I have battled my demons for 30 years... I'm losing hope

The Indy's agony aunt Victoria Richards is here to help

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Dear Vix,

I’m writing this because if I don’t get it out of my head, I think it'll finally break me. I’ve been running this race for 30 years now. Three decades of waking up after a night of drinking and drugs with the same heavy pit in my stomach, wondering how I let another day slip through my fingers. I used to think I was just a guy who liked a good time. Then, I thought booze helped me define myself. Later, I was a guy with a problem. Now, I feel like the problem is just who I am. I've seen the inside of more basement AA meetings and expensive, spa-like rehab clinics than I care to count. I've made promises to my mother, my kids and my reflection until the words lost all their meaning. The hardest part isn't the physical craving anymore – it's the exhaustion.

When you've been at war with yourself for 30 years, you start to wonder if there's even a “you” left to save. I'm 50 now and I don't know where that young, hopeful boy I used to be has gone. By now, the joke really is wearing thin. People tell you it's never too late, but they don't tell you how heavy the wreckage is that you have to drag behind you. I see the product of what I am, every single day in the mirror. I'm in between jobs - again. Divorced. Living in my mum's spare room. Some days I don't even get out of bed, and if I do, it's only long enough to make it to the nearest pub, where I'm the man at the heart of a bar, leading everyone on.