I soon became a familiar sight with the bartenders and mixologists and was comfortable with finishing bottles of beers or wine. On some nights, I could not even find myself after drinking. I began to look forward to any opportune drinking games that allowed me to binge. It was a chance to become high and numb.

In hindsight, I realised that I had been replacing my need for companionship with alcohol. I was a shy person with a late-onset interest in romance due to being completely immersed in my studies. Alcohol filled my emotional void instead. Throughout my stint in national service, I interspersed weekend visits to my drinking haunts to ease the hardship.

By the time I started my undergraduate course in my early twenties, it was clear that my cognitive ability had taken a hit. My chronic alcoholism has also resulted in low energy and inability to focus. My parents and brother were very concerned and whenever they confronted me about my drinking, I would resist and have an outburst of anger. These outbursts made them even more apprehensive.

With my addiction taking a toll on me and clouding my judgement, I made a fatal mistake in my sophomore year. A bartender told me about ICE, saying a “tiny bit can boost performance and enhance studying skills”. Little did I realise that this is not only a street drug, but illegal, and very addictive. ICE gets its addictive properties from neurochemical nature: it mimics dopamine, a neurotransmitter in our brain that enforces the reward pathway.

I found myself having to drop out of my second year after succumbing to the need for relentless hits of ICE, constant absenteeism, and terrible crashes after each use. My parents grew despondent and ceased to provide me with an allowance. My brother recognised some of the signs and reached out untiringly to get me into rehabilitation. It was not easy. I tried Narcotics Anonymous. I signed up for We Care. I even tried visiting a church-based counselling program.

My first abstinence lasted for three months. With my university studies on hold, I resumed drinking to ward off the boredom. After a near-miss incident where I almost fell into the Singapore River, I had to retry sobriety again. I was almost twenty-seven and I had to withdraw from my course as I was unable to return to university at all. With his own university studies to attend to, my brother was no longer available to keep a close eye over me. My parents stood by me but could only quietly support me materially in a stoic manner. They did not understand addiction and their sullen silent support only served to drain my motivation and gravitate me towards drink and drug.

I checked into a halfway house for the first time and was feeling shameful and disheartened. I felt out of place and a sense of disgust for the other “addicts”. This became a roadblock that prevented me from fully engaging with the residents and immersing myself in the rehabilitation program.

“I no longer see addiction as a never-ending cycle of pain or hurt, but a journey of overcoming and victories.”

Everything changed when my sponsor reached out. He was only a little older than me but had gone through prison life, was rejected by his own family, and went through several more re-attempts at rehabilitation than me. I felt understood as he helped me take the first steps in reconnecting with my parents and redeveloping structure in my life. Even though I had a relapse after a good year of sobriety, I still remembered his lessons and strove to get in touch with professional help.

So here I am. I no longer see addiction as a never-ending cycle of pain or hurt, but a journey of overcoming and victories. I am fortunate that my family continues to stand firm by me and support my efforts unconditionally.