I was born in 1964. I am an only child and Mum, Dad and I shared a house with my Grandmother. We were an ordinary family, in an ordinary house, in an ordinary street.

Nobody in my family ever really drank. At Christmastime, Dad would bring home one bottle of apricot wine which would last until well into the New Year.

One Christmas day, when I was about four or five, my Grandmother left her very small glass of wine on a table within my reach. I wanted to be grown up, so I had a taste of it. I remember thinking that it tasted disgusting and it burned my throat, but I felt grown-up. So, I finished off the remainder. Nobody spotted that I done that. If I could have got more, I know that I would have done.

Very occasionally, as I was growing up, I was allowed a very tiny taste of wine watered down with lemonade as a treat on a very special occasion.

During my early teens, I was a 'normal' drinker trying to get the odd drink in a pub or from an off-licence, but I really could take it or leave it at that point. So, from an alcohol point of view, I wasn't too disappointed when I failed.

I left school at sixteen and started work in a sports shop. I felt really grown-up then. After a few months, Christmas was only a few days away, and we all went out to a pub after work on Saturday evening to celebrate.

I didn't know what to order, but I had recently seen a TV advert for dry Martini. So, a dry Martini it was. Thoughts of that first taste of wine as a small child came flooding back to me, as I struggled to drink something I didn't like the taste of. But, I persevered and after another I didn't notice the horrible taste. Being an average teenage drinker I couldn't handle very much. After four or five and no food I knew that I was well and truly drunk. I headed home, where I was very ill. The next morning I truly thought that I was dying and vowed never to do that again. I didn't, for a little while. The atmosphere at home was pretty bad.

Several years later, I had discovered a taste for light beers and cider. But, I never drank too much. After two or three I had had enough. Just before my twenty-first birthday an uncle poured me a whisky and ginger as I visited him. I didn't overly care for the taste, but I liked the effect that it had on me. Once again, I felt grown-up as I was drinking. So, a few days later I bought myself a bottle of Scotch and some dry ginger. My Mum didn't like me drinking and made it very clear to me. So, as I proceeded to polish off the entire bottle in one evening session, I blamed it on her. I reasoned that if she was OK about it then I wouldn't drink as much.

I was desperately ill later that night. I vomited several times, never making it to the bathroom. I was too drunk to clear it up. Except for one shot that was left, I had drunk the entire bottle on my own. Home life was in complete chaos after that for a while.

I steered clear of whisky for several years, having discovered red wine. A guy that I had a huge crush on drank it, so that converted me. After two or three glasses I felt more comfortable being myself. I was relaxed and happy and, more importantly to me, I felt I fitted in. So, red wine became and remained my usual poison.

I discovered that with a few drinks inside me I became more out-going. I had always been very quiet and reserved and having a few drinks helped to knock down any inhibitions and barriers that I thought was there. I felt good and loved the effect that alcohol had on me.

One afternoon, I was out with friends and we started a drinking competition. I was the youngest and the slimmest and it was declared by everyone else I had no chance of winning. So, I had a target - I had to win. And, by some process, I did win. We were all drinking neat Irish whisky and I was proud to have drunken my friends 'under the table'. Oh boy, was I ill on the way home. But, I had achieved something 'worthwhile'; my standing with my friends had gone up by light years.

Over the years I worked managing several different pubs and restaurants. Alcohol was always available to me. After a long and busy evening it became normal for me have a glass or two of wine as I cashed up. If the evening was busy, I would pour a glass or two to 'help me cope' during service. If I had an evening off I would buy a bottle of wine and consume it on my own. I would sometimes go out and drink with friends. We were all about the same age and drank at the same speed. I was having fun. I was catching up on socialising and I loved it.

One evening I went into a nightclub late, as I had been working. I decided to quickly catch up with my friends who had been out all evening. I well and truly over-cooked that one. I was drinking Tequila slammers on my own, encouraged by my friends. I vaguely remember sitting on a loo in the club, but I have no recollection of getting home that evening. The following morning, I was up bright and early for work vowing never to do it again.

That was in 1990. That was the year that I had a very painful break-up with my fiancé. Things had been very bad between us for a while and it was time to part. He accepted it, I thought. But, he hadn't. The last time I saw him he raped me. I really turned to drink after that for a while. I could shut out what he had done to me. Drinking made the pain and the shame of the attack lessen.

At the start of 1991 I decided that it was going to be my year. In some ways it was. I got a new passport and applied for a driving licence. By the end of March I had passed my driving test, first time. I vowed to my examiner that I would never be so stupid as to drink and drive. And, I meant it. One month later I had bought myself a car. It was a total wreck, but I loved it. I loved going off for a drive and mentioning my car to people who I knew.

Shortly after I got my car, I parked up for the day. I was going out for the evening to drink and there was no way I was going to drive. I knew people who had lost their licences and I wasn't going to join them. I had a good night out with my friends and had quite a lot to drink. I was celebrating my licence and my car. On the way home, a friend and I met a young guy who was trying to start his car. My friend said that I could help him. He managed to start the car and said that he didn't want to drive. So, I did.

I hadn't moved the car more than a few feet when the police were at the side of the vehicle. I was immediately breathalysed. The car was stolen and it had been hot-wired. I was too drunk to see that. We were all arrested and I spent the next twenty-four hours in a police cell. The police accepted that I didn't know it was a stolen car, but I was still to appear in court on a drink-driving charge. I lost my driving licence. I was embarrassed to be in court and I was frightened that I would lose my job and also my home. I was dreadfully ashamed of what I had done.

By then, I had met a truly wonderful man. I could trust him. I had fallen in love with him. The first few weeks of our relationship were perfect. He was all that I could think about from the moment I woke up to the time that I feel asleep. I knew that he was the one for me. I left the restaurant that I was managing and we went on holiday together. We had a wonderful fortnight travelling through France and Switzerland. It couldn't have been more perfect.

When we got back home, though, things were to change. I knew that he was married and that he and his wife had agreed to separate. But, his wife changed her mind when she knew that he had met somebody else. Life became very difficult for us both. We continued to see each other under terrible pressure. He and his family were well known in the area where we lived. At times the pressure became unbearable. We decided that we couldn't keep on seeing each other, but we did.

In 1992 I started work with my boyfriend in his own computer company. He is older than me and enjoyed dining out a great deal. That was how we met. He used to come in to the restaurant that I was running at the time. I became used to a pre-dinner drink, sharing a bottle of wine with the meal and then relaxing with coffee and brandy after a meal. Occasionally, we would have both lunch and dinner out in a restaurant, with the drinks flowing all day.

By then, I always had wine at home and there was usually wine in the office. After a long day in the office, and an evening meal out with him, I went home alone and worried about what he was going home to face. So, I would pour myself a drink. I thought it helped to relax me. That situation carried for a dreadful two years.

In June 1994, we moved to a new area. Circumstances were that neither of us needed to go out to work. We had the time and money to pour a drink whenever we wished. During this period, my boyfriend developed severe spinal trouble. He would often pour himself a Scotch in the morning to help speed up the effect of the pain killers that he was taking. I was used to alcohol being around me for most of the day.

In that area, there seemed to be a permanent 'party' atmosphere every weekend. Drink flowed very freely. Our home was a permanent open-house to anyone who dropped by. I was aware, at that point, of consuming a lot of alcohol and spending quite a lot of money on it, too. But, I rarely became drunk. Over time, we got to know just about everybody who lived in the area. Parties were a regular thing and I discovered that, once again, I could manage to drink most of the people (men included) 'under the table'. I would feel a little rough in the mornings, but it was nothing that I couldn't handle. I took a certain sense of pride in drinking ability. It became a joke.

Towards the end of 1996 we moved to a new area. It was wonderful. Our home was lovely and I was so proud of it. Everything seemed to be perfect. I was used to looking after my boyfriend and helping him before his spinal surgery. I was becoming accustomed to his wife always being 'around' in one way or another. In 1997, he faced spinal surgery with a bravery that amazed me.

Towards the end of 1997, we were able to go into the local pubs and start socialising again as he could walk slightly further. A nice lunch would be followed by an even longer session in a pub. The evenings were regularly spent in a pub or social club with our friends. Cheques for credit card bills were written out in pubs; the cheque for the rent was delivered straight from a pub; Sunday chickens were defrosted in a pub on our way home from the supermarket.

Mid-way through 1999 we decided that we had had enough of spending endless hours in a pub and packed it in. But, we both carried on drinking. I made sure that the house was well stocked and that we weren't running low on our favourite tipples. There was always plenty of alcohol and more to spare.

At that point, I started to wonder about my drinking. I was starting to feel more under the weather more often in the morning. I was starting to pour myself a drink a little earlier each day. Occasionally, I wouldn't have a drink for a whole day to prove to myself that it was under control. I was slightly worried at the amounts that I was drinking. But, on the odd day that I didn't drink, I convinced myself that I was fine and just being over-cautious. I had no side effects from not drinking, so everything had to be fine.

In 2002 I knew that my drinking had changed and that drink featured heavily in my thinking. My boyfriend decided to lose weight and to become healthy. I thought that it would be a good idea for me to eat more healthily and to get some exercise. Part of the becoming healthy involved strict monitoring of alcohol. I hated it. I hated being restricted to drinking just two glasses of wine with a meal. I started to become furtive and to drink from the bottle of cooking wine when he wasn't looking, or to pour a quick glass from the box of wine and knock it back in one go. I couldn't stick to two glasses of wine per day. I hated it.

I saw my GP with a view to stopping smoking. But, she was more concerned with my alcohol consumption as I had had a drink before I went to see her. At that point, I couldn't stand the woman. She insisted that I had a set of blood tests taken to check out my liver. I tried to put it off, but in the end I had no choice. I dreaded getting the results. Of course, they were fairly bad news. So, that very same evening, I proceeded to get drunk. My boyfriend and I went out for a walk and I couldn't walk properly. I blamed it on the pair of new sandals that I was wearing.

That's when the domestic rows and really bad atmospheres started. I began to get drunk on a more and more frequent basis. I never intended to get drunk, it just seemed to happen. I would blame it on lack of food, lack of sleep, stress and whatever else entered my mind. The 'mornings after' were a living hell. I would be hanging my head in shame and solemnly vowing never to do it again. I meant every word of my promises. I didn't want to be drunk and unable to walk and talk properly. I would not do it again.

But, of course, I did. Time after horrible time, I would realise that I was drunk again. I started to become very furtive in my drinking habits. On the way to the bathroom, I would quickly pour a glass of wine and drink it in one or two mouthfuls. Then, I would settle down to watch television with my partner and a cup of tea. I began to take my contact lenses out early and get the dish washer ready to go. I was getting 'organised', but I knew that it wasn't the real reason. The real reason was that I wouldn't be able to do them later in the evening without giving away the fact that I was drunk again.

My partner kept a diary of dates of my drinking, the states that I would get myself into and how he felt about it. It made very sober reading, until I started to drink again. I tried desperately to cut down. I felt that I was really depriving myself. I would manage to go for a day or two without drinking, again to prove to myself and to my partner that I had it under control. But, who was I kidding? I would then get drunk several days later without intending to.

Frequently, during the winter months especially, I would claim that I had a bug knocking about me in the mornings. I would take some pills and wait for the hangover to go. In the end, a hangover was a normal part of life for me. I couldn't imagine waking in the morning and feeling bright and fresh.

Late in 2002, I had to have my gall bladder removed. I was dreading it. I wasn't dreading the surgery or the immediate recovery, but I was dreading not being able to drink while I was in hospital. As I felt the effect of the general anaesthetic hitting me, my last thought was of my liver and what the surgeon would find as he opened up my stomach. I had a drug-induced image of my liver spilling out and being unable to have the operation that I needed. When I came to, and the operation had been successful I didn't think about my liver again. I had 'got away with it'.

I have spilled red wine on carpets; fallen off toilet seats; lost contact lenses; walking through an open door normally became impossible for me; speaking would become difficult and slurred; housework wasn't being done properly; my personal appearance was slipping; I began to have occasional black-outs. I became resentful of just about everybody and everything. I became critical of people that I had known for several years. I would take joy in re-counting tales of various people who had done 'this or that'. I harboured resentments and treasured them.

This went on for several years.

One wretched morning in March 2004 my partner and I agreed that my drinking was out of my control. I admitted that I knew that I had a problem. I placed a 'phone call to AA and started to attend two or three meetings a week. He came to AA meetings, too. We both had a sponsor and I felt that a whole new life was just around the corner.

I began to get my self-respect back. I almost started to like myself. I was sober. It was a joy waking up every morning and clearly remembering the evening before. I truly loved my new way of life. It was great to be with other folk who understood my problem and who didn't judge me. I guess for the first time in my life I felt that I truly belonged and that I didn't need a drink to boost my confidence.

But, that changed after eight weeks. My partner decided he wasn't an alcoholic (and I do believe him) and wanted to have some wine in the house. I poured a glass for him and a little while later I poured one for myself. I hated the taste of it and I hated feeling that I wasn't in control of myself any more. But, I had started drinking again.

In the following months I tried desperately to remind myself of how much I didn't like the taste of the wine, how much better I had been feeling about myself, how organised and peaceful my life had become while I was attending AA meetings. But, it didn't work. I began to drink more and more. I was regularly drunk again.

In November 2004, my partner and I split up. In the run up to the separation we both cried about the pain and unfairness of the situation. We both railed against it. It just wasn't fair. He was moving back to his wife. He didn't want to go back and I didn't want him to go back. In the last three evenings that we spent together, I was drunk two of the evenings. He spent the last night in our home sleeping on the settee. I literally screamed with the unfairness and my drunkenness. Everything was going wrong. The next day I went to the airport with him and I vowed to myself to stop drinking. I would never do it again.

But, in the following twelve months my drinking became completely out of control. There was no-one applying any brakes to what I drank or how much I drank. I tried to handle it in various different ways. I wouldn't drink before three o'clock in the afternoon; I wouldn't drink red wine; I wouldn't drink if I hadn't spoken to my partner that day; I wouldn't drink until I had completed all of the housework; I would only drink beer; I wouldn't drink.

Day after day, I battled not to drink and not to get drunk. Yet morning after morning I would wake knowing that I had done it again. The more I drank, the more I hated myself and my life. It was a daily battle to try to remember what I had said to various different people about meeting up with them, the day, the time, etc. Promises that I had made were forgotten. Black-outs were becoming pretty normal.

I was living on my own and there was no 'brake' on me or my drinking. I wasn't accountable to anybody. I had the money to buy the alcohol; I had no job that I had to go to; I had no children to look after; I had no partner to share my life with. It was just me and my red wine.

One day, in early February 2005, I had made a cup of tea one morning. To my total horror I discovered that I was physically unable to walk through to my living room with it. I was shaking in a way that I had never shaken before. I simply couldn't control it. I knew what would stop it, but I didn't take that drink. I was too scared. I realised that I was in a mess. I needed help.

I didn't drink for ten days after that, I was too scared. I got out my AA books and started reading. I began to start to feel better about myself again. And then, I picked up another drink. I spiralled out of control again. I didn't know who I was any more, but I knew that I didn't like who I was turning into.

I dreaded people dropping in on me as I knew that I was unable to make a tray of tea or coffee and carry it without shaking. I dreaded being invited into their homes, as I knew that I wouldn't be able to lift a cup to my mouth without shaking and spilling it over myself. I didn't want to see anybody. I hated myself. I felt great guilt, remorse and shame. I tried to continue with my day-to-day life, but it was becoming harder and more unbearable. It had started to become unmanageable.

I lied constantly to people I cared about and I lied to myself. All I could think about was drinking. All I was concerned about was getting more alcohol. I think, and I'm fairly sure of this, that apart from my partner I managed to hide my alcoholism from those around me. I was cautious about buying my alcohol. I wouldn't use the same check-out in a supermarket, or if I had to I would go to great lengths to explain that I was having a party and lots of friends were coming round. I had endless imaginary drinks parties and dinner parties.

During that twelve month period, my partner came to stay with me on four occasions. I couldn't wait to see him again. I longed to be with him. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect. I made sure that I was completely on top of the housework; I had his favourite food in stock; I had anything in stock that he might need. But, on each occasion I quickly became drunk. And, I never wanted to. We were back to the horrible scenes of domestic atmospheres again with him refusing to share a bed with me.

On his last visit, that was when I finally hit my bottom. He was medically up against it and was staying with me while he saw a spinal surgeon about a problem in his neck/shoulders. I knew that he had been in great pain. I knew that he was still in colossal pain. I knew that he was very worried in case he needed another spinal operation. I was desperately worried and would have taken the problem away from him if I could. I would have done anything to spare him from this.

But, just over twenty-fours hours into his visit I got drunk again. And, did I ever do it this time? I became very drunk and verbally highly aggressive towards him. I accused him of various 'crimes', none of which he was guilty of, of course. I was taking out my rage, fear, frustration and every single insecurity on him. I really let rip and went for it. I will always be ashamed and carry great guilt with me over that. He deserved so much better, especially from me.

I swore at him and shouted at him to f*** off to his face. I slammed the door and walked into the kitchen and poured myself yet another glass of wine. I knew that I shouldn't have done it, but I was hurting. I was all that I thought about. I didn't think about anybody else. I returned to where he was sitting and verbally laid into him again. I have no recollection of this to this day. But, I know that he wouldn't lie to me. He never has. Once again, I was in blackout.

The atmosphere at home could only be described as pure hell. The next morning, he told me what I had said to him the night before and I was truly horrified. I couldn't believe that I was capable of being that cruel to anybody. But to someone who financially supported me, someone who needed and wanted my love and support, someone that I had fallen in love with fourteen and a half years earlier? It was unthinkable. I apologised and swore that I would never do it again. I fully intended to control my drinking. I was sick of the guilt, the shame and the remorse. Now, I hated myself fully. I despised who I had turned into.

Yet, despite my promise not to drink again I did. This time I was being very furtive and secretive about it. When he was in the bathroom or on the 'phone I would 'innocently' walk into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Then, I would pour a large amount of red wine into my coffee mug and knock it back as quickly as I could and reappear with a hot drink. When he wasn't around I would pour myself a glass of wine, drink it quickly and then top up the empty glass with orange juice. When I was shopping for groceries on my own, I seriously thought of popping into a bar and knocking a few swift drinks back. I was trying to pretend to everyone that I didn't have a problem, but I knew that the days of lying and kidding were coming to an end. I craved an end to the hell that had become my life.

Four or five days later I returned to the topic of the dreaded night and my behaviour. I wanted to clear up all the bad feelings that were between us. I so desperately wanted to apologise and to make everything fine between us again. But, it was not to be. I had been drinking again. Once more, the whole situation descended to a level that I thought wasn't possible. I raised all the 'issues' that were bothering me and hurled a few more accusations at him, too.

He left the room and sat at the computer. He was shell-shocked. He couldn't believe that I had turned on him yet again. I stood outside on the balcony for an hour and a half in the pouring rain wanting nothing more than to die. I wanted out.

I knew then, that I couldn't continue any more.

The following day we chatted about my drinking. I opened up and told him that I had been drinking red wine out of a mug. He was shocked. He had had no idea. I openly told him that I was regularly drinking two to three bottles of red wine every day. I told him that I was scared. The topic of AA cropped up and I said that I would think about it. I meant it and I did think about it. I would face it when he had gone back home. In the meantime, I just wouldn't drink.

The next day I didn't drink. I was on a short-fuse with almost everybody and everything and in a bad way with shaking, but I didn't drink. The following day my partner went to hospital for an MRI scan. He was scared of what it would show up. I was scared for him, too. I didn't want him to have face more surgery. As he was in the bathroom getting ready early in the afternoon, I poured another mug of red wine and hit it back. Then, I poured another one. I needed it. When he came into the kitchen I was sipping on a mug of tea. I brushed my teeth and used a breath-freshener 'because I had been smoking' before we left for the hospital. He had the scan.

We got back home and he wanted a drink. I poured one for him and one for myself. I felt that I needed it. The scan had revealed that there was a potential problem at the base of his neck. That was all the excuse that I needed to drink again. Early in the evening I was drunk again. I couldn't walk straight and my speech was slurred. But, this time it was different.

I truly knew that I was defeated. I knew that I needed help. I said this. I explained that I had been drinking secretively again. I cried with frustration that I couldn't beat alcohol on my own. I just couldn't do it.

He was in the same room as I made the 'phone call to AA.

My life is now so different even eight months later. I want more of this. It feels good. I have confidence in myself; I am earning back trust; I am starting to like myself. I have an optimism and peace inside me that I have never had before.

My partner and I are now talking about getting back together again. I know that he is proud of me and all that I am doing. I am proud of myself. I am truly doing my very best. I cannot do more than that. I just wish that I had faced my addiction years before.