There’s a rather unusual establishment recently opened on Clanbrassil Street in Dublin, named Board. Its peculiarity lies in the fact that it doesn’t serve alcohol. I’ve planned a meeting with podcaster, comedian, internet matchmaker, Instagram sensation, and writer Mark Mehigan (said like Meigan) in this beverage-free location. He has penned an engaging book titled This Is Not a Self-Help Book, recounting his struggle with alcohol and cocaine addiction and ensuing recovery journey.
Intriguingly, I wonder what Mehigan’s view on such a venue would have been during his substance-abuse period. “I would’ve said the bar operators were imposters and every patron was also an imposter,” he expresses, “My perception of the world was so twisted, I labelled individuals who enjoyed leisurely coffee chats as deceitful. Those couples going on walks, or casually perusing a hardware store on a lazy Saturday morning and appearing to relish it, were the ultimate fakes.”
Mehigan, a mirthful man once engrossed in boozing and partying, opined that a fulfilling life devoid of alcohol was an extremely poor form of jest. And now his view? “One of the most hilarious outings I’ve ever had with Doireann was in Ikea,” he grins, referring to his partner, RTÉ broadcaster Doireann Garrihy, whom he met and fell in love with on his initial date as a sober individual. We will revisit this romantic tale shortly.
Upon reaching Board earlier than the appointed time, I discover the apt origin of its name – every nook and cranny is laden with board games. Countless shelves are packed with them, one notable game being Drunk, Stoned or Stupid. The upstairs walls are adorned with framed posters of well-known board games, such as Chutes (snakes) and Ladders, Sorry! Monopoly, indicating “Take the Risk or Lose The Chance”. All this reflects Mehigan’s turbulent struggle with alcohol and later cocaine, which unfolded near the Dodder river in Dublin when he was a 14-year-old student, and escalated when he relocated to Brighton at 18 to pursue a diploma in songwriting and a master’s degree, all whilst partaking in the British tradition of downing pints at midday.
Certainly, it’s crucial to acknowledge that his period of heavy drinking nearly led to a mental collapse before he decided to quit at the age of 30. This phase was intermittently interspersed with sporadic fiscal and artistic triumphs. By the age of 21, he had returned to Dublin and was managing a nightclub, known as Brooklyn Zoo, that was located at Andrew’s Lane Theatre. With thousands of euros hidden beneath his bed, he was certainly doing well. At one point, he was part of a songwriting team assembled by Mark Feehily, a member of the band Westlife, and was flown to New York and Los Angeles. His comedic videos gained immense popularity online and when a friend gifted him podcast equipment that he couldn’t have bought himself due to his spendthrift ways, his podcast gained immediate success, racing to the top of the charts.
In his late twenties, he found himself managing social media profiles for the BBC. Oddly enough, he became, for a brief period, the managing director of an electronic robot costume company, based in the UK. However, he exited before completing his three-month probation period and before his habitual drunken tarnished his professional reputation.
As Mehigan recalls, Fulham was somewhat similar to the southern part of Dublin – a safe haven for him, filled with gilets, dachshunds and people of questionable morals.
Currently 33, Mehigan made his first attempt to abstain from alcohol back in 2019. His final drink was in October 2021, following six weeks of sobriety that ended with an alcohol and cocaine spree at his cousin’s wedding. “The journey to sobriety is not a straight line,” he confesses. This last ordeal ended in a panic-stricken breakdown in a hotel room covered in his own vomit. The very next day, he confided in his very supportive parents and initiated conversations with fellow alcoholics. During our discussion or in his book, he refrains from mentioning AA, respecting the organization’s anonymity rules. Nevertheless, the book, partially dedicated to “friends of Bill” – a nod towards AA – suggests he is following a 12-step recovery programme, dealing with each day individually.
Mehigan is an attractive, charismatic and articulate individual, with his hair effortlessly styled. He dresses in a long black coat, black shirt, and black jeans, offset by white trainers. A vintage gold Citizen watch, a second-hand gift from a cherished friend, adorns his wrist subtly and a long gold chain is tucked under his shirt. He begins the conversation by acknowledging his apprehension towards our forthcoming discussion, humorously voicing apprehensions that I, of all people, will hold high expectations of him due to my seniority, my position at The Irish Times, and supposed perfect life. To pacify his concern, I confide in him about some of my personal life struggles, notably, my decision to join the growing community of teetotallers after a long affair with wine, a confession which brings noticeable ease to the gentleman dressed in black.
Upon inquiry, he acknowledges that he penned his book as he grappled to discover his own identity, and his voice. Gently transitioning into a new chapter of his life 18 months into his sobriety, he felt stuck in both his past and his future. Professionally a comedian, he found his usual humorous lens stifled. He experienced a time of feeling utterly disoriented and despondent, grappling with questions of his own identity and purpose. Writing provided an avenue for him to understand himself but also to plan a future path.
Additionally, he felt intrigued to explore the “grey area” of alcohol consumption – the widespread belief that unless you’re drinking from a paper bag on a public bench, you’re not an alcoholic. For the majority of his time as a drinker, he successfully hid behind a masquerade of success, while feeling overwhelmed on the inside. Despite his acknowledgement of his issues, there are acquaintances who still question his status as an alcoholic.
The intriguing thing about addiction for Mehigan is recognising it as a sliding scale, a realisation that was emphasised when he publicly admitted to being in recovery on a social media platform. He recalls encountering several individuals who were internally struggling, feeling as though they were caught between a rock and a hard place and loathed themselves. This was reminiscent of his former condition where he used to mask his problems behind an alcoholic beverage. It’s a dreadful cycle of not seeking assistance due to the illusion that your condition isn’t severe enough to warrant it. It’s like being caught in a limbo of questionable drinking habits, he elaborates.
Discussing the subject of his recent memoir “Portrait of the Piss Artist as a Young Man”, comedian Tadgh Hickey conveys the need to understand the root of one’s addiction and address that issue. As he sees it, alcohol merely serves as the numbing medicine that eases the pain.
The origins of Mehigan’s addiction were complex. He describes his relationship with himself as unhealthy, which ultimately led to a destructive relationship with alcohol. He’s partial to saying, “It’s fine to reminisce the past, but don’t dwell in it.” However, he chronicles his battles with anxiety and undiagnosed panic attacks during his teenage years in his book. Mehigan recalls the time when he was about 12 and gained weight; due to a disagreement with some friends at St Michael’s College in Dublin, he became the target of bullying (he’s quick, however, to admit that he, too, was unkind to his peers at times).
In an Irish Times series titled “I Am Not an Alcoholic”, he expresses a sense of alienation and a desire to break free. He believed there was something inherently flawed about him. He didn’t feel comfortable in his skin and felt less developed than his peers. However, he understands now that others probably felt the same way, but no one was voicing these concerns. Throughout the entire interview, he gets emotional a couple of times, especially when discussing his brother, who, upon reading about Mehigan’s issues during childhood in the book, messaged him expressing a wish to turn back time.
Throughout his twenties, he spent his time oscillating between the UK and Dublin, surviving on a diet of alcohol and eventually, cocaine. His addiction masked his self-loathing and provided temporary relief from the discomfort of his fine line between reality and fantasy. He was always on the verge of achieving great success, or at least that’s what he told his friends and relatives. However, his substance abuse ensured that his much-yearned-for breakthrough always remained just out of reach.
His story, poignantly narrated in his book, offers a captivating yet harrowing look into a life spiralling out of control. He holds nothing back, admitting that some experiences were too painful to share. His life took him to the peaks of the social ladder, living in a posh Kensington penthouse, courtesy of his affluent girlfriend, punctuated by private jet rides. Yet, at the same time, he struggled to scrape together enough money for budget flights home during the festive season.
Around the age of 26, he began to dabble with cocaine, despite his increasingly obvious drinking problem. When his girlfriend voiced her concerns about his addiction, he dismissed them with a barrage of vitriol and denial, believing that the drug would enable him to control his alcohol consumption better. However, he soon found that cocaine was as appealing as scabies or an episode of mumps. He swiftly got swept up in the cocaine-fuelled whirlwind that was his social circle, and this vice survived the demise of his relationship. His book recounts the mad lengths he went to, including concealing cocaine in the lining of his North Face coat to transport it back to Dublin via ferry. He acknowledges the taboo surrounding discussing cocaine, noting that while alcohol is often tolerated as part of one’s personality, accepting the presence of cocaine is a different story.
It wouldn’t be far fetched to suggest that each family across the country contains either an alcohol or cocaine addict, according to Mehigan. Cocaine, he says, isn’t limited to a certain generation. Anyone, regardless of age, can abuse it based on his own experience. He believes, had it not been for cocaine, he might’ve continued using alcohol unchecked. Cocaine, he explains, brought severe damage to his brain, and in essence, had him searching desperately for traces of the drug in his own room.
Despite his addiction struggles, Mehigan secured a role at the BBC managing social media for comedy shows. He requested the person conducting background checks to disregard glaring inconsistencies in his CV. His lifeline was her being a major Westlife enthusiast, and in return for promising tickets to a fictitious reunion concert, she willingly ignored his embellished qualifications, including a missing university degree.
To blend into his new distinguished role, Mehigan purchased clothing from Uniqlo and Cos, imagining that it might camouflage his drinking problem. He moved to a house in Fulham, noting its similarity to South Dublin. He continued his substance abuse despite starting to believe he wouldn’t be able to keep it hidden much longer. When the BBC called him in for a meeting, he prepared for bad news, but was instead offered a promotion.
Throughout his memoir, he speaks candidly of his privileged background as an Irish private school boy, refusing to obscure his affluent upbringing in South Dublin. However, as he points out, in the fraternity of recovering addicts, socioeconomic backgrounds are inconsequential. He converses daily with people whose life experiences hold no connection to his own, but they share an underlying unified struggle with self-estrangement caused by their addiction. He claims that this shared unease forges a bond among them.
The novel, titled “This is Not a Self Help Book,” expresses the author’s skepticism towards the self-help category and books that proclaim they can alter people’s lives. He is also apprehensive about individuals such as Andrew Tate and Jordan Peterson who engage in discussions concerning men in that domain. Nevertheless, he has faith his book will prove beneficial, especially to younger males.
His personal struggle with weight issues underscores this. He conveys that it’s acceptable for men to feel uncomfortable about their weight, a topic that is not often openly discussed. His lifelong battle with his weight has become more prominent with the upcoming release of his book. His nerves have lead to unhealthy eating habits as he uses food as a coping mechanism. This behaviour leads to a cycle of self-loathing, followed by vows to not repeat the same mistake. After which, he experiences guilt, embarrassment, and anger. While directed towards individuals stuck in a similar predicament, the book is not exclusively for men. He writes to those pondering why they’re not okay when everyone around them appears to be. His ultimate aim for the book is to inspire individuals to ask for guidance. He encourages them to confide in their friends and parents about their true emotions towards their life. Although Mehigan didn’t claim to have answers, he hopes his book, which he describes as more of a ‘please don’t’ than a ‘how to’, will resonate with readers who might see their own experiences mirrored in his narrative.
“It felt like loosening a tight shoelace without realizing it needed loosening. She calmed me,” Mehigan recounts his conversation with Doireann Garrihy.
Nowadays, his pessimistic side is frequently caught off guard when his worst life expectations are not realized. He admits he often falls into the mindset of viewing the world in a negative light. He’s improving at recognizing these preconceived notions, learning to admit his mistaken assumptions.
On the 2nd of November, 2022, he experienced what he now acknowledges as his first-ever date while sober, shared with the podcaster, radio host, and Dancing with the Stars front-runner, Doireann Garrihy. For Mehigan, it was a case of instant affection from their initial cup of tea. This partnership has evidently been a life-altering episode for him, comparable to his journey to sobriety.
“Sobriety delivered everything that alcohol falsely promised,” he admits. Inclusive in this were various comedic performances, of which the most memorable were three shows at The Sugar Club in March 2022 that sold out astonishingly quickly. However, his relationship with Garrihy undoubtedly tops his list of sobriety’s benefits. Having spent several weeks exchanging voice notes and messages on Instagram, he was initially too anxious to meet her in the flesh.
When their first meeting in his Dún Laoghaire apartment finally took place, he describes it as a moment of unanticipated relief, using the analogy of loosening a tight shoelace. He attributes the successful beginnings of this relationship to his ongoing recovery. The couple took to Instagram to announce their engagement last December. Referring to their swift progression, he suggests that their ages at the time of their meeting, Garrihy being 30 and Mehigan 31, should be taken into account. “We’ve both had our fare share of experiences. Meeting her was unlike any other. Usually, I would message others post-date, but I was on my balcony smoking cigarettes, later quit, pondering about what had just transpired. Since then, her presence has been nothing short of delightful. I’ve never had someone understand me the way Doireann does. I feel privileged to have such an authentic and amazing soul in my life.” He takes a pause, winces slightly. “I never thought I would utter the phrase ‘good soul’.”
Now residing in Castleknock, Dublin, the pair live together along with Bertie, their pet dog who was part of Doireann’s life before the two met. Even though the idea of weddings isn’t particularly appealing to him, he’s currently involved in arranging one with his future wife. Initially, he had specific notions regarding the ceremony, such as a well-thoughtful East London DJ and a strict no-tuxedos policy. But he realised he required moving beyond these preconceived ideas. For them, a strong marriage surpasses an extravagant wedding.
His life is action-packed. He hosts the widely listened to podcast Mark Mehigan’s Weekly Roast, where he discusses listener-sent voice notes concerning varying subjects, including nightmare vacations. The term “influencer” makes him cringe a bit, but being a “content creator” constitutes a significant part of his income. Additionally, he collaborates with renowned brands such as Google and Sky TV on paid projects on Instagram. Through his online presence, he inadvertently turned into a matchmaker, leading to live events and digital broadcast opportunities. He also maintains a dating column in a magazine.
Despite transitioning in many ways, he remains fundamentally the same as in his days of alcohol consumption. He admits he can be judgmental, negative, and defensive even now, but he has also held on to his self-confidence and robust ambition. He thinks a bit of delusion is necessary to be an artist, providing the motivation to “knock on doors”. He has set a personal goal to author a coming-of-age comedy feature film by the age of 45.
A significant part of his day consists of maintaining his sobriety and conversing with fellow alcoholics. He takes his sobriety seriously, recognising he is no different from other alcoholics. However, because of his profession, he’s in a position to share his experiences. He considers himself fortunate to use writing as a tool not just to document his recovery but also to potentially help others on the same path. Despite this, there’s a part of him that finds his honesty and openness uncomfortable. He understands that everyone has their personal battles and struggles.
The sobriety I possess is inherited from those who tread the path before me; all I’m doing is exemplifying their moves. It is by adhering to a sobering programme that I can conduct this affable and non-judgemental dialogue of ours. I am not a reformed man with the liberty to walk away now assuming I have served my self-imposed sentence. It is a ceaseless effort to keep the habit at bay or else the self-depreciation recurs. The self-deprecation that deepens my isolation is a routine thing that needs addressing.
Even as his manuscript discussing alcoholism graces the bookstore shelves, he is cautious about being typified as a sobriety preacher. My sobriety is nothing but a reflection of those who achieved it before me. I am merely following in their footsteps. It’s not as if I’ve uncovered a novel solution or possess some unrivalled wisdom. I merely replicate the patterns those before me set.
We have had a longer conversation than either of us anticipated. Imminently, Mehigan has obligations to attend to. After a brief restroom break, he offers a farewell wave from a distance. Waving, rather than sinking in his old vices. He dons trendy dark shades and strides out of the teetotaler bar into the spring sunshine. Despite the distance, I can’t help but hope he finds success in his personal life, marriage and career, and his book provides aid to other people as much as his recovering comrades have supported him. A noteworthy book “This Is Not A Self-Help Book” written by Mark Mehigan is now available in Gill’s store.