'I got sober when I was 21. But for decades afterwards I was dependent on something else.'

Content Warning: This post includes discussion of suicide that may be distressing to some readers. 

I stood in front of what felt like a thousand people in a smelly dark hall, a microphone in front of my face. How had my life come to this?

"Hi my name's Donna and I'm an..." I couldn't say it. The end of that sentence was so fraught with shame that I couldn't even pronounce the word I needed to say.

"Hi Donna, speak louder," someone said.

I began to speak, quivering with tears as I said, "My name is Donna and I'm an alcoholic."

I told the people in the room how once again, I'd slept on the bathroom floor in my vomit, unable to remember the events of the night before. I had been evicted from my rental, unable to pay my rent, as alcohol had taken priority. 

Watch: Here are just some of the effects after one year without drinking alcohol. Post continues after video.

I told them that my mum had accused me of being an alcoholic and how enraged I was at this.  I recalled an incident when she once drove for four hours to collect me from some random guy's house in a country town where I had been living. I'd been sacked from the pub that I worked in for entering the premises after an all-day pub crawl, highly intoxicated and insisting I play pool in there. I was yelling, screaming, abusing people and smashing the pool balls to the ground. Then I had left in a stranger's car. 

I went on to talk about waking up in unfamiliar beds, not remembering the name of the person beside me; and worse still, not knowing if I'd had sex with them or not. I wanted to die. 

Did I truly believe that at the age of 21 I was an alcoholic? No. I told the people in the room I'd only come to Alcoholics Anonymous to prove my mum wrong. 

Instead of judgement, I was met with compassion and understanding. Having no place to stay, fellow members kindly offered up their spare rooms and lounges. This was my saving grace for my first year of sobriety, as I couched surfed amongst members.

From a very early age I felt like I didn't fit in. School was hard, and I didn't make friends easily.

I'd spend most of my lunch breaks alone in the library pretending to finish an assignment. 

I always felt like I was not enough. Growing up without a dad only seemed to confirm these feelings.

I discovered alcohol at the age of 15 and still remember my first drink clearly. I was at an all-day cricket match cheering on my latest boyfriend, as I knocked back the beers.

Donna during her drinking days. Image: Supplied.

The day ended with me rolling down the hill in my chair, then being driven home with my head out the window vomiting into my face. After that night, blackouts became a regular occurrence.

The 'day after' was always the same. Remorse guilt, shame and a bunch of phone calls from friends raging over something I said or did. By the age of 18 I'd attempted suicide twice and had an unwanted pregnancy.

I surrendered to that life only because of the way I felt when I drank. The shy young girl, lacking in confidence disappeared, if only for a few hours. That was the pay-off, and that was what led me to that moment, standing in front of those people in that dark hall.

In the early days, I found the sober social life terrifying. I nodded awkwardly, agreeing with anything anyone said to me, and laughed at everyone's jokes even if I missed the punch line.

After a few difficult months things started to get better, even my skin had started to clear, the redness now gone from my face.

Having no family around, and no friends left from my drinking days, I bought myself a canary and named him 'Get Down', representing my passion for dance. That bird was my everything. It was just me and 'Get Down' against the world. Who knew a bird could make you feel so loved?

As I ventured into sober life, I discovered my desire to be 'famous', and had my five minutes of fame when I was chosen as a contestant on The New Price is Right. There I was, on TV guessing the prices of random products. It came down to the last prize, and I was amazed when I heard the bell ding. 

"Donna you've won!" said the host, Larry.

I couldn't believe it. I'd won a trip to the Whitsundays. Suddenly I realised that maybe good things could happen to me too. Maybe I was worthy of happiness after all.

As my first year of sobriety drew near, questions began to arise. Where was my dad? I couldn't let that go, so I went on a journey to find him, which changed me forever. My dad was transitioning into a woman.

It was a lot for a newly sober Donna to process, but I wanted to know this person who was now called Stacey Anne. We spent quality time together and developed a connection, sharing a deep love that I had craved ever since I stepped onto this planet. The exact thing I'd been searching for at the bottom a bottle.

Stacey was unwell, so we didn't have a lot of time together, but what we had was real, raw, honest, and unconditional. Nothing was left unsaid. Holding Stacey's hand whilst she left her body was the most beautifully painful thing I had experienced sober.

On my tenth sober birthday, I held a party at home to celebrate, and even though I was met with lots of love, I felt numb inside. I was still attached to how I thought things were supposed to look and felt like not achieving that would make me a failure.

I was divorced and lonely, replacing the drink with men, hoping one of them would fill the void within. I dated any man who gave me attention, determined to find 'The One'.

I could not be on my own because it scared me, and honestly, I was addicted to the highs of meeting men. Every guy I met was 'The One', and as I experienced a feeling of euphoria, I'd immediately jump into bed with them. I was especially drawn to the men that validated how much I hated myself. All these relationships were short-lived, and each time it would send me into a deep depression, only to repeat the same thing the following weekend, thinking this time it would be different. 

Surely my guy was just around the corner? But it was to be a very long time before I was to meet my now husband, Mike.

Image: Supplied.

Having spent time working through my abandonment issues, I was no longer craving just any man's attention, choosing to get to know Mike's heart first rather than jumping into bed. 

Flash forward to today and Mike and I will have been married eight years soon (together nearly 11) as I'm heading into 32 years of sobriety. This is my daily miracle.

I'm no longer running from that shy girl, because I've discovered how amazing she is. I've embraced her for everything that she is and I’ll never let her get lost in a bottle again.

If you think you may be experiencing depression or another mental health problem, please contact your general practitioner. If you're based in Australia, 24-hour support is available through Lifeline on 13 11 14 or beyondblue on 1300 22 4636.

Feature Image: Supplied.

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