‘I had six cans of lager and two bottles of wine on the way to rehab’

After alcohol-induced seizures nearly killed him, Ben Robinson went to Steps Together in Nottinghamshire – and he is now six years sober

My relationship with booze grew over the years into a full-blown addiction – although I was the last person to acknowledge that fact. Most people assume addiction is the by-product of trauma, but not with me. Yes, there were reasons behind my boozing, and I do have an addictive mindset, but for a long time, especially in my early 20s, I thought it was just part of having fun. Sadly, as my intake steadily increased, it became a habitual crutch which got out of control. I lost jobs, I couldn’t pay my rent, I was lying to my parents, hiding vodka in a Ribena bottle and drinking it on the Tube.
By the time I went to rehab, I was drinking up to 50 units every day. I was 27 years old, unemployed and living at my mum’s house. She knew I was drinking, but she didn’t have a clue about the dark truth that was really going on. All I cared about was the next drink. 
One day, I had a withdrawal seizure in the middle of Nottingham city centre after I’d suddenly decided to stop drinking. Things were unravelling and, naively, I thought it was a good idea. My body literally couldn’t function without the alcohol and I blacked out twice. I was rushed to hospital, where I fell into an alcohol-induced psychosis. Hallucinations, the lot.
When I eventually came out of hospital, I stayed at my dad’s house for a few nights – he and my mum are separated. They’d previously suggested rehab, but it wasn’t something I could comprehend. Then, one morning, I woke up and reached for my morning vodka, and I was immediately sick. I couldn’t get out of bed; I literally couldn’t move. I can’t even describe the darkness I felt, it was terrifying. I kept trying to swig a drink, but each time, it came back up. 
Eventually, I hauled myself out of bed and went downstairs, where I found my dad. I looked at him and said, “I’m done, I need change. Now.” That was a Saturday; I was in rehab on Monday.
I had six cans of lager and two bottles of wine for the four-hour car journey. My fear was so intense, it was the worst terror I’d ever felt in my life, and keeping topped up was the only way I could get myself there. Although deep down I knew I was ready for change, booze had been my everything for so long, and I was petrified to let it go.
Getting me out of the car was the hardest bit; I practically had to be dragged in. But the staff knew exactly how to handle me, and once I was inside the building, I felt more resigned to the process. The team had been informed I would be coming, so they were ready for me. 
After I’d said goodbye to my parents, I was given a banana and honey smoothie to reduce the alcohol levels so they could medicate me with Librium, a sedative which keeps the seizures and shaking at bay. Then a nurse explained the procedure, and there was an initial assessment of my medical history and alcohol use so that a detox plan could be put in place. 
The standard residential programme is a month, but I ended up staying for seven weeks, as I felt I needed more time. They also took a photo of me for their records. I look at it now and see someone completely ravaged. Thank God, that’s no longer me.
Once the assessment had been done, I was shown to my room. The centre was in a big Victorian house, with gardens and a communal sitting room, and the atmosphere was homely and nurturing. The food was so good I put on a much-needed 2st, despite the regular exercise trips. I remember walking into my room and thinking, “Right, this is change time.” I was at a level of acceptance, and finally I was ready to help myself. 
I knew it was going to be the most pain I’d ever felt in my life, but I held on to the hope that I would come out of it happier. Even so, it was scary being alone in my room. My alcohol comfort blanket was gone, and when that door closed on the first night, I realised I had a huge battle ahead of me. It wasn’t going to be pretty.
The first two days of withdrawal are taken over by feeling the worst you’ve ever felt in your life. It’s basically like the film Trainspotting. You feel like you’re dying as the body purges the years of abuse. Alcohol was sweating out of every single pore in my body and it stank. Then the fevers started, I felt hot and cold, my head was exploding. Then I was throwing up and shaking. It was as though time had stood still; I had to put the BBC news on the television so I could believe the hours were passing.
I woke up on the second day and thought the worst was over. But no, it happened all over again. I couldn’t eat anything, I had stomach cramps and a constant headache. I wasn’t emotional – the physical pain was too overwhelming. But then on day three, I started crying bucketloads. In order to feel the stuff you haven’t felt for five years, you have to clear that booze out of your system. So every emotion I’d blocked was suddenly upon me. Shame, panic, fear, sadness, regret, remorse. It hit me like a sledgehammer. I remember one of the staff knocking on my door because they had heard me crying and coming in to tell me it was going to be OK. At that point, I wasn’t so sure.
I felt groggy and rough for about a week as the medication was tapered off, but slowly I was becoming more aware of my surroundings. You are allowed contact with the outside world, and there was a point towards the middle of my programme when I wrote an email to both my parents, saying all the things I hadn’t been able to say to them when I had been drunk.
My feelings flooded out, and I told them I didn’t know what I would have done without them and how sorry I was for everything I’d put them through. I assured them I was determined to see the rehab through and come out a sober and better man. People ask what keeps you strong in there, and it’s your loved ones who believe in your recovery. Not only did my parents shell out their savings for my rehab, they’ve been through so much. My illness has drastically changed their lives, but they always stood by me, even in the darkest periods. They deserve to have a sober son.
On around day four, I was ready to get involved in the clinic’s timetable. I was placed in a permanent group of 14. There was a morning and evening check-in to give everyone the opportunity to share how they felt. Then, from 10am to 5pm, there was group therapy, single therapy, and workshops (anything from well-being sessions to self-reflection and breathing exercises). There was one exercise called the empty chair, where a patient faces the empty chair and speaks out loud to an imagined person. For some, it might be the sibling who let them down, or the parent who abused them. You end up crying for these people because you really feel their vulnerability, but you are also able to help them think it through and support them. The whole rehab experience has given me a deeper understanding of loss, pain and the strength needed to get through it.
Another exercise that blew my mind was something called life stories. I’d never really understood how I’d got to such a terrible point of alcohol abuse; nothing particularly traumatic had ever happened to me. So, one night, I wrote my story down and then shared it with the group. It opened the door for me to understand myself. My peers asked me questions such as, “When you were a child and your family moved around a lot, did you feel lonely? How did that experience affect your self-esteem?”
Slowly, the penny dropped: not feeling like I belonged early on in life had created a sense of not being good enough. Alcohol masked my insecurity and gave me false confidence. It was a revelation for me. Understanding the “why” behind addiction, and what triggered me to drink, really helped me to move forward.
My peers were from every walk of life. But in so many ways, we were the same. We were all addicts, and when others opened up about their experiences, I’d think, “I’ve said that,” or, “I’ve done that too.” Here was a group of people who totally understood, and I didn’t need my guard up. I can’t tell you how incredible that felt.
For that reason, in the space of weeks, I made the closest friends I’d had in years. It was so inclusive and there was a mutual respect for everyone. It felt extremely safe. We were all in a raw and exposed place, trying to grab life back, and we wanted to take care of each other.
While I was in rehab, I didn’t physically crave alcohol, but I was mentally longing for it. When some of the therapy sessions were going deep and it felt tough, I wanted to drown those feelings in booze. We were uncovering painful stones that had been buried for years. But it’s facing them when you are sober that really shifts things. By the end of my time, I realised this had been the biggest gift I’d been given in my life.
There were people in there who fought the process to the end, and it felt possible they might leave and drink again. The first step towards change is accepting you’ve got a problem. People think you go to rehab and the experts give you the answers. They don’t. Basically, it’s about understanding yourself. Why you acted on certain things, how that made you feel and what triggers certain behaviour. And it’s ultimately up to you – not your mates, not your parents, not your partner – to make the changes.
As the weeks went by, I felt calmer and more in control. I even started to have fun with my peers. We played board games, sang, watched films, and there was one silly evening where we all sat around wearing face masks.
When the time came for me to leave, I had a final session with my therapist to talk through my support network and the tools I’d be taking into the outside world to help with my sobriety. I felt strong, and I realised I was ready to leave.
When the actual day came, I wasn’t scared, but I was beyond emotional. It was hard to say goodbye to these people who had been a part of this life-changing process, but I am still in touch with most of them. Some of my peers have stayed sober, some not. No one can deny that sobriety is hard. But the day I left rehab, I knew I would never touch alcohol again.
I wouldn’t be here now if it hadn’t been for those seven weeks. Yes, I had the desire to change, but it was the support of the experts there, my fellow patients and the incredible programme that made the difference. I will be eternally grateful for that experience.
Booze wrecked my life; it almost killed me, but I am now six years sober. I have a wife, a home, a job, a good life. I have changed, and it has made me a better and happier man.
As told to Jenny Tucker