Battling alcoholism from the age of 11, homeless woman finds peace in rehab and sobriety
Alcohol quickly became my escape, and I relied on it more and more. Rather than feeling celebratory, it became my crutch in sadness and my source of confidence. At school, being drunk dulled the pain of bullying. I no longer cared about the insults, as if the alcohol locked away all the hurt. For a while, it felt good, liberating even.
- 2 weeks ago
August 30, 2024
Chloe and other Emmaus Norfolk and Waveney patients who agreed to be photographed. | Photo courtesy of Emmaus Norfolk and Waveney 
ROYSTON, United Kingdom — From a young age, I felt isolated and adrift. I compared myself to others and bullying consumed my thoughts, making it impossible to focus. At 11 years old, I turned to alcohol, hoping to numb the pain.
After years of battling alcohol addiction, I finally found peace in a quiet life, surrounded by a lush garden of flowers and plants. In this place, I heal and embrace sobriety. This garden now represents the calm I longed for, a refuge from chaos and struggle.
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Alcohol consumption began at age 11
From a young age, I felt lost and compared my life to others, always finding mine lacking. School became a constant struggle as bullying overwhelmed my thoughts, making it impossible to focus on learning.
One day, I turned to alcohol, hoping to dull the pain as it did for others. When I drank, the parts of myself I hated seemed to vanish. Under the haze of alcohol, I became bold, unafraid of standing up to the world.
Alcohol quickly became my escape, and I relied on it more and more. Rather than feeling celebratory, it became my crutch in sadness and my source of confidence. At school, being drunk dulled the pain of bullying. I no longer cared about the insults, as if the alcohol locked away all the hurt. For a while, it felt good, liberating even. Yet, at home, things felt no better. The problems I tried to drown followed me, and the relief alcohol provided proved temporary.
I started stealing to keep my stash filled, sometimes from my family and other times from stores. The adrenaline surged as I slipped bottles under my clothes. Deep down, I knew it was wrong, but I convinced myself I needed it to survive. The rush of stealing felt more thrilling than the act itself. Once I held the bottle in hand, the excitement faded, leaving only emptiness behind. The high I chased never lasted, and the cycle repeated.
As the years passed, it became easier to hide my addiction. Adults often overlook teenagers, so my drinking went unnoticed. I got good at covering it up, pouring alcohol into soda bottles so it seemed harmless.
Five years later daily alcohol use escalated with drug mixing
Over time, my behavior shifted. The confident, outgoing person I projected seemed real to everyone around me. No one suspected it was just a mask, hiding the emptiness and pain beneath. My facade became so convincing, even I started to believe it.
The worst moments came when the alcohol wore off. I crashed into a deep slump, like sliding down a cliff. It felt unbearable to face my true self. I despised being shy and insecure. Unable to stand being me for even a second, I quickly drank again to become that outgoing, confident version of myself. Always pretending, I constantly acted like someone else. To keep up that act, I needed the alcohol. It became my way of staying in character.
Eventually, alcohol alone proved insufficient, so I started mixing it with other drugs for a stronger effect. By the time I turned 16 years old, doubt crept in. Some of my friends quit using and turned their lives around. Watching them change, I thought they looked ridiculous. I struggled to understand why they abandoned our way of living. Yet, beneath my mockery, I started to worry. “Maybe they aren’t the strange ones,” I thought, “Maybe I am the one with the real problem.”
One day, while drunk and home alone, I invited friends over, who brought more people. The party spiraled out of control—loud, chaotic, and filled with strangers. I did not care. When my mom came home, she become furious. Calmly, she told me, “You have to go.” Panic set in. I had nowhere to turn. I grabbed my kitten, a few belongings, and a dead cell phone before wandering to a bar to charge it. Soon, I found a friend willing to let me stay for a while.
Unwilling to accept my addiction: sober patient inspires me to seek rehab
Even then, I did not fully realize I had a problem. Life felt hard, but I believed alcohol helped me cope. Alcohol felt like a solution, not a problem. I found work at a pub that doubled as a hotel and restaurant. Homeless, I kept my belongings in my car, which became my bedroom at night. Outwardly, I tried to keep it together, but inside, I felt complete chaos. My mind went blank, filled with disorder, and I struggled daily, unsure what to do or where to go next.
I considered ending my life, feeling trapped between needing alcohol and knowing it was destroying me. I took no direct action but rather lived recklessly, driving drunk and crashing, like tempting fate to decide for me. Then, at work, they told me not to return until I sorted myself out. My family echoed the plea. “You have to do something,” they said. I knew I had no choice. Though part of me remained in denial, unwilling to fully accept my addiction, I felt desperate enough to try to change.
Paralyzed by fear, I entered rehab for the first time, uncertain of what to expect. After years of daily drug use, I felt lost. In the beginning of rehab, I felt disoriented, alternating between a small, sterile room meant to calm me and common areas where we learned about addiction’s effects on the brain. One day, I saw a man full of life, smiling brightly. I assumed he was a member of the staff. When I learned he was a patient, I felt shocked, but it gave me hope. Maybe I could get better too.
Finding myself in sobriety
One afternoon, a group of us gathered in the garden to talk. In rehab, you spend so much time with others that deep connections form quickly. I found myself laughing—a real, sober laugh—for the first time. It felt strange, almost uncomfortable because it was so unfamiliar. As I looked around at the others laughing too, I felt something wonderful. I never truly understood happiness before. Yet, it also scared me. It felt like meeting the person I hid with alcohol for so long. At that point, I needed to face the emptiness I avoided.
Later, I switched rehab centers and found my place at Emmaus Norfolk & Waveney. The moment I arrived, it felt too good for me. Nevertheless, the vast grounds, open fields, and serene atmosphere instantly brought me a sense of calm I never felt before. I settled in quickly, which seemed unusual. My favorite spot became the orchids, where I overlooked the entire garden. A peaceful spot with few people around, it offered me breathtaking sunsets. I savor those quiet moments.
My life now feels radically different, but sometimes fear creeps in. I feel terrified of slipping back into my old habits and losing everything I built. Life is not perfect. I experience ups and downs. During tough times, I remind myself I will always be an addict. I cannot casually drink with friends, and that’s my reality forever. When those fears surface, I go for walks, sometimes alone, sometimes with my dog. I also attend meetings to clear my mind. In doing so, I keep that fear at bay.
