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TWO years work in one term. Had managed the much harder feat during my O-levels with over ten subjects, so three subjects at A's would be a no-brainer.

Dead wrong. The results out I had not managed more than a subsidiary pass in all subjects. End of the road, I thought to myself but no big deal. Now I could get on with the real business of life and that was - living life!

Also by this time I had managed to get two novels published and a third was on the way, I therefor nursed my bruised ego with the warm glow of the media reviews of my books with the consolation that at least I was a published author.

Now begun the real Daily Drinking Services (DDS) which set me on a major collision course with my parents. Constant rows with them, brushes with the police, people chasing after me for unpaid bills became the order of the day. How this would have ended had it gone on, I cannot say except that most probably it would have been jail or death.

But then fate in the form of some family friends intervened and suggested to my parents that on the strength of my writing, I could get admission to a college in India with the bonus that as a student I would not be able to buy alcohol.

Thus two-and-a-half years after sitting my A-level exam, I was off to India arriving in Bombay, (now Mumbai) in the sweltering, energy sapping heat of peak - summer. Lo and behold, not only could I buy alcohol with no questions asked, but also it was dirt-cheap.

Four years later with no degree, no passport, with only the clothes on my back, I stepped back onto Kenyan soil. Behind me a trail of misadventure and chaos so mind boggling as to stretch ones imagination to the very limits.

Near tragedy, in the form of a suicide attempt during my third year, when at one point sitting in my room drinking as I waited to go out, my mind cast back to all the pain I had caused the people who loved me the most. Baffled as to why I constantly caused such anguish and finally convinced that there was something inherently wrong with me, I decided to end it once and for all.

Armed with a sharp kitchen knife, I attempted to slash my arms and wrists, but was overcome with searing pain. Further failed attempts to slash my chest and legs led me to find an easier softer way. Quickly I ferreted out all the pills and tablets left over from unfinished doses for various ailments that had accumulated over the years.

These I then washed down with cheap whisky. By the Grace of God I survived, and hear I was back on Kenyan soil. Now came a series of jobs hand in hand with serial sacking, as I blamed everyone in typical alcoholic fashion, left right and center for my woes.

Nobody least of all myself could connect my problems with alcohol. No one wanted to mention the unmentionable the shameful 'A' word - alcoholism. As is the nature of the disease I was in major denial, explaining to all and sundry within ear-shot that I only drank because… If it were not for reason 'Y', I would not drink like this.

With everyone locked in denial and desperately wanting to believe this, which is par for the course with alcoholism, we all sort solutions in the wrong places for the wrong reasons.

But finally, one chilly morning at 5.30 a.m. I made a reverse-charge call to my mum taking up an offer made two years previously by her. Feeling that I drank to much (not that I was alcoholic,) and that I needed help to control my drinking, she had said when at some point I too came to this conclusion, to call her.

That was the turning point, a call made for the wrong reasons, put me on the right track. A call made to be taken somewhere where I would be taught to control my drinking got me eventually through trial and error to the doorstep of Asumbi Treatment Center on October 1, 2000 where I learnt I would never be able to control my drinking.

It was here that I learnt I was an alcoholic and that I could never safely drink alcohol again. What relief. To finally know what was the matter with me. That I was not useless, or depraved or weak-willed - a sinner. I was sick; I had a chronic progressive disease, which though not curable, was treatable.

Last month I celebrated, three years since I landed at Asumbi. Three years in which I have sought through the help of an Organisation 'goinghomedotcom' we started with my wife to pass on the message that alcoholism is a disease and not one's fault.

For an alcoholic who cannot or rather will not stop drinking there can only be three possible outcomes, jail, a mental institution or death. This sad fact has been proved by millions of alcoholics all over the world time after tragic time as to be accepted as irrefutable.

If you are living with an alcoholic, shake off your denial take a deep breath and say the 'A' word. Help is available and neither of you should continue suffering. Accept that you did not cause it and you cannot cure it. Get into recovery and get on with your lives - one day at a time.

The writer is a freelance journalist/producer based in Nairobi who has personal experience with alcoholism. He can be reached at goinghomedotcom@yahoo.com Website: www.goinghomekenya.org

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