Credit: Courtesy of Julia Benko
Frame Of Mind
“I fell off a cliff and nearly died. It was what I needed to finally assess my relationship with alcohol”
By Julia Benko
2 years ago
8 min read
In a piece of Processing, a Stylist Frame Of Mind series, writer Julia Benko shares how a near-death experience changed her relationship with alcohol forever.
When I was a freshly turned 19-year-old, I moved to Scotland to begin my studies at university. I had spent the entire summer fantasising about my new, independent life in a foreign country, antsy as I awaited a cool group of friends, their musical accents, and all the fun parties we would have together.
Around a week into university, that magical freshers’ haze lifted, and my naivety bubble burst. Somehow the cultural and personal differences between people had completely slipped my mind when I was drafting my friend group’s perfect four years together. Though I realised then that making friends at university wouldn’t be as easy as I thought, I wasn’t afraid. I knew I had a companion that would help me fit in a little better. Alcohol made the perfect wingman, after all.
At the bottom of each bottle lay the alien feeling of letting loose. As a slight control freak and a hard worker throughout high school, it was refreshing to prioritise my social life for once and have a taste of what I then defined as freedom. Being in the UK, where the shopping aisles are stacked with alcohol in varying in strengths and flavours, it was easy to get roped into trying it all – especially as a young, newbie party-goer.
Never did I think alcohol would try to kill me
Soon enough, however, this newfound enjoyment spiralled into a series of bad blackouts, lack of sleep, insufficient studying, useless arguments, drama and terrible hangxiety. All of this, at least four times a week. It became an unbreakable cycle, though I didn’t mind it so much. It was ‘the ultimate uni experience’ and my innocent brain believed this was as bad as it would get: waking up to some embarrassing photos and suffering from even worse hangovers.
Never did I think alcohol would try to kill me.
The night my accident happened, my new group of friends and I decided to hang out on a hill near our campus. It was a place I’d been to many times before. The view from up there is stunning; you can see the whole city and it’s lit up wonderfully at night. With my attention so focused on the sight, it’s little surprise that I never seemed to notice the cliff and the dreadful drop that rested behind the campfire we’d lit.
That night I experienced one of my worst blackouts ever, but as luck would have it, the clearest part of the night is the one I wish I remembered the least.
Credit: Julia Benko
I can recall it down to the time it happened – it was just after midnight. I found myself on the wrong side of the campfire, ignorant as ever of the abyss just a few centimetres behind me. I started dancing, despite the lumpy earth beneath my feet making it hard for me to keep my balance. At one point I clumsily stumbled backwards, desperately waving my arms about to keep me from falling, but there was nothing to catch me.
In my drunken state, I convinced myself that I must’ve been dreaming – that I wasn’t really falling – but then my stomach dropped. It was like my body was pinching me to tell me it was all real, and I had no choice but to accept it.
I was suddenly seized by a ghastly silence. I could only hear the wind whistling past my ear and the snapping of branches as I plummeted through them. I wasn’t panicking, and my life didn’t flash before my eyes as I thought it would. Instead, my brain used what it thought were its final moments to prepare me for my end. I was strangely awash with peace, and as my body quickly descended, I kept telling myself it was all going to be OK; that I would be OK.
Though I endured two grim open fractures, I’m still primarily haunted by that feeling of serenity. While it’s reassuring that I’d have been at peace had I died that night, coming out of it alive and realising that my body had readied me for death is terrifying to contemplate.
Then there was the guilt. I felt horrible for putting my friends through such a difficult night and for the stress I caused my family, especially my parents who had to drive from Slovakia to Scotland to get me home because it wasn’t recommended I fly post-surgery. I felt culpable for being a burden and I felt selfish for risking my life.
I tried to not wallow in my own misery too much, and instead enjoyed being at home. I spent the next six months using a wheelchair and the six months after that learning to walk again, with my doctor’s frightening words – “You may never walk again” – ringing in my ears.
Besides that, there was not much for me to do but to reflect, and so, after some consideration, I decided to dabble with sobriety. I was fully on board with never drinking; I didn’t want to gamble with my life again.
Credit: Julia Benko
I thought that was the end of the matter, but then a year passed and I returned to Scotland excited to have a little drink. Not in the same capacity as in my first year; this time I had my established ground rules: to not drink excessively and to not party anywhere near a cliff.
I wouldn’t consider myself an alcohol addict, more so a party addict, but that label doesn’t sugarcoat the fact that I had a toxic relationship with alcohol. It almost killed me and it still managed to draw me back in. That’s toxic.
It scared me that, despite everything, alcohol still had so much power over me, and it disgusted me that I had days when all I wanted was to go hard at the pub and see where the night would take me. My problem was that I didn’t know my limits. One drink would turn into three, then five, and then I’d lose count.
Perhaps it was an accumulation of these confusing emotions that led to me feeling repulsed by alcohol earlier this year. It started with my hangovers lasting for days, and continued with a heightened sense of anxiety, not being able to focus and having to cancel plans because my stomach would turn in on itself after just one cider.
Finally, it was time to admit that alcohol’s spell had started to wear off. Just like that, it lost all of its romantic appeal and gave me the ick. After a long journey that was anything but smooth sailing, the end of it might seem somewhat anticlimactic, but I’m proud of myself for recognising and respecting my body’s wishes now, unlike all those years ago.
Will I drink alcohol again someday? Who knows. For the moment, it feels right to have stopped. I have different priorities now: I want to spend time on my hobbies, do well in my postgraduate course and finally write that novel I’ve always wanted to write.
With so much more time on my hands, I can also finally start to fully process all the misery and shame alcohol dragged me through. I can appreciate that my life wasn’t cut short by a night out (most of which I don’t even remember) and that I have been given a second chance.
Credit: Julia Benko
My accident has always been more than just a physical injury to me – it was a mental punch. It altered how I think and feel and perceive things. I feel more anxious about death and uncertainty than I did before and suffer from this daily, though some days are better than others.
This anxiety manifests itself in several ways. On my worst days, I actively seek control from things that I know are out of my hands because a tiny voice in my brain warns me that I’m not safe, even though I clearly am. That is why, I assume, I’ve grown to be far more careful – perhaps a little too careful – since the accident. Whether I’m out hiking, biking or even doing something completely mundane like cooking, I’m always on the lookout for danger. While I can see the benefit in that, it can be quite mentally taxing, always worrying about everything.
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Despite the bleakness of my accident, however, there have been positives. I became braver; more appreciative of myself, my friends and family; and more present and at peace. It has gifted me with the ability to bond with people on a deeper level, rather than just scratching the surface with alcohol.
Since April, I’ve been to a handful of parties completely sober and had a really good time – despite my initial misgivings, having fun and making friends isn’t something that solely depends on alcohol intake.
I’m not here to preach to you to stop drinking. I’m here to remind you that if you do want to drink, please, do it responsibly and take good care of yourself. Take it from me, your life is far more valuable than one fun night out.
If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health, you can find support and resources on the mental health charity Mind’s website and NHS Every Mind Matters or access the NHS’ list of mental health helplines and services.
If you are struggling with your mental health, you can also ask your GP for a referral to NHS Talking Therapies, or you can self-refer.
For information and help on eating disorders, visit eating disorder charity Beat’s website.
For confidential support, you can also call the Samaritans in the UK on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org. In a crisis, call 999.
Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.
Images: courtesy of Julia Benko
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