My parents divorced when I was 12 and I never knew why. Obviously my Dad got drunk at parties and occasions but who didn’t? He later got together with his girlfriend who he split with about 4 years ago. This was the same time I found out about my Dad's drink problem. At this point I was about 18. He would pick me up from work and he always seemed distant and tired on the way home. On one particular car journey I noticed an empty vodka bottle on the floor under his seat and over the next few weeks I started to notice more and more. One evening I confronted my Dad about these bottles and he just got angry, kicked the door and went out for a drive (and another drink).

This was the start of the worst time of my life.

After his girlfriend left we were all alone. It felt as though everybody else could get away from it but me and my younger sister had to suffer.

Daily, he would walk round to the local shop to buy a litre bottle of vodka and we would find it empty the next day, hidden behind the sofa or under the stairs. He lost his driving license after being caught by the police, drinking at a set of traffic lights. He had been a lorry driver for the entirety of his life but losing his license meant he lost his job, meaning he had all day now to drink.

He never abused me or my sister, physically or verbally, all he did all day was sit, drink and watch television. He stopped eating, answering the phone and the only time he would leave the house was to buy more booze.

At this point I knew we couldn't handle it alone any longer so decided to involve my aunts (his sisters) who knew he had a problem but seemed to brush it over like it was alright. One of them managed to get him to go to a few meetings but they didn’t last. By this time the house was an absolute mess, we rarely had food in the house, we had no heating and my sister and I would spend the majority of the time either at our boyfriends houses or in our own bedrooms to try and escape the madness that we lived with for so long.

He became a recluse and we would often find him passed out on the sofa most of the day. At this time I was 21 and my sister was 17 and our work and college lives were suffering too. We hadnt received a birthday or Christmas present that year and thought that the only thing left we could do was to try and get him sectioned. The doctors agreed and were coming round the following day for him.

That evening my mobile phone rang, it was my sister. "You need to come home now" she cried "Dads collapsed again". I raced home to find a paramedic car pulling up outside my house and my sister sat on the doorstep with my neighbour. I ran inside the house to find my Dad face down on the floor in the hallway, semi naked. The paramedic looked up at me and pronounced him dead. All the family gathered at mine that evening as we answered questions for the police and the paramedic. Apparently he died from inflamed organs which had caused internal bleeding. The worst part of all though was that we never got to say goodbye. I cant even remember the last thing I said to him.

Its been nearly a year since he died and everyday I picture him dead in the hallway and following that, a feeling of guilt that I always thought it would be easier once he was gone, I was wrong.

I really hope that if only one person reads this I will help them to realise there are lots of people in the same boat and if they are filled with the same thoughts I was its OK to feel like that, we all do. Try not to be offended if they brush you off when you try to help, they're sick and can only help themselves. I'll miss him every day! x

Donna