I use to really enjoy alcohol. I brewed my own beer and could, sometimes, produce a pint that was pure nectar.
I also enjoyed Whisky, not to excess, but I really liked sampling different malts.
Then things started to change. I started to become depressed after drinking. Really depressed. I started to forget how depressed I actually was. Or even that I had been at all.
Then, on day, I was out to a resturant with my wife and her sister. We'd had a nice meal and I had 2 pints of their brew, which was really good. We were walking home along a road that runs along the sea shore. There were huge concrete breakers in the sea and the tide was coming in. I suddenly got it into my head that the best thing to do, for myself, my wife, humanity, would be to jump in. The more I thought about it, the more sensible and obvious it seemed.
My wife and her sister, two people who love me more than I can ever deserve, were walking a few paces behind, chatting as sisters do.
Obviously, I didn't. But that really shook me and I haven't touched the stuff since. That was August 1996.