TURNING to the smartly dressed man sitting on the bar stool next to me, I smiled and said: “I like your shoes.”
Then, lunging forward, I threw up all over them.
But rather than feel ashamed, I didn’t care. “Crazy Chrissie” strikes again! Vomiting up the wine just meant there was more room in my stomach for extra booze.
You might think I was a tanked-up university student, but I was actually a mum of two boys, then aged 16 and nine, and a successful businesswoman who worked on film sets and owned her own florists.
I had split from my sons’ dad and ex-husband and, on the weekends when he had the boys, I would party from Friday night until early Monday morning.
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I would crawl from bar to bar, drinking and drinking, usually with acquaintances. All I really cared about was the booze. By the age of 42, I’d been taken to hospital five times because of my boozing.
I can’t go into much detail because, to my shame, I can’t remember.
I know bouncers, seeing me totally gone, would flag down passing ambulances on a Saturday night.
Inside, paramedics would assess me to see if I needed to go to A&E.
I would shout: “I’m not drunk, let me go!” as they drove me to hospital.
Falling over and face-planting pint glasses while dancing on tables in bars, smeared in blood, isn’t a good look. But it was my secret life and one I treasured — I never even bumped into anyone I knew and had to feel mortification.
And to be honest, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Yes, I was Crazy Chrissie, but I still had a degree, cash, a business and a home for my kids, who were well-fed and cared for.
And I know I’m not alone.
A US study revealed mums with young kids increased their alcohol consumption by nearly 325 per cent between the start of the pandemic and the end of last year.
Meanwhile, the latest Office of National Statistics figures reveal the number of women who lost their lives to booze-related causes increased by 37 per cent between 2016 and 2021.
I first started drinking aged 14 after my parents broke up.
I took it hard and, desperate to numb the pain, would go to the off licence and buy Thunderbird wine and Mad Dog 2020 rum.
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I would then hang around parks and clubs in Dewsbury, West Yorks, and get smashed with mates.
‘Mummy likes wine’
I lived with my dad at the time and when he found out, he sent me to live with Mum.
However, due to circumstances, me and Mum eventually ended up in a homeless hostel. I was 16 by then.
Although it was a tough time, I still studied hard for my A-levels and mum and I were finally rehoused.
But on Boxing Day when I was 17, my world came crashing down and my drinking reached epic proportions.
I was raped by an older boy at a house party.
Dancing on tables in a bar, smeared in blood is not a good look, but it was my secret life – one I treasured.
The trauma was too much and I was too numb to pursue anything and didn’t think the police would believe a drunken teen.
I left home and ran away to Manchester. There, nobody knew me and I saw it as an opportunity for a fresh start.
I began a course at Manchester Metropolitan University to study hotel management and tourism. I was no longer Crazy Chrissie, but “Christine from Yorkshire”.
I was still drinking a bottle of wine a night, but it was more socially acceptable, given I was a student. In 1998, in my third year of university, I had a baby boy with the man who was to become my husband. I didn’t drink throughout my pregnancy, bar one gin and tonic, as I was too concerned for my baby’s health.
After graduating, I started my own business as a florist, and our second son was born in 2004 — I didn’t drink then either.
Sadly, our relationship didn’t last and we separated in 2009.
Soon, my one-bottle-a-night habit turned into three. My sons, who lived with me Monday to Friday, were never neglected and parents at the school gates wouldn’t have known I was drinking so much.
I would still dress really smartly, have a full face of make-up and smile. But I would start drinking at 5pm, unable to sleep unless I had around three bottles. Even my children knew “Mummy likes wine”.
After around three months of barely any sleep, I went to the doctor and confessed all.
He gave me liver function tests, but refused me sleeping pills.
It was revealed that I had the autoimmune disease primary biliary cholangitis. While it was not caused by my drinking, it was worsened by it. But it didn’t make me stop.
Despite my excessive drinking, I could function well for a while. I laughed off the hospital visits to myself, downplaying how serious they really were.
When I was 17, my drinking escalated to epic proportions. I was raped by an older boy at a house party.
And I flourished in my career, opening a shop in Boroughbridge, North Yorks. I was invited to important events, such as industry functions, and it was at one of them that I tried cocaine.
Despite it being a Class A drug, it seemed acceptable. Other people were using it, so why not me?
And so, despite having small children at home, I snorted the white powder. The gap between Crazy Chrissie and Mum Christine was rapidly shrinking. That night I got so drunk my assistant had to collect me at 2am as I was lost. By that point — aged 41 — I would feel sick if I hadn’t drunk by lunchtime.
But my business was doing well and I branched out, starting to arrange flowers for film and TV sets. I have never been drunk on set, but would drink straight away afterwards — including if the kids were in the house.
Then, one day, everything changed for me. I was driving to Morley, West Yorks, when I saw a man on a bridge.
Everything changed
I pulled over and he told me he wanted to commit suicide.
He said he was an alcoholic and wanted to die. It was like looking in a mirror.
As he spoke, I couldn’t help thinking, “He could be talking about me.”
He talked for a long time and eventually came down. I didn’t say much, just listened.
I’m ashamed to say, after the encounter, I went home and poured myself a giant glass of wine.
But the next day I called my doctor and said, for the first time: “I’m an alcoholic.”
I stopped that day, which I’m not sure I’d recommend — people need to speak to their doctor before coming off booze.
I’m proof that someone can seem to be one thing, but be something else entirely.
To the outside world I was Christine: A mum, a friend, a businesswoman. But inside I was Crazy Chrissie, who didn’t care about her liver, might have driven drunk, took cocaine and couldn’t sleep unless she was three bottles in.
It’s a miracle I’m alive today.
I have suffered a lot and caused people around me to suffer, so I wanted to give back.
So once in recovery I started an online mentoring programme, Habit Breaker, to help those who didn’t want to be addicts.
My sons, now 26 and 19, are proud of me. And thankfully, despite years of drinking, my liver has not been badly damaged.
I’ve also moved forward positively. I’ve met a man who knows all about my wayward past and my business has remained intact.
Clients are impressed, rather than put off, by my honesty.
I think a lot of women battle secret alcoholism like me.
A sneaky drink after work becomes two, then three and before you know it, you can’t stop.
But I’m not ashamed — I’m proud, sober and grateful for every day I live alcohol-free.
