Getting sober in my 20s

This story is part of the September 14 edition of Sunday Life. See all 13 stories .

I was 25 when my GP told me I was on a direct path to liver failure. I picked up a drink that night. When my housemates – and closest friends – stopped talking to me for weeks on end after one too many mornings spent wiping up vomit or jumping over broken glass, I kept drinking. And when the person I loved begged me to get sober, telling me it was her or alcohol, I kept drinking.

Stopping at any of these junctures might have meant friendships saved, precious moments clawed back from lost time. Looking back now, I want to scream at that old me to stop.

Instead, I continued hurtling down this hill of discontent, grasping at straws of grass until I landed with a thud on a Tuesday afternoon, back in my