Ultimately, most drinking experiences have elements of both sadness and happiness. Photo / Getty Images
Ultimately, most drinking experiences have elements of both sadness and happiness. Photo / Getty Images
Of course there were happy times. My drinking started in adolescence and, for the next couple of decades, seemed to provide a brilliant shortcut to thrills, fun and laughter. The lads holidays and football away days of my teens and 20s, then the boozy lunches and hedonistic work dos of my 30s: it was all so exciting.
But gradually, at a sneaky pace that was almost imperceptible, the good times gave way to a sad and lonely type of drinking that felt less like fun and more like necessity. By the time I turned 40, I was often drinking in the mornings, almost always drinking during the working day and usually drinking alone, sheepish and shameful in the corner of a quiet pub where no one, other than myself, could judge me.
Mine is a familiar story of youthful Jack the lad turned grim middle-aged soak, one that is perhaps best embodied by former England footballer Paul Gascoigne. This week, 56-year-old Gazza confessed in an interview with the High Performance podcast that he was living in his agent’s spare room in Dorset and still battling his alcoholism. “I used to be a happy drunk: I ain’t any more,” he said. “I’m a sad drunk. I don’t go out and drink, I drink indoors. If I want to make it a bad day, [all I need to do is] go down the pub. If I want it to be a good day, I get my flying rod out and go fishing.
“It’s not the drinking, it’s the afterwards. Looking at my phone after and seeing 30 messages or missed calls, I know I’m in trouble.”
Former England footballer Paul Gascoigne, pictured in 2019, is still battling his alcoholism. Photo / Getty Images
I, too, was a happy drunk who became a sad drunk. Like so many of my peers, I built a personality around booze and the raucous situations it would put me in. But over time, as my tolerance grew and my life filled up with new stresses, obligations and responsibilities, I simply wasn’t able to sustain the drinking in a happy, healthy way. That’s when I should have stopped. But I kept going, drinking more and more in order to numb the pain of a lifestyle that had become overwhelming.
In the end, after too many nights lying awake in bed, riddled with self-hatred and praying for a way out of a habit that was threatening to ruin my health, family and career, I accepted that I had a drinking problem. I went online and booked an appointment with an addiction therapist. The next day I met up with her and told her everything: the full, unedited version of my drinking habits, the feelings of shame and fear that haunted me, the impact it was having on my personal and professional life. She told me it was time to stop for good. I haven’t had a drink since June 25, 2015. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth the effort, and I have never regretted my decision for a single moment.
One of the questions I am most frequently asked by the sober-curious is: how did you realise you had a problem? The simple answer I give them is that drinking alcohol was making me sad — and yet I just couldn’t stop doing it.
How exactly do we move from a happy drinker to a sad one? Are we all at risk of crossing that line at some point? And if we do, how can we take back control of our habits? I asked two of the country’s leading addiction specialists.
“Everyone starts out as a happy drunk,” says Dr Niall Campbell, consultant psychiatrist at the Priory Hospital in London (where Gascoigne has previously undertaken a residential rehab programme). “Alcohol is a depressant, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it makes you depressed. It just slows down your nervous system, which can actually alleviate anxiety in the short term. This is why many people can become more relaxed and jokey.”
Sometimes, alcohol can temporarily block all our negative thoughts and feelings, offering an often-blissful sense of relief. “Booze can stop any sadness from coming out, especially when you’re starting out,” says Chip Somers, a counsellor and therapist specialising in addiction. “When you’re young, a double vodka is enough to silence the anxiety. The problems emerge when your tolerance increases.”
Positive effects and associations with alcohol are often short-lived. Photo / 123rf
What is a sad drunk?
“People who drink to excess are usually damaged in some way,” says Somers. “Alcohol gives them a relief from whatever unresolved pain they carry around with them. But it stops them from ever confronting their issues in more-helpful ways. So in the end, they are drinking just to stave off the unhappiness. Their tolerance gets higher and they need to drink more and more just to tread water. In 30 years of addiction therapy, I have never once met someone who’s said, ‘I can’t stop drinking but it’s making me really happy’!”
As you become more dependent on drink to stabilise your mood, you can become less social. “The problem drinkers I see have almost always reached the stage where they are drinking alone, either in the pub or at home,” says Campbell. “They arrive at a stage where they want to drink at their own pace without others judging them. They have become negative and they can’t be bothered dealing with other people. And often other people don’t want to deal with them due to their behaviour.”
Can you be both?
“There is no scientific or biological difference between a sad drunk and a happy drunk,” says Campbell. “Everyone has the capacity to be both. It might depend largely on your underlying personality. But your response is also dependent on your circumstances. If your marriage is breaking down, you have money worries or problems at work, drinking is likely to relieve those problems only briefly before making them feel much worse. But if you are celebrating a special occasion or achievement, you can sustain a state of happier drunkenness.”
Ultimately, most drinking experiences have elements of both sadness and happiness, says Somers. “Everyone starts an evening of drinking with a sense of excited anticipation. But whether it’s later that evening or the next morning, there will always be some level of negative consequences. It’s the same in the long term: you start out loving the fun drinking when you’re young, but if your tolerance grows you need more and more of the stuff just to stave off withdrawal symptoms.”
How do you know if you’re drinking too much?
“When it is costing you more than money,” says Somers. “There are so many invisible costs of drinking. There is the disapproval or concern of your peers. There is the pressure it is putting on your relationship. The negative impact it can have on your job. And the way it can make you become socially isolated.”
Some people continue to do most of their drinking in social situations, thereby convincing themselves they haven’t really got a problem. But this doesn’t tell the full story, says Dr Campbell. “The benchmarks are your physical health, your mental health, your financial health and your relationship health. Are you getting injured while drunk? Is your liver function in decline? Is your partner worried about you? Are you beginning to struggle with money? Do you find yourself in regular conflict, either verbal or physical? And do you ever feel guilty or ashamed of your drinking? Any one of these things could indicate that you are drinking too much.”
Can you cut back?
“No one cuts back when they should,” says Somers. “Everyone waits for a rock bottom before they take action. By which stage it’s usually too late to control your drinking, you just have to stop completely. It would be better if you examined your relationship with alcohol before some disaster strikes your health. Ask yourself how often you are drinking to stave off feelings of sadness or anxiety. That’s a warning sign that things might gradually escalate.”
Challenges like Dry January or Dry July offer an opportunity to reset your relationship with drinking, but it shouldn't be an excuse to drink more in the months after. Photo / Getty Images
An ability to abstain for a while doesn’t mean you don’t have a problem, says Campbell. “People white-knuckle their way through Dry January and believe that they must be fine. But then they get back on the booze even harder to make up for lost time.”
Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) works for millions of people all over the world — and the meetings are free. But the 12-step programme it espouses is not for everyone. “I encourage people to try it, but some people aren’t keen on the references to God, for example,” says Somers. “Thankfully, there are many other support networks and communities these days, including great podcasts and apps.” The popular Dryy app describes itself as: “A positive, fun, vibrant and live alcohol-free family that inspires casual drinkers globally to take a break from alcohol to become healthier and happier.” It offers a more-relaxed, less-regimented approach to quitting drinking. Meanwhile, Somer’s own Soberful online programme has helped thousands to quit drinking using a mixture of therapeutic approaches.
“If you’re a hard drinker, you shouldn’t try to stop suddenly as that can lead to withdrawal seizures, which are very dangerous,” says Dr Campbell. “You really need to taper off gradually, usually with the support and supervision of someone else. Beyond that, you need a support network such as Alcoholics Anonymous to help you through the emotional changes you need to make to stay sober. Learning to live with life’s challenges without the numbing help of alcohol can, if you’ve been drinking your whole life, be really difficult. Having other people around you who have been through the same experience is invaluable.”
Sam Delaney’s book Sort Your Head Out: Mental health without all the bollocks (Constable) is out now in paperback.
