For Cole Nicholson, he started drinking the way many teenagers do – out of curiosity, more than anything.
At 14, the Tennessee high schooler would sneak the occasional drink from his parents’ well-stocked liquor cabinet: a bottle of beer or a swig of liquor mixed with whatever he could find in the fridge.
It felt harmless at first. A gentle push at boundaries – nothing more than that.
But word spread quickly.
With his parents often out, Nicholson’s home became a magnet – the ‘party house.’ Drinking wasn’t a problem; it was a rite of passage, something he and his friends did for fun – a way to loosen up and fit in.
‘Like most teenagers, I experimented,’ Nicholson, now 38, told the Daily Mail. ‘A couple of beers here or a couple of mixed drinks there.’
It wasn’t until college, with fewer restraints to keep him on track, that things began to unravel – and what started as youthful experimentation gradually became a downward spiral of alcohol dependence that came close to destroying his promising young life.
Like nearly one in ten Americans, Nicholson found himself caught in addiction. Today, however, he is a different man – thanks in part to a $3-per-day pill some are calling the ‘Ozempic for alcohol,’ which he credits with dramatically reducing his cravings.
Cole Nicholson, 38, managed to overcome his dependence on alcohol with the help of a medication called naltrexone
Nicholson, pictured as a teenager. He started experimenting with alcohol at age 14, which progressed into alcoholism during his college years
He has chosen to speak out in the hope it might help others still struggling.
‘I heard a saying not too long ago: “You need to recover out loud,”‘ Nicholson said.
‘I try to live by that. This isn’t just about me – it’s about the person out there who’s still hurting. If they can see someone getting better, that might give them something to hold on to.’
But this is all a far cry from his younger years. At the University of Mississippi – Ole Miss – drinking wasn’t occasional; it was woven into the fabric of campus life.
Saturdays began at sunrise, tailgates already underway, coolers cracked open before the day had started. Nights at his fraternity house were a blur and Nicholson took pride in being able to outdrink those around him.
‘At that time, it was mainly beer, then bourbon and vodka,’ he said. ‘But I’d drink pretty much anything.’
Still, he held things together. Over four years, Nicholson made the Dean’s List and took on leadership roles on campus.
But by the end, alcohol had become as routine as his morning coffee – and, in his mind, just as harmless.
‘There were no consequences,’ he said. ‘So I didn’t think I had a problem.’
The first cracks began to appear at 25.
Nicholson was pulled over by police after driving erratically – a moment that could have been a turning point.
He was charged with driving under the influence then convicted, and was sentenced to a year of probation, ordered to pay a fine, undergo regular alcohol and drug testing, and report consistently to a probation officer.
But even that wasn’t enough to stop him.
‘I knew how to manipulate the system,’ he said. ‘I knew that I could not drink 24 hours before going into probation court and pass the screenings.’
Nicholson told the Daily Mail that as a college student at Ole Miss, tailgating and frat boy culture made excessive drinking feel like a norm. In his junior and senior year, he was drinking every day
Seen in his early 20s, Nicholson said he didn’t view drinking as a problem until he got a DUI at age 25
It wasn’t until a year later, at 26 years old, that things finally came to a head.
After a physical attack left him shaken, Nicholson spiraled into near-constant drinking, struggling to cope with the aftermath.
That was when he sought help, admitting himself to an inpatient recovery program in Memphis.
‘I just didn’t know how to cope,’ he recalled. ‘I was barely holding things together. I knew I needed help.’
Nicholson spent a year attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings while undergoing cognitive behavioral therapy.
He stayed sober for eight months after that – until a relationship with a sommelier derailed his progress.
‘Wine was never my problem, so it started with one glass at dinner, then two, then three,’ he said.
‘Before long, I was back on hard liquor and not maintaining sobriety at all. I was drinking like I was in college again. Back then, I could get away with it. But being older, it wasn’t so easy.’
‘I had the hangovers, the shakes, the tremors, the night sweats – the full set of withdrawal symptoms,’ he continued. ‘I’d just be waiting for the morning so I could have another drink.’
Over the following months, things began to fall apart. His partner ended the relationship, and managers at his catering job complained of alcohol on his breath – lingering from the night before, despite repeated attempts to mask it with toothpaste and mouthwash.
At 27, Nicholson admitted himself to a 30-day rehab program in Georgia. From there, he was sent to Los Angeles for intensive outpatient treatment – and doctors recommended he try a medication called naltrexone.
First approved in 1984 for opioid dependence and a decade later for alcohol use disorder, naltrexone targets the brain’s reward system – specifically the opioid receptors linked to pleasure and learning.
Under normal circumstances, drinking alcohol triggers a surge of feel-good chemicals such as dopamine, creating a sense of reward that encourages continued drinking. Naltrexone interrupts that feedback loop, dampening the pleasurable effects so alcohol no longer delivers the same payoff.
Over time, specialists say, this helps retrain the brain – weakening the learned association between drinking and feeling good, reducing cravings and making it easier to quit.
‘It’s essentially taking the reward out of drinking,’ Jessica Steinman, an addiction specialist and chief clinical officer at No Matter What Recovery, told the Daily Mail. ‘It removes the sense of euphoria, escape or numbing that many people are seeking.
‘When that starts to disappear, the desire to drink does too.’
Nicholson was nearly 28 when he was sent to a treatment program in Los Angeles, where providers introduced him to naltrexone
A 30‑day supply of generic naltrexone tablets typically costs between $25 and $100 without insurance
Some experts say it may work in a similar way to GLP-1 drugs such as Ozempic and Wegovy, which curb appetite by dialing down the brain’s reward response to food.
‘GLP-1s turn the noise down with food,’ Steinman said. ‘That’s very similar to what drugs like naltrexone can do for people who struggle with drinking. It doesn’t eliminate the urge entirely, but it takes the edge off.’
The drug, which can be taken as a daily tablet or as a monthly injection, starts working ‘pretty much immediately’ alongside other treatments like therapy.
For Nicholson, who later switched to the injection, it was like flipping a switch. ‘I just stopped thinking about alcohol,’ he said.
‘I lived in West Hollywood, which is very much a party scene, working in catering and constantly surrounding by drink.
‘But it just didn’t seem to affect me. The alcohol was there, but I didn’t feel like I had to partake in it.’
A 30‑day supply of generic naltrexone tablets typically costs between $25 and $100 without insurance, meaning each pill costs $3 or less. Discounts, however, can significantly bring the price down, ranging from $30 to $50 for a month of the drug – or as low as just a few dollars, depending on the insurance plan.
Addiction expert Jessica Steinman (pictured above) compared naltrexone to GLP-1 medications like Ozempic
The long‑acting monthly injection, sold under the brand name Vivitrol, is far more expensive – usually costing between $1,000 and $2,000 per dose without insurance.
With coverage, however, many patients pay as little as $0 to $100, depending on their plan.
Approximately one million prescriptions for naltrexone are filled every year in the US, and experts estimate 300,000 patients fill these annually for alcohol use disorder.
Nicholson had one more wobble, at 30 years old, when he stopped taking Vivitrol and tried to go back to drinking moderately.
‘I just decided one day, it’s been enough time, I can go back to drinking. I miss it,’ he said.
‘That’s a problem, too. I like drinking not just because of the effects of alcohol, but the taste. I enjoy both.’
Over the course of the Covid pandemic, Nicholson found himself in another downward spiral, struggling to hold down catering and events jobs and go a day without drinking.
It wasn’t until the fall of 2025, at 38, that Nicholson decided to try recovery one more time.
‘I know a sober me is a better me,’ he said.
Vivitrol is an injectable form of naltrexone that is given monthly, though it can be more expensive
Nicholson entered another recovery program and got back on Vivitrol two months ago. His cravings, once again, have vanished.
‘Things have been going well,’ he said. ‘There are no cravings. I feel healthy and I think I look it too.
‘I make sure that I get at least seven to eight hours of sleep at night. I get a little bit of exercise. I just take it day by day.’
Nicholson is also attending support group meetings to make sure he stays on track.
Steinman added: ‘If people are going to be on naltrexone in any form, they really should also be in some kind of therapy or support network.
‘Because it’s one thing to dampen the brain’s reward response, but people turn to alcohol and drugs for much deeper reasons – trauma, underlying wounds, negative self-beliefs.
‘It’s imperative to do the work, not just put a Band-Aid over it.’
While long-term use of naltrexone or Vivitrol is generally considered safe, it is not typically intended as a lifelong solution. Experts say its role is to help stabilize patients and reduce cravings while they build more sustainable coping strategies.
‘As someone moves further into recovery, the intensity of those cravings usually fades,’ Steinman explained. ‘I can see a place for these medications over a couple of years, but beyond that, you’d ideally want to see reliance on them begin to taper off.’
Nicholson described naltrexone and Vivitrol as his ‘insurance policy’ – a safeguard that helps keep him on track.
‘If there’s something that can help take that pressure off, why not use it?’ he said.
