Holding my Breath (eBook, ePUB)
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This is an account of how ordinary people can become trapped into addiction and not find their way out. It is not a success story about recovery nor is it about beating addiction. It is however acknowledging the helplessness and frustration of those watching from the sidelines. There is advice throughout on how to support a loved one with drug and alcohol problems, with the acknowledgement that we all have to make up our own minds on how much we can do.It is the story of my relationship with my brother Colin who was one of those alcoholics and drug addicts seen on park benches everywhere. His ...
This is an account of how ordinary people can become trapped into addiction and not find their way out. It is not a success story about recovery nor is it about beating addiction. It is however acknowledging the helplessness and frustration of those watching from the sidelines. There is advice throughout on how to support a loved one with drug and alcohol problems, with the acknowledgement that we all have to make up our own minds on how much we can do.
It is the story of my relationship with my brother Colin who was one of those alcoholics and drug addicts seen on park benches everywhere. His face and his appearance proclaimed him to the world as an addict, and yet as such he was invisible behind the label. Equally invisible are the relatives and friends trying to help their addicted loved ones.The experience is told from the eyes of one of these invisible ones trying to support her loved brother. It has some advice for others in the same position.
The book describes our 1950s childhood, when babies came on waves of Delrosa syrup and Cow and Gate milk. It moves to the 60s, with our mother onValium, and our father on the edge of his seat trying to hold everything together. The stresses affected us differently, but also bound us together. I explore the tug-of-war between Colin's love for his young son - the parents' evenings he attended, table football games he bought, bedtime stories he read - and his ever-increasing need for cocaine that led him into night-time dealing. Finally, he lost his home when his son became eighteen, and the now-grown boy rejected him soon afterwards.
Yet, his ability to see the funny side of a situation remained till the end, and the book is not without humour. Colin was depressed, but resilient; addicted but aware of the comic-tragic picture he presented sometimes. His life with his friends and his little dog was not all gloom, though it was doomed. The book tells of holidays with us and the preparation that was needed, of supporting him through the convoluted benefits and housing systems and the 'digital by default' claims that he needed to submit.
The final chapter tells of his death in hospital at the age of 63, a frail, skeletal man who still managed a smile and a thumbs up when I walked in the ward. Finally, I supply a list of helpful UK organisations for those supporting relatives and friends with addiction problems.
It is the story of my relationship with my brother Colin who was one of those alcoholics and drug addicts seen on park benches everywhere. His face and his appearance proclaimed him to the world as an addict, and yet as such he was invisible behind the label. Equally invisible are the relatives and friends trying to help their addicted loved ones.The experience is told from the eyes of one of these invisible ones trying to support her loved brother. It has some advice for others in the same position.
The book describes our 1950s childhood, when babies came on waves of Delrosa syrup and Cow and Gate milk. It moves to the 60s, with our mother onValium, and our father on the edge of his seat trying to hold everything together. The stresses affected us differently, but also bound us together. I explore the tug-of-war between Colin's love for his young son - the parents' evenings he attended, table football games he bought, bedtime stories he read - and his ever-increasing need for cocaine that led him into night-time dealing. Finally, he lost his home when his son became eighteen, and the now-grown boy rejected him soon afterwards.
Yet, his ability to see the funny side of a situation remained till the end, and the book is not without humour. Colin was depressed, but resilient; addicted but aware of the comic-tragic picture he presented sometimes. His life with his friends and his little dog was not all gloom, though it was doomed. The book tells of holidays with us and the preparation that was needed, of supporting him through the convoluted benefits and housing systems and the 'digital by default' claims that he needed to submit.
The final chapter tells of his death in hospital at the age of 63, a frail, skeletal man who still managed a smile and a thumbs up when I walked in the ward. Finally, I supply a list of helpful UK organisations for those supporting relatives and friends with addiction problems.
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