fear, trauma - they were all back, right there in front of me.
I learned rehab is a really safe place for anyone to get sober in and face those feelings in a supportive environment. The truth is with a really heavy addiction, you can’t do it alone. Willpower is not enough. You need help. It’s like any illness, like breaking your leg. You don’t just get up and go to work, you go to the hospital, you seek medical assistance, and that’s basically what that was, but more of a spiritual, psychological overhaul of your life.
I found a purpose in life again in rehab, and if I could find meaning, and creative nourishment, I thought, “Maybe I can do this”. I found a really good strong recovery community in Marlborough - yes, it’s wine country - but my life started falling into place there, and I never left.
After I got out of rehab, I got a job washing dishes and then working in a cafe. That’s when I picked up a camera again and started taking photos of landscapes. Just for my own therapy, really. Then people started messaging me and saying, “Hey Dave, I hear you’re doing well, do you want to do some photos for us?” It was amazing. I thought I had left a trail of carnage and burned all those bridges. There was a lot of shame when I got sober, but here were old friends and former clients asking me to come work with them again. I was blown away and full of gratitude.
I think of recovery like a garden. Even if you’ve got a little seedling, you need to put aside some time in your week to nurture it - nourishing something that is essentially your purpose and passion, whether that’s creativity or something else really fulfilling that you love. Otherwise you’ll fill the void in other ways. I found my purpose again in photography.
I had this idea, especially when I was younger, that you have to be inebriated to do anything creative, but that is absolute bulls***. I feel more creative than I ever have, maybe because I’ve got more energy. I’m a workaholic these days (something I need to keep an eye on). What I love about photography is when I’m shooting and I find that moment, I am in flow, in the zone. Time doesn’t exist. I feel a sense of freedom, and I like that the subjects can be really free and open as well. I feel totally energised and uplifted by that experience.
I’ve been clean and sober for eight years, eight months and 11 days. It keeps getting better, which is what they said early on in rehab - “the gifts of recovery”. There are times when life is really hard, and you crave that instant relief that chemicals bring. But I know there is another side, that those feelings will fade. And I think that’s what being a grown-up is: feeling bad sometimes, and dealing with it without rushing to alcohol or drugs. Life still gets tough. That doesn’t go away. I just have more hope and courage now.
To anyone out there who is struggling with addiction - or knows someone who is - you are not alone. The best thing you can do is reach out for help. The best place to start is a trusted GP. They can refer you to a free mental health service where they’ll assess what you need. You can also call a helpline - it’s all free. I also highly recommend going to an AA or NA meeting. There is nothing more comforting than being around others who have been there and are ready to offer support in the community. My recovery grew stronger by sharing my story with other people, and I still go to meetings.
Before, I couldn’t have imagined how good my life would get. I am doing what I love for a living and I absolutely relish the connection I have to the people around me. Plus, I am having a lot of fun. I am here to say that it is possible. And the first step is reaching out for help.
As told to Rebecca Barry Hill.
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