80 days sober - the truth

It genuinely feels surreal writing this post. I've woken up on day 81 of sobriety and I'm desperately missing alcohol. The good side of alcohol that is. The side I see everyone else enjoying like a normal, proper adult. The party side. The party I'm no longer allowed into.

I need to be upfront and honest about it as the whole point of this blog is me writing about the good, the bad and the ugly to help me get through the dark days and celebrate the good.

In short, non-drinking is a rollercoaster of emotions and this is my main learning at 80 days sober. Some days are spectacular, making you feel like your body is glowing and you're the bi-product of a unicorn having sex with a fairy.

Whereas as other days are bad and lonely and challenging, and your shoulders feel like they're carrying the weight of the world and then some. And all you want to do is dive head-first into an Olympic-sized swimming pool of mojito.

I can't shift the feeling of guilt and remorse too. I'm convinced I've screwed my husband over by trading my cool, glitzy drinking life for one of sobriety. He married a drinker, and now I'm not a drinker. All his friends are married to or dating drinkers who look fit in their 'look at my swanky food and drink' Instagram posts. Why can't he have the same? Who am I to deprive him of that fun? It's only a matter of time until he trades me in for someone who drinks so his life can be fun again.

STOP, EM.

See? The above is my train of thought right here, right now and it's ridiculous isn't it? When I write it down and see the words I want to punch myself in the head and shout GET A GRIP, WOMAN. Or seek out Blix and his evil whispers, smashing his stinking gnarly body against my bedroom walls until his bones are shattered and he bleeds to death. I feel like a trapped landlord, powerless to evict my bastard tenant who has unlawfully acquired squatters rights in my brain.

I really wanted day 80 to be a field of sunshine and pink clouds, but it's more like a damp and dark disused warehouse and I feel pretty lost here.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, sobriety cannot, and I repeat - cannot, be sugar coated. The benefits are real, don't get me wrong, but the effort is constant and tiring and exhausting. And there are situations that have nearly brought me to breaking point and I've only been saved by my surprisingly rock-solid will power.

I don't know how, but I have surpassed day 80 - and I'm unsure whether to be proud of that or...resentful? I kind of feel both. Am I really going to live the rest of my life without the booze buzz? The first sip of wine that instantly erases tension? Nose tickles from the cold bouncing fizz of a decent champagne?

So I've made myself salivate from writing that paragraph but it's true. I'm actually gutted that I'll be trading those moments for a life of sobriety, but then what follows after the fluffy fun stuff? The loss of control, the zombie eyes, the weight gain, the arguments, the bad skin, the 'sick' days off work, the life chaos, the anxiety, the depression, the darkness. I could go on and on about the cons yet it takes me no more than 10 (maybe even five?) seconds to list the pros of drinking.  

I've been stuck in a desperate loop for over three years - trying to cut down by having a week off here and there and failing miserably. And actually within the past year I haven't bothered to slow down at all and my consecutive days on the booze were getting ridiculous.

But now I've got 80 days of abstinence behind me and despite mourning the loss of my old party life I'm much more realistic about my situation now. I am absolutely not someone who can moderate - I know this. If there's a pack of biscuits in front of me I can't have just one, I'll have to eat the whole pack so they're gone. If I'm enjoying a new hobby or sport I'll buy so much active wear and binge participate like a crazy person. If I'm into a series on Netflix I have to watch the whole lot in one go. Tapping out after one or two episodes will drive me insane. A little bit here and wee drop there just isn't me - I have to be all in as it's the only way I can scratch the itch. The tap just keeps on dripping if I feel my business is unfinished.

Same with booze. If a bottle is open I'll finish the lot. And if there's more than one bottle I'll keep going until they're all gone.

So I think that's actually the real reason behind today's mood. Not that I'm desperately craving the boozy good times (which lets face it don't exist any more), but that I'm coming to terms with the fact my new sober life doesn't accommodate certain behaviours.

Yes there are so so so many things I'm missing now I'm sober but the only question I can ask myself is 'what's the alternative'?

In the early days of my sobriety, say within the first 30 days, everything was new and wow. Attending a wedding sober? Piece of piss. Enjoying a hangover-free weekend? Life giving! But it was novel and a shiny and not really any different to the times where I'd 'given up' alcohol before and then slipped back into drinking as a reward for doing so well.

Day 80 is hard core for me and sobriety is no longer an experiment. It's starting to become a lifestyle and today very much feels like a blue or red pill moment. I could still choose to live in the matrix yet I know, deep down, that facing up to reality is the only way I'm going to fix this. And subsequently fix me.  

Just one or two is fine...right?

It's Sunday, 23 September 2018 and I'm 77 days sober, reflecting on what has been one of the busiest working weeks of my year culminating in a very boozy dinner party last night.

I've previously talked about situations I seem to find more pressured than others - for example I'm actually pretty fine navigating weddings sober (which I thought would be the most difficult) but cosy dinner parties at home seem to be the worst.

We hosted two couples last night so there was six of us including Rob and I. As opposed to the dinner party I tackled a few weeks back (which had been planned well before I went sober) this night had been organised only a few weeks prior. Rob had asked me if I fancied hosting a get together and I said yeah, absolutely! What I should have said was I'd prefer not to babe as I'm finding dinner parties exceptionally tough at the mo and they kind of make me want to curl up and die. Hurrah!

But I don't want to be that sober person who irrationally ruins everyone else's fun (I am totally living in fear of that right now), so I suck it up and pretend another dinner party off the grog is well within my skill set.

A few hours before kick-off I received a message from one of our friends asking what my favourite wine is. I read it and thought you know what, I'm just going to drink tonight. It'll be much easier to drink and I wont have to endure the raised eyebrows and pregnant whispers. After the week I'd had juggling difficult work events and a visit to see my poorly Nan I wasn't in the mood to play hide-and-seek with my drinking.

So despite being fully determined to pack in my sobriety I decided to (out of habit) implement a little trick to add weight to my decision making. If I'd pass this test I'd be back in the drinking game.

I began to hypothetically predict the night's events should I delve into the vino - just to see what the outcome would be and the fun I'd have along the way! After all, I've nailed over 70 sober days, I can handle my booze now and I know when to stop! Yeah I'd never managed it before but it's different now, I'm different now. Now I'm in control.

Here's what would have happened:

5.30 p.m. I open a bottle of red and pour myself a glass while getting ready. Oh how I've missed thee sweet nectar.
6.30 p.m. I continue drinking through dinner prep. Red wine on the go and simmering home-made paella, how fab is this! I'm sophisticated again!
7.30 p.m. Guest arrival - I'm 3/4 of my way through my first bottle. Loose and relaxed, welcome one and all to the best dinner party of all time.
8.00 p.m. We sit down to dinner. I'm a bottle in and loving life. But everyone's drinking tonight so it's A-OK!
8.30 p.m. I'm free pouring wine to myself and my guests. We're all drinking, lets get on it. Everyone is having wine too so my personal consumption is unnoticeable. Win. I love dinner parties.
9.00 p.m. My teeth are purple and I'm drunk. Probably two bottles in by now. But it's OK, Rob's down the other end of the table and hasn't noticed any of this.
Side note: He has noticed and has been noticing all night.
9.30 p.m. I'm slurring and don't know I am, but I'm loving the fact I'm on great, drunk form and everyone's drunk too!
Side note: I'm a bottle of wine ahead of everyone else and I'm by far the most drunk at the table. I can't hold a coherent conversation and I haven't checked my make-up since our guests arrived. I look and act pissed and my sophisticated self begins to unravel, quickly.
10.00 p.m. We move to the snug to watch the boxing. Anthony Joshua is fighting so we pour more drinks, this night is going great!
Side note: My brain starts to flicker and prepares itself for black out. I have roughly half an hour left of consciousness before the night turns black. 
10.30 p.m. I'm three bottles in by now and I'd like to say I'm loving the fight and looking after our guests needs. But I'm 100% sure I fall asleep on the sofa in a ball of dribbling mess. 70+ days of sobriety have lightweighted me into oblivion.
Side note: I won't remember anything past 10.00 p.m. when I wake up now. 
11.30 p.m. Our guests leave. I wake up and take myself to bed. Despite my impromptu nap it's been a great night, right?
Side note: Rob has to wake his crumpled heap of a wife and drag her off the sofa to bed. I attempt to start a fight about how judgemental he is when I've only 'had a few' and probably lay into him for letting me undo all my hard, sober work. We then fight and I pass out.
03.00 a.m. Wake up dazed and gasping for water. Throbbing headache. No recollection of the night ending.
08.00 a.m. Wake up fully with a stinking hangover. 76 days of sobriety erased. Apologise to Rob - have no idea what for but he's mad and disappointed.
11.00 a.m. Dominos Pizza opens. I order my weekend calorie allowance in one sitting. I haven't had pizza in nearly three months! I deserve this!
Side note: I am so bitterly upset. I'm back to square one and I'm a fucking failure. 
12.00 p.m. I'm drinking again now, so I may as well have a hair of the dog to cure my hangover?
Side note: I need alcohol. I can't do life without it. May as well get pissed again to deal with the self loathing. My name's Em and I'm addicted to booze. 

And so it starts again. The dark tape on repeat. The merry-go-round of doom. A life controlled by Blix and his soul-crushing advice.

My predictions shook me and I was quickly 'back in the room'. I decided to ignore the text about the wine - and I know that sounds rude - but I simply didn't know what to say. I didn't have the power to muster a reply so I closed the screen and left it.

Fast forward to 8.30 p.m. in reality and our guests are having a great night. The paella is a huge success and I'm on my second glass of non-alcoholic red wine and no one has noticed. I didn't announce it when people walked in, I just simply poured them the real deal and looked after myself. I know my obsession with people judging my non-drinking is irrational but tonight...I'm kind of realising that my sobriety is far from the focus. We're talking, laughing, eating...no one knows my wine is fake and I'm loving it.

To get through the group dinner top-ups I make my wine last and ensure I add a little more when I nip out to the kitchen to get beers for the non-wine drinkers. So when our friends come to pour more wine at the table my glass is pretty full and I politely decline as I wouldn't want to mix reds.

We move to the snug to watch the boxing and everyone is merry and in a great mood. I'm fully present and decide to switch drinks to Becks Blue (yet to find an AF red wine that still tastes good after two glasses). I do get a few strange looks but I say I'm really trying to cut down and no one bats an eyelid. I even get a few 'good for yous!' and again, people just carry on with the night.

It gets to midnight and our friends receive a text from their cabby saying he's broken down and can't collect them. So I mention I'm fully capable of driving and we pile in the car - laughing about the last time we were all in a taxi and I ended up breaking Rob's hand by slamming it in the door (a tale for another time!) - but it's lovely. My head is clear and I'm helping my friends get home. It sounds so stupid to say...but sobriety is making me so much more capable.

I return home and it's 1.00 a.m., Rob heads straight to bed and conks out in a drunken haze but I decide to give myself a head start in the morning. I head to the kitchen and put on some jazz music as I clear the plates and load the dishwasher. The house is now so peaceful having been a buzzing ball of good energy little over an hour ago. I finish the final inch of my non-alcoholic wine, kiss the empty bottle goodnight and pop it outside to be recycled.

I feel warm and fuzzy from the exhaustion and so happy I've accomplished yet another high pressured dinner party situation (which was entirely different to the first, and in a good way).

There were two big-time sliding door moments on Saturday night and I am so glad I stayed strong and remembered the outcome of scenario one which was drenched in booze. No matter how many times I try and convince myself I can handle just one or two I know, deep down, this is not the case any more.

This is why I've tried so hard, on so many occasions, to kick the habit but have never managed to escape the tightening grip of alcohol. I simply can't dip in and out, so now it has to be out. All out.

I love you Sunday, 23 September. You are my 77th day of winning and I am so, so happy to have you.

When alcohol made me forget what's important

Thanks to the utter shambles that is South West Trains I’ve just missed my connecting train from Reading to Southampton by about 2 seconds (cheers for the 5 minute delay from Wokingham you useless pricks). Usually I wouldn’t burst into tears on the platform, but I seem to be navigating my way through one of the shittiest weeks since I can remember and I’m not handling the pressure well. And as I pulled my laptop out of my bag to write this I noticed my full 2L water bottle was empty, deciding to leak all over my Filofax and last remaining (expensive) business cards. Today stinks.

Nomo has kindly reminded me that I’ve made it to day 71 with no booze, but if there ever was a time to be craving a large glass of 13%+ wine – now would be it. It’s 8.50 a.m. on a Tuesday.

But I didn’t cry because I missed the train. I cried out of sheer frustration for my Nan, who is rapidly declining in a care home in Ascot as she battles colon, lung and liver cancer. My brother and I went to visit her on Sunday and she’s got increasingly worse since we saw her the week before. My Nan has always been a very proud and regal woman, dripping in beautiful antique jewellery which flawlessly accessorised her cashmere jumpers and fluffy blow dries. You could rely on my Nan for great conversation too. She was always so fascinated by our work, home renovations, social life. She had a glow and warmth that failed to dim even well into her eighties.

But within a matter of months cancer has taken her, and the Nan I saw on Sunday was completely out of it on morphine and rambling about multi-story car parks. I can see her fighting the drugs, as every now and again she’d focus on me, smile and be back in the room. But then she’d drift away again and shut down. I’m cross, so so cross by the whole situation. But mostly mad at myself for letting booze rob me of what was ultimately my last normal weekend with her.

In May, roughly three weeks before I gave up drinking, Rob and I were invited to a wedding reception but I decided to visit my Nan instead. Given her recent health issues (we knew she was poorly but not cancer poorly) I felt that my time would be better spent with her, at her cosy home in Ross-on-Wye. My argument to Rob was that I wanted to spend quality time with her as opposed to attending a wedding with people I didn’t really know, which he fully supported and encouraged me to do.

But as lovely as the weekend was, and evidently the last weekend my Nan would be at home before taking a fall in the kitchen and being transported to hospital (where she’d then spend eight awful weeks before being transferred to Ascot to live out her final days) I can’t remember any of it.

I arrived on the Saturday – about 45 minutes late – to see my Nan perched at her kitchen back door waving at me as I pulled up onto the grassy verge to park. She has a very cute old stable door which she keeps open to enjoy the sounds of the birds while cooking and is always ready and waiting to welcome guests as they park up on the parish green behind her house.

I walked through the gate and enjoyed the standard hello – a huge bear hug and kisses on the cheek which would stain from her pearlescent lippy. Today it was pink to match her raspberry chinos – I remember that much. She's such a glam.

I dumped my stuff at the kitchen door and handed a plastic bag of clinking wine bottles to my grandpa. I know it’s polite to gift your host a little something upon arrival but these bottles were to ease my conscience. Not only would I spend the day raiding their booze cabinet to ‘make the visit more bearable’, but as I arrived with wine I’d feel more qualified to suggest we open a bottle with lunch as it would be ‘rude not to!’ Good thinking Em. A tried and tested tactic from when I last visited (almost a year ago).

My Nan has always been a spectacular cook but her ‘slowing down’ as she called it (which was ultimately a very aggressive form of lung cancer) meant she could only muster a honey glazed ham, oven-baked spuds and salad for lunch. The spread was accompanied by crisp white napkins in polished holders and her finest silverware. This was my Nan going ‘low-key’. As I said, a woman of pure class.

I started to drink at lunchtime and remember being cross at my Nan’s wine glasses. They were always too teeny to accommodate my huge portion sizes and if I wasn’t careful I’d hoover the glass up within three glugs. So making a glass of wine last was always a very painful thing to do. After lunch I cleared the table and ushered my Nan to sit down as I’d noticed her mobility had rapidly declined. She refused to give in so was using the kitchen work surface to prop herself up with every other step. ‘I’m fine Emmy, don’t worry about me.’

So I didn’t that day. I just worried about me and where the next drink was going to come from and how I was going to get it without my Nan and Grandpa noticing I was racing through the vino. I did bring two bottles though so there was plenty to see me through.

By 6.00 p.m. I settled down enough to make a glass last almost 15 minutes but I made sure I’d be the one facilitating top ups (and sneaking myself secret ones en route to the toilet etc.). My Nan was on the Becks Blue and my Grandpa was joining me in the odd glass of wine but I was up and down regularly topping my glass, taking two huge gulps in the kitchen out of eye-sight and then topping it up some more so I’d feel more at ease. By 7.30 p.m. I was opening the next bottle.  

I can’t tell you anything we talked about but I can recall my only focus – wine. How fucking sad is that? So as I said, turns out this was my Nan’s final weekend at home as the following week she went dizzy and couldn’t pull herself up from the floor. If I would have known her illness was set to nose dive I would have listened more, laughed more, held her hand more, and just generally been with her more as opposed to being a booze-hungry piece of shit.

And I know it’s easy to reflect now, as a sober person, and blame alcohol for ruining the final weekend I had with my Nan at her fairy-tale-esque cottage – but I am genuinely grieving for the loss of me on that day.

Alcohol has regularly robbed me of memory, togetherness, good make-up and general composure – but on this particular weekend it robbed me of enjoying my beautiful Nan and for that I will be eternally sad.

I almost feel obliged to apologise to her for maybe seeming too pre-occupied by my glass as opposed to her, but I know she’d tell me to ‘shush’ and stop being so silly. We did have a lovely weekend but it could have been so much more.

I hate you alcohol. So, so much.

Approaching day 70: Physical improvements

I'm fast approaching 70 days of sobriety and I thought I'd write about some of the physical improvements I'm noticing as a result of dropping the booze.

To recap on my drinking status, I was a heavy drinker throughout the week and weekends - not to the point of 'addicted' but I absolutely developed a dependency. Is there even a difference?

I'd start drinking on a Tuesday and would carry on until late Sunday night most weeks, sinking on average two/three large glasses of wine a night or three/four beers, whatever was available. In the latter stages of my alcohol abuse, roughly six months prior to the date I quit drinking (08.07.18) I had switched to mid-week spirits, was hiding my consumption from my husband and getting through roughly six to eight bottles of wine a week.

Now lets talk about my body when I was doing all of that. Here's what I have been tolerating since my early 20s:

• Mouth uclers. Huge ones. On my gums, tongue and inside of my lips. I'd get them every other week without fail. And after a heavy night on the booze I'd always wake up with a tongue covered in tiny white sores.
• Spots. Nasty, cyst like mounds on my cheeks and under my chin. Red, raw and painful.
• Rosacea on my nose and at the top of my arms. When I'd drink heavily sometimes my bicep/bingo wing area would flare red and go very blotchy. As a result I always wore long-sleeve tops and never got my arms out. I hated them.   
• Flat, lifeless hair. I have long brunette hair but it's fine, and over the past 6 months it's rapidly been losing volume and body.    
• Cellulite on the tops of my thighs, front and back. Dimples and dents everywhere. 
• Weight gain. I was 8.5 stone when I got married in 2015 (age 28) and when I weighed myself on the day I quit drinking I was bang on 10 stone (140lbs). It's the most I've ever weighed at 5ft 3in. My BMI was 24.8 - 0.2 away from being classed as overweight.  

And here's what I've noticed on sober day 66:

• No mouth ulcers or tongue sores since quitting drinking.
• My skin has improved dramatically and I've only been getting the odd spot when I'm due on. All of my cyst-like bastards have now disappeared and I've finally stopped using foundation! A quick skim of primer and powder is all I'm needing these days. 
• Absolutely no signs of a red boozy nose and my skin tone on my upper arms has completely normalised. It's my friend's birthday on October 6th and I may go skimpy dress, arms out...!
• I've been receiving so many compliments on my hair. It's glossy, fuller and seems to have grown since I gave up booze. When I earn my Three Month sober chip (in 25 days) I'm going to treat myself to a day at the salon and possibly run some blondes through it! :)
• Less cellulite and firmer legs. 
• I've knocked off exactly a stone in weight in 66 days. As I've removed alcohol from my daily routine I have the time to run more, play hockey (I've joined a team again, whoop!) and I'm consuming fewer calories and eating much more healthily.

Quick bit of math: two x large glasses of wine = 360 cals. So one bottle of wine = roughly 700 cals. Multiply that by six, the number of bottles I'd get through in one week, and I was consuming approximately 4,000 cals per week just from alcohol!

Sobriety is doing wonders for my physical wellbeing and I can't begin to describe just how great it feels to be back in control of my body. A combination of healthy eating and regular exercise has helped me to obliterate the worst bits of my wine gut and I'm now at a stage where I can really start conditioning my body to (hopefully) start showing a bit of tone and definition.  

My lungs also feel like new having packed up the cigarettes at the same time. Since the beginning of 2018 my smoking had increased from socially (when drinking) to four to six a day. I was actively buying cigarettes and getting through roughly a pack and a half a week thanks to weekend binge drinking/smoking marathons. Another thing I was hiding from my husband that I feel so guilty for.  

So a combination of removing toxic booze and smoke from my system plus increasing my exercise and health food levels has led to me basically feeling the happiest I've felt in a VERY long time.

Looking forward to documenting the results at day 100.... :)

Day 65: Caffeine come downs

So I'm well aware that poor sleep and bad heads come hand-in-hand with alcohol abuse, but since going sober I've been struggling from the neck up more than I thought.

When I completed my first week of sobriety I decided to plunge myself, and rather overzealously, into researching the benefits of my new healthy lifestyle. A number of online articles suggested I would begin to notice my sleep improving, tempting me with words like deep and uninterrupted which really got my bloodshot eyes excited. Without doubt I was sticking to my sober guns if better sleep and a calmer mind were set to follow.

In the year leading up to me quitting on July 8th 2018, and noticeably in the last few months of me really overdoing the booze, bedtime was a horrific ordeal for me. It would take just two large glasses of wine to send me to bed with a heavy head and racing heart, or I'd simply drink myself into oblivion and lightly pass out until morning - getting up maybe two or three times during the night to use the loo and gulp excessive amounts of water. And if I did wake up hungover and decided not to drink that day I'd be sure to endure a night of chronic insomnia and anxiety which would run into the early hours of the next morning. When I say it out loud I've been sleep deprived for...years.

I'm now 65 days sober and I can report that yes, my sleep is deeper and most certainly uninterrupted (unless Rob's T-Rex level snoring wakes me), but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to actually get to sleep and I think I've finally figured out why (and yes, it's bloody obvious and my revelation is very late to the common sense party)!

I love love love coffee, drink the stuff all the time and easily rack up between three and five strong mugs per day. However when I drank alcohol I wouldn't have a need for the hot stuff past 4.00 p.m. as I'd be riding the post-work boozercoaster until late into the evening.

Now I've escaped the theme park of doom I've defaulted to drinking soft drinks and tea/coffee on the regular, and well into the evening which I - Einstein - have attributed to my progressively wired disposition. At the beginning of my sober journey, drinking anything satisfying would be top priority to ensure I didn't slip back into a bottle of vino. As I was still craving sugar and fizz I accidentally became over-reliant on caffeine (grounds for cross-addiction I'm sure).

Caffeine is regularly cited as the most consumed drug in the world and according to neuropharmacologists (people who study the action of drugs on the nervous system) caffeine is a drug that acts as a mild stimulant, blocking receptors in the brain (that can dilate blood vessels) causing headaches and other symptoms.

Now the word drug scares me a little here as the whole point of me being sober is not to consume any (!) but as sobriety is a hugely personal journey I'm deciding to keep caffeine in my daily routine as it simply helps me to avoid alcohol. If I was to give up both I'd turn into a legitimate crazy person and Jesus Christ I need something to look forward to if booze is off the table.

So it turns out me ramping up the caffeine intake between the hours of 6.00 p.m. and 9.00 p.m. isn't going to do me any favours when it comes to bedtime, so I've decided to experiment with some new changes now I'm feeling a little more confident about the whole no alcohol thing.

I'm going to try cutting out caffeinated drinks from 6.00 p.m. - this includes tea, coffee and softies which have become my main go-to's. Since giving up the vino I've been drinking all the caffeine (without realising as I was so fixated on avoiding booze) until I get into bed most nights, which is circa 10.00 p.m., so a caffeine curfew is definitely required to combat my gone midnight restlessness.

So with the loss of the above I need to find something to fill the void. On the hot side the obvious substitute is going to be decafe coffee and caffeine-free herbal tea. The best instant decaf coffee I've tried so far is Nescafe Azera Americano, and one of my favourite herbal tea brands is Pukka. Their range is organic and they do plenty of caffeine-free options, including three mint which has always been a staple in my kettle cupboard.

In addition to canning the caffeine in hot drinks I need to work on my cold drink choices too. So dark coloured softies are being binned and I'm stocking up on sparkling water and juices/squash that I can dilute with filtered water.

I'm not a huge drinker of Coke and Pepsi so I think I'll find this swapping system pretty easy, but I am anticipating some grogginess and tetchiness during the first few evenings of the experiment. Hopefully the switch will be seamless, the headaches will ease off and the time it takes me to fall asleep will drastically shorten...

I'll give it a 14-day run out and will report back on my findings.

Two months sober.

Today is Saturday, 8th September and I've just earned my big green virtual 'Two Months Sober' chip. And it feels pretty good. Surreal, but good.

For the past couple of years I've desperately tried to cut out alcohol and my efforts have always been thwarted. By default I would find a reason to return to booze and lie to myself and others about why I was (repeatedly) off the wagon. If Rob made a comment about me being back on the wine I'd reply defiantly 'Yeh but...'

Yeh but I haven't had a drink since XXX. Yeh but I have so-and-so's birthday this weekend and how am I supposed to do that sober? Yeh but I've had a really stressful day at work. Yeh but we're meeting blah blah for dinner and I want to enjoy myself. Yeh but it's Thursday. Yeh but it's Wednesday. Regurgitate for infinity.

Looking back, the above reasons were irrelevant. They were just wafflings making me feel momentarily better and justified while booze continued to tighten its grip.    

So today is my 62nd day of no hangovers and consistent sobriety = my biggest achievement in the sober scheme of things. Whoop!

For years I've been play fighting sobriety and would ALWAYS tap out after the first serious punch. Corr that was a boring week, let's go for a drink to celebrate. I would diligently agree with Blix and reach for the wine to normalise.

P.s guys, this is a picture of Blix, my booze demon. Hideous, isn't he? He's from the film Legend...it's one of my childhood classics but as a kid, this fellow terrified me more than Tim Curry (who is by far the scariest and most convincing devil to ever be depicted through the medium of cinema, just saying).

I always thought it would take something major for me to give up alcohol. Like a life-threatening disease or....a life threatening disease. This time two months ago I had no idea this would be the start of something permanent for me (but I did know, deep down in my bloated wine gut, that something was different this time).

I wish I could say it's been brilliantly smooth and I've faced zero temptation along the way, but at times it's been hard - like, really hard - and I've had to fight hard to make it to another sober morning. Yep, hard.

Like only last Thursday when we had friends over for dinner and I was feeling fine about it, no big deal. I bought myself a bottle of alcohol-free wine as I knew our pals would come armed with some nice strong red - my weakness. So it was fine, all good, I was prepped for it. We cheers'd in the kitchen and I carried on cooking while Rob entertained in our make-shift dining room.

We were about to tuck into dinner and I'd nipped into the kitchen to sort some top ups and quickly found myself in a rather difficult sitch. Instead of grabbing both bottles, my wine and Becky's delicious Tuscan red, hers was the only one in both of my hands (I was clutching it like a hot chocolate...) and it was lingering dangerously close to my mouth. I couldn't help but take a deep sniff which sent my stomach and heart into overdrive.

It was as if I'd given Blix a tablespoon of crack. I could feel him crawling out of my eyeballs while scratching furiously at the bottle. Drink it you stupid bitch! Quick! No one will find out!! Ever! Gimme!

My knee jerk reaction was to shout for Rob. He came bouncing round the corner like the big Andrex puppy he is and checked if all was OK. 'Yeah fine, except can you make sure you keep on top of everyone's drinks tonight as I'm busy with the food and need a hand'.

'Sure babe, no big deal' and with that he scooped up the wine without a care in the world and bounced back to our friends. I shut my eyes, took a few deep breaths (of air this time) and downed a glass of water. The rest of the night was a real struggle and the pressure crept up on me like a lion stalking it's prey.

Sobriety is unpredictable and unless you prepare for its unpredictability (if that makes any sense) it can really feck with your intentions. Here are a few things I've learnt so far about social situations in early sobriety (and I'm sure this list will grow over the next few months):

1. Avoid pouring other people's drinks. It's too tempting and even sniffing the booze was too big a risk for me. Make it someone else's responsibility or get your friends to self-serve. 
2. Make sure you're prepared going into high pressure social situations. Take a suitable drink (and good quantities) with you or make damn sure you have something in your cupboards (just for you) if you're hosting people who will be drinking. Without my non-alcoholic red wine I don't think I would have made it through last Thursday.
3. Just don't host. Simple as that. If it wasn't for this dinner being in the diary for months I wouldn't have organised the thing. Two months is just too early for me, so I'm making a conscious effort to swerve the responsibilities now. Until I feel calm and ready.  

And I've found it's not the time of day that really matters (and that probably says more about my frequency of drinking more than anything)! As long as you've got something going on that doesn't revolve around other people getting on it, it really truly does help.

1. Stay active and venture outdoors. In times of stress and boredom I've gone hiking, running and walking (just a stretch to your local coffee shop is enough to give your brain a gentle pat on the back). The simple act of physical movement is like wizardry for me. I'm responding really well to it (and I swear my legs are looking a bit more toned too)!
2. Suggest weekend plans to your family, friends or partner that are equally fun without booze, like bowling, the cinema or a picnic (if the weather permits... I am severely disadvantaged here as I'm British). I am still finding restaurants really hard to deal with so I'm wide berthing these for now.
3. See all the kids! I'm lucky enough to be the Aunt of two amazing and hilarious nieces who are four and two-years-old. I don't have kids (yet, fingers crossed) so I tend to have more free time at the weekends now I'm not hammered or being suffocated by a hangover. So I'm offering more of my time to my brother and his fiance and filling it with glorious Niece time. The innocent little nuggets remind you just how mega life is without booze.  
4. If you're openly not drinking in front of your other half then maybe ask them to not drink around you if you're finding it tough at home, especially at the weekends. I haven't asked this of Rob yet but I'm thinking about it. I imagine it makes movie nights on the sofa a hell of a lot more bearable and the odd night off isn't going to kill them! I'm not suggesting you turn your home into a booze free zone, but at times when you are both spending time together i.e. watching a film or eating dinner a little collective sobriety may be a great thing.  

As I write this it's Saturday night circa 9.30 p.m., I'm freshly bathed, make-up off and about to sink into Dan Brown's latest offering as I finished Clare Pooley's book last night and have a serious hankering for something completely made-up (so I can finally stop girl-crushing on her brilliance). 

I'm home alone, Rob is out watching England vs Spain UEFA Nations League game and I'm so utterly happy that not one fibre of my being is pining after booze. My decaf almond milky coffee is warming me up a treat and my body is satisfyingly achey from hockey (yup, I'm playing hockey again but that little development deserves a standalone blog all on it's own).

Life is really good and I think this may be my first taste of those 'pink clouds' all my new sober heroes have been talking about. How lush.  

Weird dreams and fangovers.

So I'm 61 days sober! Yay! And feel like shit! Boo! That's only because I had an off the scale dream last night and woke up with a raging hangover this morning. Well, fake hangover. Fangover? What is WITH them?

I've nearly finished Clare Pooley's book, The Sober Diaries, and I absolutely bloody love it. Despite Clare being a little older than me I can relate to her on so many levels. Except she has kids, is solvent, and hit the top of her career ladder aged 30. I'm 31 and launched my own business 2.5 years ago - so I'm still absolutely skint and remain embarrassingly tucked under the tax threshold (for now - PMA and all that). There are so many 'Ah me too!' moments in her book though and I love her for that reason.

So since returning from holiday a few weeks back I've made a pact with myself. Instead of scrolling through social media for hours on end (literally) gawping at nonsense before dropping off to sleep, I will read. Proper, papery, reeking of intellect books that will enrich my life and give me purpose. And the whole cosy-cup-of-tea-in-bed-with-a-book thing makes me feel infinitely more intelligent than my husband who prefers to play football manager in his pants. 

I haven't been able to put Clare's book down since I bought it a week ago. And without giving too much away, the pages document her journey of sobriety from day one through to 365 (I think, I'm currently on day 270 something). It's Christmas day and Clare is at church with her daughter. She's debating taking the communion wine and that's all I'll say as I don't want to be sued for copyright or anything! But if you're new to sobriety or simply enjoy reading other people's accounts of it (I can't get enough) then buy Clare's book and check out her blog Mummy was a Secret Drinker. Both sources have really helped me through some dark days.

Anyway, deciding to put the book down after reading about communion wine turned me into a crazy person last night. And I had two, very vivid dreams. The first was about cheese. My mum and I were eating blocks of it in my kitchen and it was laced with black pepper. It was some new peppery cheddar hybrid and she told me to tell me brother as he loves peppery cheese (?!) Is peppery cheddar even a thing? If not maybe it should be, it tasted really good in my dream! My kitchen cupboards were made out of the same cheese and my mum was also dressed as a mouse. Okurrrrrrrr.......

And the second dream felt like it was happening on an entirely different day. Rob and I were in our kitchen (no cheese this time) and I was perched on the work surface drinking a huge glass of red wine like I used to. He was asking me why I'd given in as I was doing so well, and I told him that it was communion wine and that it's OK as Clare 'drank it'. He then asked how I got it and I confessed I'd stolen it from our local church (the same one we got married in), so he called Father Richard and said I'd broken in and the next thing I knew I was being carted off by the fuzz in the back of a police car! Rob was shaking his head in disappointment as the sirens took me away.

All very odd, and not the first time I've dreamt about booze, but this morning I felt absolutely rotten, like I'd had a bottle of the stuff. I woke up at 6.00 a.m. with a hot foggy head and was gasping for water.

I've been doing some reading today and apparently there are a variety of reasons why addicts will experience drunk dreams even though they're ecstatic about their recovery success. So it seems my necking red wine was inspired by events that had happened to me that day. Yup. A trigger.

But instead of feeling like 'Oooooh, that tasted good. You enjoyed that didn't you? Why not have a drink tonight, it's Friday after all' I felt very uncomfortable and panicky - like I'd let myself down and I'd been stripped of my purpose.

My biggest fear at the moment is actually drinking accidentally. Halfway through our holiday I left Rob at the hotel bar to order a nightcap while I nipped to the ladies. When I came back he handed me my sparkling water and I went to take a sip. It occurred to me that the glass was half full and very flat. So I sniffed it and went wide-eyed - like...terrified Ainsley Harriet wide-eyed - when I realised it was alcohol. By complete accident Rob had poured his mixer into the empty glass reserved for my sparkling water and gave me his double Bacardi. The fool was drunk and got his glassware confused. We laughed it off but my gut was doing somersaults. What if I had necked it? After all I was super thirsty - it would have been a large gulp! Would I have stopped there? As I'm yet to disclose my full dependency to Rob I couldn't point out just how big a deal that could have been for me. So when my water actually arrived I smelt it, hard, finished it very quickly and ran away to bed to be away from the temptation.

So, constant fear of accidentally tasting booze and slipping back into my old ways is very much part of my day-to-days now. And of course, reading about wine and tales of drunk behaviour before bed is pretty much gold dust for Blix, worming his way into my dreams and playing with my insecurities like a master puppeteer. Hopefully, and in the not too distant future, Blix will be too weak play. Clare writes about her voice, the wine witch, becoming frail and comatose over time. I'm too excited for that day to land and will try my bloody best to get there.

And as I haven't been able to stop thinking about peppery cheese since waking up I am absolutely going on a cheese hunt today and may even treat myself to shopping at the Windsor Farm Shop on my way home from work. Posh cheese sounds like a very fair reward which I will enjoy with some alcohol-free red wine left over from last week's dinner party :) Dine out on that, Blix, you whopping creep.

Day 58: Thank God for DIY.

I never thought I'd say this but I am so, so grateful to live in a shit hole at the moment. Let me explain why.

In September 2017 my husband and I bought a house which essentially needed bulldozing. The sizeable bungalow used to be a property filled with bedsits for lodgers and having failed to sell at auction (even property developers didn't want to touch the thing) we snapped it up as our 'forever home' project. Potential/location blah blah blah. 

Having gutted half the house over Christmas and New Year we're now living in a sort of semi-finished shell with beautifully decorated rooms together with random stud walls and the unfortunate remains of the original squatters den. My dad calls the hallway toilet the 'Trainspotting bog', and yes it really is that vile. I assume he calls it that from its appearance in the movie however I imagine he's attempted to climb down it while wasted at some stage. Both my parents are heavy drinkers but my dad is a different breed entirely. The man drinks like a fish yet has never had a hangover in his life. A medical miracle defying the odds of science. A human cat with never ending lives. A total liability yet devastatingly lovable. A man who buys a limited edition Jaguar for his 60th yet doesn't have a pension. 

So yes, the house is going to keep us occupied for a number of years as we don't have the money to do it all in one go but as of late we've had a burst of progress and I *finally* have a new room to decorate, hurrah!

This one is special too as it's going to be my very own space of serenity. For the first time in my life I will have a proper grown up office and I'm insanely excited about it.

The reason why I'm thankful for living in a tip is that it gives me something to do. Despite juggling a busy work and social life I am finding it incredibly hard to spend time at home and not drink. For so many years my home has been my refuge, my base camp, my hidey hole. A place for me to stash booze and guzzle as much of it as I liked - with no one watching and casting a judging eye. 

Even when Rob and I would stay in and drink 'together' I was still able to put away more than he ever realised. In my final months of fuckwitery I had resorted to only buying white wine in green or brown bottles so that I could leave them half full in the fridge door...of water, not wine. Thing is I'd neck all the wine in one sitting - likely starting on a Tuesday - and top up the finished bottle so it would only look like I'd had two glasses. I'd then pour a little bit down the sink every other night until the weekend so I looked like a sensible, respectable and controlled drinker.  

Rob only drinks beer and has always hated wine (he doesn't even like smelling it), so he never cottoned onto my brazen stunt which disguised the fact I was swigging from warm bottles I'd hid at the back of a disused cupboard Wednesday to Friday. He once queried where a jar of Moonshine (a novelty purchase from the States) had gone and I told him I was having a burn up of old wood in the garden and needed it for lighter fuel (OK Bear Grylls). In real life I had buried the bottle in the bin a few weeks prior as I found the 60% proof substance mixed very well with slimline tonic and got me sloshed very quickly. 

I digress. But yeah, my home has always had my back when it comes to drinking. "Look, Em, a dark and disused cupboard that would be perfect for stashing a few bottles. Rob will never know!". If Blix, my inner booze demon, didn't live in my head he'd definitely be at home in the trainspotting loo. 

So now the option to slump on the sofa with a larger than large glass of Sauvignon Blanc is no longer available I'm desperately trying to fill my time with distractions. 

As I settle deeper into sobriety at 58 days sober I'm realising that my hands need to stay busy. Be it blogging, cleaning, eating (eeeesh, so much eating), I can't possibly let my hand rest on the fridge and reach for one of Rob's beers (they still occupy the entire lower chiller compartment and I'm considering asking him to banish them to the garage fridge as I find myself staring at them. A lot).

But now we have a new room to decorate and I'm buzzing. In February when I last decorated I hated every minute of it. The dust from sanding would get in my wine glass, the paint would clog up my nails which would look gross on a night out - gripped around my wine glass - and evenings spent doing DIY would inevitably chip in to pub time. Now it's a different story. 

I can take my time over the sanding, ensuring the base coat is perfectly smooth and really drag out the fiddly yet therapeutic process - knowing every minute I spend focusing on improving my home is another side-step away from drunk old Em on the sofa.  

Yes the house has a bloody long way to go but I'm so grateful it's giving me things to do as opposed to being perfect and clean and tempting to drink in. Don't get me wrong, I'd love for the bastard to be finished (!) but instead of viewing the renovations as an inconvenience I'm going to embrace them as a very welcome distraction from the wine witch.

And I can't think of anything better than squirrelling away in my cosy new nook - documenting my sobriety within freshly painted walls (I've always loved the smell) and googling countless stories about recovery and self-help (yes I am absolutely obsessed with other people's journeys and reading at the moment)!

Before we started to turn the room into an office it was an ex-lodgers manky wet room, covered in mould, damp and other horrific remnants that I'd rather not think about. Ewwww. The tiles would squish down into rotten floorboards as you stepped on them and the toilet was practically falling off the wall. If old drunk Em was a room in our house she would have been this wet room. Ruined by years of neglect and cracking under the slightest bit of pressure. State of her!

Now the space is being transformed into a haven of productivity and good energy at exactly the same time as I decide to go sober. Coincidence, non?! I think so :)     

A song for my sobriety.

I've been battling a headache for the past three days now and I finally woke up this morning with a clear-ish head. Yet as I approach day 60 of sobriety I'm actually feeling worse than ever. Since day 50 I've been plagued with headaches and I swear I've woken up on a few occasions feeling hungover. Why is that?

My mood hasn't been great as of late but something cheered me up this morning and I feel compelled to share it with you.

I was driving to work stuck in traffic on the M4 and a song came on the radio which really spoke to me. I'm not sure why, but I started listening to this song from the first word (usually I just drive in autopilot and can't recall anything played on Radio 1 for the whole journey) and the lyrics couldn't have been more appropriate for my mood, and how I desperately want to be set free from my dependence on alcohol.

The song is called Send Them Off by Bastille, and here are the words:

I've got demons running round in my head
And they feed on insecurities I have
Won't you lay your healing hands on my chest?
Let your ritual clean

Soak the ropes with your holy water
Tie me down as you read out the words

Set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind

Desdemona, won't you liberate me?
When I'm haunted by your ancient history
Close these green eyes and watch over as I sleep
Through my darkest of dreams

Be the power to compel me
Hold me closer than anyone before

Set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind

I should be thinking 'bout nothing else when I'm with you ooh
With you ooh, oh oh oh
I should be thinking 'bout nothing else when I'm with you ooh
With you ooh, oh oh oh

Your mind exists somewhere altogether different
It lives in a world where feelings simply cannot be defined by words

Oh set me free from my jealousy
Won't you exorcise my mind?
Won't you exorcise my mind?
I want to be free as I'll ever be
Exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Help me exorcise my mind
Won't you exorcise my mind?

Aside from being an absolute banger I couldn't help but relate to the words, as if I'm singing to be released from my drink demons and desperately trying remain focussed on sobriety. And it's true. As a sober person I should be thinking about nothing else except being new and shiny and sober but it's not that easy, and my thoughts keep bringing me back to just one drink or a little beer wont hurt, drink it!

Towards the end of the song I end up getting a little teary. I have no idea why but it's not the first time I've randomly burst into tears since becoming sober (and I've always been a crier in truth). I once balled my eyes out to an old Bodyform advert which showed women off rock climbing and being all active and inspirational. I was on my period at the time and the big woah Bodyform scream set me right off.

So I attribute the wobbly chin to feeling a little overwhelmed (in a good way), and also decide the lead singer of Bastille secretly loves me and has released a song in my honour. 

As I pull into the office the next song to play is Hysteria by Muse, so now I'm half expecting Greg James to announce today's playlist is dedicated to early sobriety! Pop on Wait and Bleed by Slipknot Greggy then you'll really be onto something. 

Booze, I want a divorce.

So I've already posted a few early blogs but I'd like to say thanks for stopping by, chance or by choice. My name is Em but I'm blogging as 'Sober Symposium' for now. As I'm new to sobriety I'm taking every day as it comes and doing what feels comfortable (and remaining totally anonymous for now certainly does)! 

I'm on insta too @sobersymposium which is a prettier version of this blog no doubt!

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I'm on the path of (to?) sobriety at the overdue age of 31. Having endured too many hangovers, blackouts and face-melting embarrassing moments, I've decided to bin the gin and take a permanent break from booze. Today I'm on day 57. 

I live just outside of London with my wonderful husband of three years, and don't get me wrong they have been the happiest years of my life...but the darkest and most disappointing too. As my dependence on alcohol has grown my behaviour and personality is changing for the worse, and I'm worried that unless I separate myself from booze I may be facing an actual divorce in the not-too-distant future. 

I know this journey isn't going to be easy as I've been solidly drinking since I was 14, when getting hammered on four WKD Blues in the park on a Friday night was living. But now, as I write this sat at my dining room table with a raging headache and staring at a 2L bottle of sparkling water I know it needs to happen.  

As the days go on I'll update on my milestones, conquests and of course pitfalls - there will no doubt be many as I bimble my way through my new (and currently secret) marriage to sobriety. Yep, my nearest and dearest are yet to find out my real reasons for abstaining, however most just assume I'm pregnant which I was prepared for. Three years married, no kids and taking a 'break' from booze immediately equals raised eyebrows and 'bun-in-oven' whispers. I do want kids but I'm not quite ready for them yet. At the moment all that matters is making my new business a success which is a joke really as nothing has taken priority over wine since I can remember.   

I'll also be talking about previous experiences and my behaviour when drinking. I've never done this before but feel a comparison between then and now will help me to put my progress into perspective. Also I'm just going to talk about stuff as and when I feel like it. No agenda, just me. 

So here I go. Talking to you, the digital universe about my divorce from alcohol. Thank you in advance for being my therapy, and if anyone is in the same or similar situation I hope we can obliterate the booze demons together, and for good.