In the last few weeks before entering rehab, Dan* was drinking seven bottles of wine every day.



He’d lost his house through the debt he’d accumulated. He was fired from his job and thrown out by his wife for the incessant lying. Psychiatric teams had visited and social services were involved because he had a baby daughter. He was having convulsions and waking up in the back of ambulances. He’d been arrested twice after getting into alcohol and drug-induced fights leading to an assault charge.

Dan’s descent into life-threatening alcohol dependency begun at university where what started as customary student binge-drinking turned into a minimum of eight pints a day. He was going to the pub on his own and took coke so he could stay up to drink more.

"After finishing my first degree I did another one, so seven years in total at uni. I spent a lot of time in an environment where I could drink as much as I could with barely any responsibility," the 34-year-old tells Esquire.



Dan is one of the 2.4% men in the UK who was classified as “alcohol dependent”. According to the charity Alcohol Concern, more than 123,000 men aged between 25 and 34 are alcohol dependent, along with 30,000 women in that age group.

Post-work drinks with the boss, pre-drinking in uni halls, starting at midday ahead of a Six Nations match and Sunday lunches at the pub with a glass of red are all integral parts of British culture. But then there's also warning after warning coming from medical bodies, the media and the government about alcohol consumption. Last month, a study suggested that heavy drinking can lead to an increased likelihood of developing dementia, both Wales and Scotland are currently debating minimum pricing on alcohol and low or alcohol-free wines are increasing in UK supermarkets.

But how much is too much and when do you know if you've got a problem? Esquire spoke to three men, who all identify–or have identified—as alcohol dependent. They all had good jobs, loving relationships, nice homes they could call their own.

What's more, they all feel their alcoholism crept up on them - over time, social drinking cascaded into full-blown addiction. These are their stories.

On the outside, everything seemed fine

After uni, Dan got a job in advertising—a client-based role involving copious amounts of wining and dining. Soon, even when he wasn't taking clients out, he'd be drinking five pints in his lunch break, putting in fake meetings with his colleague to go out to the pub, stopping at the pub on his way home and then buying a bottle of wine for when he did get home.

"I decided I was drinking too much and it was killing me,” he says. “I was doing lots of drugs and drinking lots, getting on the train in the morning reeking of alcohol. A few times, I passed out the next day. I started to have accidents quite a bit, too, I severed my artery in my wrist through putting my hand through a glass door when I was drunk.”

Approaching his late twenties, he decided he wanted a more rewarding career—and having realised his drinking was problematic, he thought he could manage it better by being in an environment away from alcohol.

I was a normal enough drinker at university and then it steadily became more and more.

"I started training to be a teacher but soon I was drinking from 8 a.m. before lectures,” he says. “Even when I was doing placements, I was drinking 24 hours a day."

But on the outside, it seemed like everything was fine.

“I had a job, my own home, was married, had a baby, but I was vomiting bile every morning because I need alcohol to function," he says. "I would drink a bottle of wine before I drove to work because I was shaking too much. This is when I knew it had got to a really bad point.”

Finally, things changed when his doctor told him he’d end up “on a mortuary slab” if he didn’t shape up — and he entered a six-week rehab programme with Action on Addiction. Today, he regularly attends a support group and has been clean for three months.

Hiding it to avoid arguments

Forty-four-year-old Kenny’s drinking didn’t escalate into what he considered to be a problem until his 30s.

“I was a normal enough drinker at university and then it steadily became more and more and I was then drinking at home rather than going out. It was no longer social,” he says. “It continues to get worse until people start pointing it out. Then you start hiding it and then you can’t talk about it at all because it will cause arguments and that stops you getting help because you’re not prepared to admit it’s a problem. So, eventually, it stops getting brought up.”

Kenny began his career as a chef - a job where there is considerable stress and where he says alcoholism is "rife" - he reflects that the unsociable hours chefs work mean that when they do finish a shift they'd only have an hour or so until the pubs shut so once they were there would try and cram in as much drink as possible.

Kenny left his job as a chef to work in banking in his thirties ("I wanted to change my life, which I wasn't really happy with, by becoming more respectable. The sensible thing would have been to keep the job I had and stop drinking. I changed career but kept drinking.") He had a supportive fiance, who he had been with for over a decade.



After his stint in banking, he became the director of a charity, which is where he says everything came to a head and his alcohol dependency worsened.

"It was a huge amount of stress and responsibility and I didn't feel I had any right to be doing that job in the first case," he says.

He’d dabbled in community alcoholism support groups when he realised he was alcohol dependent but thought he "had it under a degree of control", but he only went to keep his partner happy which, looking back now, was the wrong reason. For it to have worked, he should have wanted to go.

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Kenny eventually got help in his forties. He had split up with his girlfriend a few months beforehand, reflecting now they probably stayed together longer than necessary purely because she was so concerned for his welfare (the two remain friends), and he'd reached a point where he spent "three months in a flat with the curtains shut, only leaving to get more drink".

Sober for four years, he now works for addiction charity Addaction and says he now understands that alcohol dependency often unravels slowly because of the lies the illness encourages you tell and the emotion it stirs both in the alcohol dependent-person and those around them.

“I thought it was what everyone did.”

Graham, 40, started drinking heavily at 16 years old, shortly after he left school to become an electrician. The company he worked for had a lot of "heavy drinkers" and boozing every day was "the done thing", he didn't think it was particularly abnormal and says he was the “last person to know he was an alcoholic”.



“I put on nice clothes to look the part,” he tells Esquire. “I thought, ‘I can’t be an alcoholic as alcoholics are lying in the gutter covered in piss’ and that wasn’t me.” [Alcohol Concern refrain from using the term ‘alcoholic’ as they say it perpetuates the stigma’].

By the time Graham had reached his twenties, he was drinking every day “to oblivion”, but continued to tell himself he didn’t have a drinking problem because he didn’t drink alone in the house—an assuming stereotype.

“I thought it was what everyone did,” he says. “But, looking back, from early on I was different to my mates. The other guys were drunk and ready to go home, but I was drunk and wanted to get more drunk… I hated the taste of alcohol, it was more for the effect. I never thought, ‘Oh, that pint’s lovely,’ I’d just be drinking to take the edge off.

I often wish now, I could have one pint but I now know that I’ve not got that in me.

“I’d be drunk in anticipation of getting drunk. At work, where I was an electrician, I’d be moody until 2 p.m. and then, by 3, I’d perked up because I knew I was going for a pint. The thing is, I never went to the pub to have eight pints, I only ever went for two but I could never just have that,” he says. “I often wish now, I could have one pint but I now know that I’ve not got that in me.”

In the final few months before seeking help for his illness, Graham ran out of his stock of alcohol at home so turned to weed killer, mixing it with lemonade thinking it would give him the same buzz as alcohol.

“I burnt all my insides and got admitted to hospital. I went on holiday days later and still drank," he says. "I vomited every morning and that’s when my wife said she’d had enough and threatened to leave me. I broke down and told her everything."

That was the catalyst for Graham to eventually stop drinking and seek help through a weekly alcohol support group. He's been sober for four years.

Why they didn’t 'just stop'

The stories of alcohol dependency are often shocking, and, for people who are not alcohol dependent, can be difficult to understand.

“If things like suicidal thoughts and repeatedly vomiting blood happened to someone without an alcohol problem, they’d probably think: ‘It’s time for a major life change’. That doesn’t apply if you’re addicted to something,” Kenny explains.

Another aspect of alcohol dependency where the gravitas is not often fully understood is the physical effects. While it’s not the case for most alcohol dependent people, Dan’s body was so addicted to the substance that he had to be fully detoxed under medical supervision when he entered rehab. He’d previously been told by doctors that, were he just to suddenly stop drinking, he would likely have a seizure.

All three men also agree they only felt truly understood by other recovering addicts once they were in treatment.

After going through recovery, and having psychological treatment where he could discuss the “emotional trauma”, Dan understands that he has “obsessive” elements that may have contributed to his dependency.

“I’ve always been different and wanted to extreme and excel at something, which might sound perverse in terms of drinking,” he reflects. “Once I start drinking I can’t stop, it becomes an obsession and an impulse.

It’s not known what makes someone more likely to be alcohol dependent, there are a number of factors at play and one of them could be down to gender.

According to Alcohol Concern, 65% of the 7,327 alcohol-related deaths in 2014 were men. In 2009, a multinational study found that "drinking per se and high-volume drinking were consistently more prevalent among men than among women". The authors suggested both biological and cultural factors may a have a role in why this is.



"Men generally have a higher physical capacity for consumption, but are also subject to much greater social pressures to drink heavily," Dr James Nicholls, Alcohol Concern's research and policy development director, told Esquire. " Recently, we have seen something of a convergence in men and women’s drinking behaviours, and we have yet to see what impact this will have in the longer run. In trying to reduce the overall numbers of people drinking too heavily we need to consider how interventions work for men and women - with the goal of improving lives across the board.”



Anya Sparks, treatment manager at Action on Addiction, says there is “potentially” a difference in vulnerability for men based on the school of thought that there is a "greater release of dopamine for men than women in areas of the brain linked to pleasure, reinforcement and the formation of addiction", but she stressed there "is no single way of alcoholism manifesting".

Mark Leyshon, senior Policy Officer at Alcohol Concern, added that alcohol-associated hospitalisation and death has been shown to increase with socioeconomic deprivation, as well.

'I was frightened I’d be seen as being daft'

There a number of “red flags” which can indicate you have an alcohol or substance disorder, Sparks says, such as being increasingly dishonest to others around you about how much or the way you are drinking, or, if you are drinking to “feel better” or relax or continuing to drink even when it’s clearly having a negative effect on you and the people around you.

Much has also been documented about the danger of men’s reluctance to seek psychological support for mental health problems because of the pervading stigma around masculinity and mental health.

Could both the stigma of alcoholism and addiction combined with the stigma of being a man with a mental health issues be a dangerous fusion that prevents male sufferers seeking help and support?

“I didn’t speak out because I was frightened I’d be seen as being daft,” Graham says. “It wasn’t the very male thing to do to talk about anything. If I was feeling seriously down, I drank. Drink was my solution.

I couldn’t say I was drinking because of how I was feeling.

“I couldn’t say I was drinking because of how I was feeling, though. I’d have been laughed out of the place. The unfortunate thing is that probably 95% of the people in the pub I’d drink in would be thinking the same thing.” Since becoming sober, Graham has dedicated some of his time to supporting a local men’s mental health group based in Glasgow.

Leyshon says that just recognising that your drinking is out of control and that you need help is an important step. The next step is recovery. It is possible to leave a happy and content life as a recovering addict.

“I’ve got dreams and goals now,” Graham says. “Before, the goal was to get to 3 o’clock and have a pint. Stopping drinking doesn’t make my life rosy and happy, but it makes it normal. That’s what I wanted, a normal life.”

If you're struggling with alcohol you deserve support. Try speaking to your GP. You can also find alcohol services in your area through Alcohol Concern, Addaction and Action on Addiction.

*Dan's names has been changed.