Help is always there – what you need is the will to go on

By his 20th birthday, John had tasted every alcoholic drink on the island, tried every known illegal substance and each day embarked on a trip to the detox centre for his dose of methadone. Fast-forward 23 years and John reclines on a chair at his office and says, satisfied, "I'm no angel, but I've been clean for the past four years seven months."

I must say that a hundred different thoughts went through my head as I walked down the flowering path to John's office. I can't say I knew him well. In fact I didn't know him at all. I had met him at a gathering about motorcycles, but other than that I only knew him to see him. This interview brought me face-to-face with the real man behind the visor - his past, his present and his hopeful future.

"It all started when I was seven," he said. "I was at a family wedding and got plastered on beer with my cousin. Rather than learning from the experience, I insisted on turning it into a way of life. Some say we are born with addiction. Unfortunately I have to concur," he said, pouring himself a pint of water.

Following his wedding shenanigans, his family moved from Valletta to St Julian's, and John hit his jackpot. "I went bang! to the middle of the nightlife Mecca. I started exploring and messing about. A pint, a shot and a joint. I spent more time drunk than sober," he recounted, as memories of Tigne and punk parties passed through his mind. By 14 he had moved from getting drunk on beer and smoking weed on weekends to doing it everyday. Then he did heroin: "I tried it once and enjoyed it; it was way better than the joints we bought at the time," he explained. When he turned 15, he sold every item he owned to fund his addictions; and as money was low, he turned to a daily dose of methadone to curb the sickness.

With a hint of shame in his downcast eyes, he recalls his days spent drunk. Water polo games, politics and village feasts were all a reason to drink. And after a pint or shot the drugs followed. He went from drug to drug, searching for a new kick. "I'd manage to get drunk on anything. When the vodka ran out I downed a bottle of Aperol." John always liked motorcycles: "I'd make some money, buy a bike and sell it in a month to buy drugs and drinks. I owed money to the grocer, not for food but over unpaid beverages." Life started turning sour, and the scars on his body prove it. "I broke limbs and cracked my head a number of times. I'd wake up in the morning with part of me in pain, and then with a huge effort I'd make myself remember what happened the previous night. I didn't always manage."

When he was 17, his boss sent him to a detox programme. "He supported me, even financially, but my clean life lasted three weeks. I lost my job, and my life spun out of control." He explained how looking back he realised he was a puppet controlled by alcohol and drugs. Whatever he earned he burnt. After two stints in jail, one lasting a year and the other seven months, John got a job with the government but was suspended on half wages, having been caught doing his job in a stupor.

Three residential rehab programmes failed to make him quit. John would stay clean as long as he was confined to barracks, but once he left the programme he only managed to stay away for two months. "I'd buy a pint and just didn't know how to stop." It always went from wine to shots to heroin and coke. He was kicked out of every flat he rented because he had no money to pay. "Between 1992 and 1998 I was a junkie living in a room in St Paul's Bay. I passed out in bars, slept in the street and simply stumbled through life. My wife separated from me, and I lost my son," he said, sadness clouding his face.

Looking back John recounted how his mother always chased him and tried to make him reason things out. "But my father kicked me out. He did the right thing - I had sold all the old man's tools, after all."

Just shy of five years ago, John realised he was getting fed up with his senseless existence. After staying at a Caritas shelter for three months he managed to rent a flat in Mosta. At the same time that he was fighting the craving to go out for a drink, he learned that Alcoholics Anonymous held weekly meetings there. "I went and heard people describe themselves as alcoholics and state they'd been clean for four, 10, 18 and 25 years. At first it made no sense, but now I know we are alcoholics for life. We fight the craving but we are tainted," he said, explaining that he has not tasted alcohol since his first AA meeting. The same week he looked up where the Narcotics Anonymous meetings were held. "For a year and a half I went to meetings every day. Each day I heard 'I have been clean for years. I'm an addict.' It helped me fight my urges. I spent the first Christmas and New Year's at home playing on my laptop. But I did not drink," he said proudly.

As the months rolled into years, he found himself being appointed secretary of both organisations. He got his job back, rented an apartment, bought a new bike and has managed to start patching things up with his family. "Me and my wife are still separated, but at least now we're friends, and I get to spend time with my son," he said, beaming.

For over four years he enrolled at St John's Ambulance to give back to society a little of what he had taken. "Today I see people drop wallets, and I tell my son to give it back. What isn't mine I don't touch - today I am able to control my decisions. From being the junkie in a box, now I give presentations about kicking the habit." His positions in AA and NA have led him to further his travels and meet people internationally. "I'm proud of what I am now. I'd never experienced life before the past four years and seven months."

Asked how he fills the gaps left by the alcohol and drugs, he laughed and said, "The only addiction I have today is outside my office," pointing to the jet-black bike parked in the shade. "Today I enjoy life, and when I get bored of the local streets, now I can afford to buy a ticket and go let off steam on the Sicilian roads."

His addiction to the biking scene at times throws his past in his face. "I go to parties and by default I'm offered a beer or a drink, but I refuse. My head tells me 'John you cannot have just one, you know if you taste that honey you won't stop.' So I've got used to choosing a child's drink, rather than ending up behaving like a child."

And when his surroundings start smelling too much of alcohol, he gets on his bike and rides away. After a long ride into the night, he wakes up well rested - and with a full memory of what he did before falling asleep.

"I can never ever again have a glass of wine with my dinner. If I do I'll lose all I've built," he said. As I got up to leave his office and shook his hand, we finished off our glasses of water. His eyes alight with future hopes he urged, "Tell them if I can do it, you can do it too. If you can do it, then I can as well. Help is out there, you just need the will to go for it."

*The subject's name has been changed to protect his privacy.