Why I went to alcohol rehab
By Stephen Costin
2 July 2026
Next review due July 2029
Stephen Costin is 48 and lives in Unsworth, Manchester, with his partner Katie and their two children, aged nine and 19 months. He has been free of alcohol addiction for three years and eight months. Here, he talks about hitting rock bottom, going through detox and rehab, and rebuilding his life without alcohol.
I had always known I drank too much, but I justified it. There was always a reason. My mum wasn’t well, so I’d have a drink. I’d had a bad day at work, so I’d have a drink. I always had an excuse ready, and after a while those excuses became the way I lived.
The thought of losing absolutely everything was what finally broke through my defences. My little boy, my girlfriend, the life we had – I got so close to losing it.
People don’t get up in the morning and drink a bottle of wine because everything is fine. But that’s what I was doing. By then, I was at proper rock bottom. I now know there was an illness behind my behaviour, but that didn’t make it easier to admit.
Everything had started to disappear
When I wasn’t drinking, I was having panic attacks. Days were blending into one. I had no concept of what date it was. Somehow, I was still blundering my way through work, as functioning alcoholics do, but there was no joy in it.
I went quiet on WhatsApp. I went quiet on social media. I didn’t want interaction with anyone, mainly because in my own mind I knew I was a mess. I was hiding, really – from my friends, from my family and from myself.
In the end, Katie came round and said, “Listen, you’re going to A&E.” One of her cousins worked at Prestwich Hospital, near where we live, and told her I could be taken in. I would be admitted overnight and then moved to an NHS facility for a seven-day detox.
I've always known I drank too much, but it's a case of justifying it. And I always had an excuse. There's always some reason for why I had to have a drink. So, my mum's not well: I'll have a drink. I've had a bad day at work: I'll have a drink. And it's just excuses at the end of the day. And it was how I justified it to myself, really.
So, yeah, I'd say the thought of losing absolutely everything – Joe, my little boy, my girlfriend – was probably the reason that I had to pack it in.
There's an illness behind this. There's a reason that you're the way you are. People don't get up in the morning, drink a bottle of wine.
It was proper rock bottom at that stage. I knew that I was thinking, actually, this is it now. I was having bits of panic attacks when I wasn't drinking. Days were just blending into one. I had no idea of what was going on, no concept of what day it was. I was somehow managing to bundle my way through work, as a functioning alcoholic would do. I suppose there's no joy in it at all. There's nothing at all, and people, my close friends, I went quiet on WhatsApp. I went quiet on on anything whatsoever, any social media platform, because I just didn't want any interaction, and mainly because I knew, in my own mind, that I looked a mess and I was a mess.
So it came to a head. Katie came around and just said, listen, you, you're going to A&E. Luckily enough, one of her cousins worked at Prestwich hospital, which is a mental hospital near where we live. So she said, you need to take him down to A&E. They'll admit him overnight. And after they've admitted him overnight, they'll move him to an NHS hospital at Prestwich for a week, for a detox.
So I went to the went to the hospital, and again, devious alcoholic you are. I'm sat in hospital with Katie. I think she's going to have to go at 4:00 because she's got to go and pick my son up from school. She'll go at 4:00. I can just get out the back door, go for a couple of pints and kind of wing my way through getting out of it.
And then at 4:00, one of my best mates turned up, so she'd been speaking to him. He's like, ‘You're not going anywhere.’ And I remember just being sat on a ward in A&E. And obviously I'm getting massive withdrawals and they weren't doing anything for me at that stage. I don't know why, because again, I can't remember a lot. I remember just crying to him, going, ‘Listen, there's a pub down the road. We'll go for two pints and I promise you, I promise you we'll come straight back. Once I've had two beers, we'll come back.’ And he was like, ‘No.’ And he was like, ‘You're killing me, mate. Stop it.’ And, I just remember being sat in this hospital, there's all blood on the floor in A&E, and just thinking, how on earth have I got myself in this absolute pickle?
Private ambulance turns up, and then just take you there, and you get checked into this NHS facility that's, I'm trying to explain it, it's kind of a place you go to have a 7-day detox. By this stage, I was still shaking a lot. So, I was on medication in there a lot. Did seven days in that in there.
It was really weird. It was, you weren't made to do any therapy. You didn't have to do it. It was all, it was all like, do you want to do this course? Well, no. Well, don't do it then. This was the last chance to learn. This was if you didn't work now, it was gone. And I had a lot of responsibilities. I had a, I had a young boy.
So, yeah, at that stage, I was like, listen, I've done the hard bit, which is say I've got a drink problem for God knows how many years. I've lied about that to start with. Somebody weirdly enough, somebody asked me the other day, what's the hardest thing about what you've been through? And I said, admitting that I drink. That's hardest.
Yeah, so I, I did a week in there, and luckily enough, again, my girlfriend Katie had been doing a load of work behind the scenes to get me into the Priory in Altrincham. And then, obviously, I did 28 days an inpatient in there.
So I remember vividly packing my swimming shorts and my girlfriend going, ‘what are you doing? You're going to a mental hospital’. And yeah, there’s going to be a pool, surely. She's like, ‘what do you mean it's going to be a pool? You're going to get better’. So I think there’s this stigma that it's great, and all stars go, and it's a bit of a jolly. You have 28 days, you get fed well. It's nothing like that. It is absolutely intense. And I mean intense.
So I went in for 10 days. I was sober. I was in a good place. I just said goodbye to my girlfriend. So I was like, ‘actually, yeah, I'm going to smash this. I'm going to absolutely’. So you'd have your therapy sessions. And then there was one where you had to write down what I'd done to everybody. So none of this typing on a laptop. They made you write it because it means more, and it makes you think more when you're writing it down.
So they call it my story. I had to write what I'd done. And obviously, there's lots of gaps because I've been drunk for so long and I don't remember a lot of it. People who had known for maybe two or three days were like, that letter doesn't sound like you. And I'm like, that was me. And I'm, I was a horrible person. I was a horrible drunk. I was a really nasty drunk, snide, nasty drunk. I'd say horrible things to people for no reason. Just because that's the way it made me. It just made me horrible.
So what they do is they get you down as low as you can go. By this stage, I'm on the floor. I'm like, ‘Oh my god, I've ruined everything.’ And then they build you up after that, and you, you need to have a bit of self-care. You need to respect yourself a little bit more. And when you have that self-care, then you start appreciating other people a little bit more.
And there's a massive stigma attached to alcohol, alcoholics and being labelled alcoholic. And if you say alcoholic, everyone goes, ‘Oh, park bench, brown bag, tramp.’ That's what everyone thinks, there's a certain amount of people out there who hold down good jobs. I held down a good job. I was a functioning alcoholic.
A lot of people in there were saying, ‘what you can tell them when you get out’. I was like, ‘what do you mean? Everyone knows I'm in here! I'm not, I'm not shying away from any of it. My responsibility is my responsibility, and I've got no problem with telling people.’
So other people going, ‘so just say you go to the pub and you don't have a drink. What's someone going to say to you?’ I'll just say, ‘I've got a problem with drinking. I don't drink anymore. And that's my business. And if you don't like it, don't stand with me, or don't ask me.’ And that’s entirely down to me.
It's not a case of, right, I've now done two years and about three months. I'm not okay now. I just can't go, all right, great, and stop thinking about it, because it's a, it's a constant one. It's a constant journey. I need to keep practising. I need to keep myself going and keeping myself busy.
And I do things now that I would have never done in the past ever. Not a dream. Like, I'm a big Man City fan. I would have never took my lad to football because that would have seriously disrupted my drinking on a Saturday. Now I'll take him to football whenever I can do.
I used to do things that I thought he liked. He didn't like the things I liked. Let's go to the Queen [pub] and it's got a play area. It's rubbish. He had no enjoyment. But to me, I'm doing something good for my son, but I can have a drink at the same time. And everything related around me being in a pub.
Life's good. And listen, I'm not one of these who's going to go, ‘Oh, stop drinking and everything goes brilliant, and it's the best life in the world.’ Life's still hard. I still have times when I'm like, ‘This is tough.’ I had it a couple of weeks ago, and it wasn't that I wanted to drink again. I just found it hard. I had no motivation to see anyone. I didn't want to go out. I just didn't.
My mate's going, ‘Right, we're going to go play snooker.’ And no, I'm all right. And even the girlfriend was going, ‘You need to go out’. Because she can see it in me obviously straight away. But I had no motivation. I'm more than that now.
So, I'm going to go through little ups and downs. It's about making sure, when I've had the downs, that I don't turn to the way that I used to be.
Your luck doesn't change. You're in more of a capable space to deal with what comes at you. So, it feels like your luck's changed.
So, I've done stuff now and I'm like, ‘Oh god, that's good. I'm having good news.’ So, good news about my job, or good news about my baby. That's not because the heavens have gone, ‘oh, you stopped drinking.’ It’s because I've got my head in gear and I've gone, ‘actually, I need to do something.’
So, yeah, it isn't all about, if you stop drinking your life becomes brilliant. It doesn't work like that, and nobody should think that. But it's about you're in a better place yourself to deal with what you need to deal with, and what you want to speak about, and then the good things happen, and good things happen to good people.
Alcohol detox and withdrawal
Even then, the devious alcoholic in me was still working. I was sat in hospital with Katie, thinking she would have to leave at four o’clock to pick up my son from school. I thought I could slip out the back door, have a couple of pints and come back. Then one of my best mates turned up. Katie had spoken to him. He looked at me and said, “You’re not going anywhere.”
I remember sitting on a ward in A&E, going through withdrawals, my body shaking. I was crying to him, saying, “There’s a pub down the road. We’ll go for two pints and I promise we’ll come straight back.” He refused me point blank and said, “You’re killing me, mate. Stop it.”
I can still remember looking around and thinking, “How on earth have I got myself into this absolute pickle?’ A private ambulance turned up and took me to the NHS detox unit.
By that stage I was still shaking a lot, so I was on medication. I did seven days there. It was strange because you were not made to do therapy. It was all, “Do you want to do this course?” If you said no, they didn’t force you.
But I knew this was my last chance to learn. If it didn’t work now, nothing would. I had responsibilities. I had a young boy. I had already done the hardest bit, which was admitting I had a drink problem after years of lying about it.
Rehab was not what I expected
After detox, Katie had been doing a lot of work behind the scenes to get me into the Priory in Altrincham, Manchester. I went there for 28 days as an inpatient. I remember packing my swimming shorts and Katie saying, “What are you doing? You’re going to a mental hospital.” I thought surely there will be a pool.
That shows the stigma, really. People think rehab is where stars go and it is a bit of a jolly. You get fed well, have a rest and come out fixed. It was nothing like that. It was absolutely intense.
About ten days in, I thought I was in a good place. I had said goodbye to Katie and my little boy and thought, "Right, I am going to smash this.” Then came one of the therapy sessions which were always tough. For this one, I had to write down what I had done to everybody.
They didn’t even let you type it. You had to write it by hand because it means more. It makes you think more. They called it ‘my story’. There were gaps because I had been drunk for so much of it and didn’t remember everything. But what I did remember was enough.
People who had only known me for a few days said, “That letter doesn’t sound like you.” But it was me. I was a horrible drunk. A snide, nasty drunk. I said horrible things to people for no reason, because that was what alcohol made me.
They take you as low as you can go, and by that point I was on the floor thinking, I have ruined everything. Then they start to build you up. You learn you need self-care. You need to respect yourself a bit more. And when you have that, you start appreciating other people more too.
Living with recovery
There’s still a massive stigma attached to being an alcoholic. People hear the word and think park bench, brown bag, tramp. But there are lots of people who hold down good jobs. I did. I was functioning, but I was still ill.
When I came out, I didn’t hide it. If someone asked why I wasn’t drinking, I’d say, “I’ve got a problem with drinking. I don’t drink anymore.” That is my business. If someone doesn’t like it, they don’t have to stand with me.
Recovery is not a case of doing two years and then deciding you’re okay. It’s constant. I have to keep practising. I have to keep myself busy. I do things now I would never have done before. I’m a big Manchester City fan, but I would never have taken my lad to football because it would have disrupted my drinking on a Saturday. Now I take him whenever I can. I used to pretend I was doing things for him, but really everything revolved around me being in a pub. I would pick somewhere with a play area and tell myself it was for him. It wasn’t. It was so I could drink.
Life is better, not perfect
Life is good now, but I am not going to say stopping drinking makes everything brilliant. Life is still hard. A couple of weeks ago I found things tough. I didn’t want to see anyone. I had no motivation. My mates were saying, “Come out” and I was saying no. Katie could see it in me straight away. The difference now is that when I have those downs, I don’t turn to what I used to turn to. My luck hasn’t changed. I’m just in a more capable place to deal with what comes at me.
So now, when good things happen with my job, or with our children, it’s not because the heavens have said, “You stopped drinking, here you go.” It’s because my head is in gear and I can do something with my life.
I have good days and bad days, but I’m here for them now. I’m here for Katie. I’m here for my children. I’m here for the football, the ordinary Saturdays, the things I used to miss while telling myself I was fine.
If there’s anything I would say to someone who is where I was, it’s this: admitting it is the hardest bit, but it is also the start. You don’t have to have lost everything before you ask for help. I nearly did. I’m grateful every day that I got the chance to stop before alcohol took the rest.
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