- I live in Newquay, one of the UK’s biggest seaside party spots.
- I started using drugs and alcohol excessively but finally got sober three years ago.
- Being sober here taught me the importance of willpower, sleep and cold water swims.
In 2017 I moved to Newquay in Cornwall to live with my then girlfriend and fell in love with its beautiful coastline and quirky residents.
Newquay is one of the UK’s biggest seaside party spots and is also home to the huge annual multi-day music festival, Boardmasters.
Soon after I moved, my relationships began to deteriorate and I desperately needed to find a new place to live. I settled in the first place I could find: a one-room apartment in the center of a city famous for its nightlife.
When I first moved here, the club scene was the perfect place to heal my broken heart, and my house was right in the heart of the parties.
Every night I went outside, I was greeted by scenes of loud, drunk people that made me feel like I’d entered a dangerous theme park, and I craved that noise to drown my sorrows.
I partied a lot for a few years, sniffing god knows what and relying on alcohol to numb the pain, staying out all night and getting home in under five minutes.
But when my drinking and drug use became excessive, the cracks began to show, and when I began to find myself regularly attending the emergency department at my local hospital with drug overdoses and alcohol-related trauma, I decided I needed to change my lifestyle.
I knew that if I wanted to live a healthy lifestyle I needed to be sober, but living in the heart of a party town made quitting even harder.
Every time I said “no” my will became stronger
During those first few months of sobriety, I had many opportunities to succumb to my old addiction.
I lived in the city center and for years I spent weekends drinking with friends, making my house a go-to place for pre- and post-partying. For weeks, months, and even a year after I got sober, people would email me asking if they could come over.
The more I said “no,” the easier it became. I grieved the loss of so many relationships in my life (all my friends were drinking buddies) and the loss of the person I used to be.
I started taking advantage of the seaside part of the seaside town, my apartment was right in the center of the bar but I also lived just a short walk from the beach.
I started swimming in cold water after learning that it can help ease anxiety and depression. I find it soothing to swim in the mornings, one of the few times the city is quiet.
I did my best to avoid triggers, started exercising regularly, and found a local support group to help me recover.
And yet, every night I lay in bed listening to the drunks yelling outside.
I tried to go out without getting drunk, but now I try to block out as much noise as possible.
Eventually, I got to the stage where I felt comfortable enough to go out at night, I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever.
At first, it was easy to stay sober around drunk people because no one noticed I wasn’t drinking, but as the clock struck 11 p.m., I craved peace and serenity.
When I got home, the thumping bass from the nearby club was vibrating through the walls, keeping me from sleeping and threatening to ruin the routine I’d worked so hard to maintain.
I started wearing noise-reducing earplugs and countered with a medicine more powerful than the one I’d previously worshipped: sleep. I stopped leaving the house after 10pm on weekends.
I’ve been sober for three years now, but I still occasionally wake up to the sound of drunken screaming outside. But my rowdy neighbors taught me the value of a strict and disciplined lifestyle.
