First you don’t see it, only when it’s too late. For most people it begins at a high school party where someone has a bottle of booze. And slowly you end up collapsing on your bed at 9 pm, you sleep till 2 am, you get up, shudder, sweat, you knock down a shot, throw it up, knock down another one which may stay inside of you, but it comes out too, maybe the third one stays inside. You drink a little bit more, go back to bed, and wait for its effect. You fall asleep. You get up at half past 4, and start with another shot… And this is your life. You feel you’re gonna drop dead, but then you tell yourself it’s okay, I’m aware of this, but I just have to drink this shot so I can write down at least my name. And it’s always “only” one shot that helps to endure the next 10-15 minutes.
And the mental side of it is that everybody’s guilty and you’re the victim – as we say it in the community “we sat at a bar, knocking down poison, meanwhile wishing for others’ death”.
Everybody quits drinking in the end, some manage while they’re still alive.
It happened on 22 February 2006.
As I entered Dr. Farkas’s office at Kútvölgyi Hospital, he looked at me and said with scorn “you are going to die”. I undressed, stood before him with the body of a wino, puffed up, with bruised yellow skin, and he says “in less than half a year, you will be dead”. Then the crucial sentence came, “I’m willing to help you, provided you are willing to cooperate”, and I said I would.