I cured my lifelong alcohol problem with a magic drug. I was overjoyed… and then I started drinking again. This is the truth about booze that too many won’t admit, reveals ANNABEL FENWICK ELLIOTT

As someone who used to have a serious drinking problem, I’m pretty torn about some of the issues in the news lately.

Last week, for example, Ryanair boss Michael O’Leary called for airports to ban serving alcohol before early morning flights. What a joy!

Until recently, I had never boarded a plane sober. I found that alcohol greatly reduced the discomfort of flying, and I never misbehaved once.

Meanwhile, new MP Hannah Spencer (Green Party) complains about other MPs being too drunk. ‘You can smell the alcohol when people are in between voting,’ he said. He’s not wrong: I’ve been in the bar in the House of Commons and mixed in those circles. It was great fun.

I think we can all agree that politicians shouldn’t be beaten when voting on the future of our country, but I did get drunk plenty of times, especially in my early 20s, when I was working in advertising. I should add that with my bosses.

There’s no doubt about it: Britain has a bold, long-standing, far-reaching drinking culture. It’s almost a badge of honor that we can smoke almost any nationality under the table. I remember being horrified the first time I had a big family dinner with my husband’s German relatives and there wasn’t even a drop of alcohol on offer. It was dinner! On a Saturday!

I’m 39, a millennial, and as a teenager we started wasting our time on brightly colored alcopops in local parks. There wasn’t a single person among us who didn’t drink. There were students at the university who either controlled alcohol or could not control it. Although they were sick most nights, no one refused completely.

Alcohol was not only common in educational settings. My mother’s family is Irish and they all drink like sailors. My English father and his father and others always enjoyed a full whiskey at lunchtime, generous portions of wine and a sherry with dinner.

Before I started ruining my life a bit, I was smug about what a ‘good’ drinker I was. I am deeply ashamed to admit that I was known among my friends at university as the ‘designated drunk driver’; I was by far the best at driving with precision, even when drunk.

Over the years, my tolerance has increased; No matter how drunk I got, I didn’t slur my words, I didn’t shake, and I never vomited. So I got away with it for a long time, easily downing a bottle of wine a night after work in my late 20s and mid-30s.

During the Covid outbreak, when I was living alone in the countryside and working from home with only my dog ​​by my side, I was drinking more than usual and starting the day earlier. I have ADHD and autism, so my mind is a circus. Alcohol was, and still is, the quickest remedy I found to calm what Buddhists call the ‘monkey mind’ and make the show bearable.

But it also left me looking bloated, combative when challenged, and feeling miserable the next morning.

When I became pregnant with my son about four years ago, I accepted that I might have to give up my beloved toner. Even after he was born and I started drinking again, it didn’t sit well with me.

It was a strain on my liver when I was single and supremely selfish, but I wanted to be a good mother. And a good mother won’t turn down a bottle of wine every night to stun her wandering mind.

Around that time I came across a medication that very quickly cured my lifelong drinking problem. Often referred to as the ‘Ozempic of Alcoholics’, naltrexone is a drug that kills your desire to drink.

Addiction expert at the Finnish Foundation for Alcohol Studies, Dr. When taken according to the Sinclair Method, developed by John David Sinclair in the 1980s, one hour before drinking, the pill, a dopamine inhibitor, destroys the reward cycle for the next eight to 12 hours until it wears off.

Simply put, it shuts down the part of your brain that usually responds to alcohol with that warm euphoria that keeps you coming back for more.

If you keep drinking every time you have a drink, your mind will quickly learn to stop waiting for the hit, and wine will have the same appeal as apple juice.

I barely drank for years after using this method, but have since fallen back into bad habits a few times. I have to give up alcohol like a drug because of naltrexone, but there are still situations where I refuse to get sober, so no pills.

For example, long distance flight. And parties. I travel for work, and on rare occasions my children are not with me. Christmas. Birthdays.

Some people, like my father, also experience a triggered urge to drink. Drinking good wine and whiskey with him late into the night on holiday has always been one of my favorite ways to spend time. This wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t drink.

This past month, after long days spent arguing with my three-year-old son and three-month-old daughter while my husband was away for work, I found myself returning to a glass of wine in the evening to calm my frazzled nerves. One glass quickly turned into two. I wasn’t taking naltrexone and I could see old habits returning, so I hit the nail on the head and stopped taking any more wine.

Honestly, I dream of doing this dance for the rest of my life. At least I know I’ll always have some really working medication to get me back on track, and for now my kids keep me in a responsible space. But when they leave home and I retire? Terminally ill? I would like to take my last breath with a soothing hum flowing through my veins.

‘Over the years, my tolerance has increased; No matter how drunk I got, I didn’t slur my words, I didn’t shake, and I never vomited. Annabel, seen in the bar when she was little, writes: So I got away with it for a long time.

Graham Norton, who was candid about his back-and-forth on drinking, wrote in his memoirs that he briefly attended Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings and said: ‘The real question is: Do I have a problem? In a way I do it because I drink too much.’ He then simply concludes: ‘I’d rather spend my life drinking.’

I look at younger generations who boast about restricting alcohol or rejecting it altogether. My own half-siblings, who are Generation Z, never thought it was ‘cool’ to stain in school and university. ‘Sober compliments’ seem totally terrible to me, but apparently they’re a thing these days. Part of me thinks: ‘Good for them, good for their health.’ The other part of me rolls my eyes and feels like they’re missing something. I suspect I’m not alone in this.

Alcohol is in many ways a great elixir, an effective social lubricant for the shy and a long-standing tradition that has carried Britons through miserable times for centuries.

As long as it doesn’t turn you into a rude, angry moron and your liver can handle it, maybe it’s okay for some of us to hop in and out of the car, alternating between dry spells, moderation, and excess until we escape this deadly cycle.