I endured a really testing telephone conversation last night and need to vent about it.
This coming Saturday I have my cousin's hen party in Windsor and since becoming a non-drinker getting from A to B has become SO much easier. No more relying on expensive taxis or roping in friends or family for lift favours - I'm completely independent and when plans pop up that involve a bit of driving I know I'm sorted.
It genuinely feels like having a super power - Logistics Girl!
So as I'm now so capable and useful I try to help others as much as I can. If we're venturing into town to meet friends I'll let people know I'm driving. And usually my friends jump at the chance as it means more of them can have a drink.
And for real, I used to have our local taxi firm on speed dial as getting on the booze was always the priority. 'Oh hey Em, yeah sure we can get a car to you. Where you going this time.'
Yet despite loving my new found driving freedom I can still relate to my friends and family who drink. The perils of paying for costly cabs, endless calls chasing the whereabouts of a driver and unexplained delays. Even failure to show are just some of the stresses that come with the territory of drinking. Which is why I'm happy to chip in and buzz around the houses when I can.
I called my mum last night for a chat - nattering about Christmas plans and catching up on life in general. After we'd got the small talk out the way I broached my cousin's hen do and mentioned I was going to drive, and that I could help her with a lift as her house is on the way. She knows I haven't been drinking for a while but we haven't spoken about why. She's never asked.
I knew my announcement of driving would stimulate some sort of comment, but the response I received took me back a bit and the conversation led to me feeling hurt by her attitude toward my decision to not drink.
After she accepted my offer of a lift the question came. 'So how long are you going to do this for'. I replied 'Do what' so she continued. 'Well, this. This whole not drinking thing. What's it all about'. Her tone was huffy and jokey.
The first word that popped into my head was 'ignorance'. And tact. Lack of tact. It was as if I was undertaking some silly challenge or task which apparently inconvenienced her?
'I'm not quite sure I know the answer to that Mum, but drinking isn't really doing it for me any more and I'm simply taking a break.' That's as much as I could give her. But I embellished slightly to remain conversational.
'I just felt like I was drinking too much and nothing good was coming from it.'
But it was the next statement that started to make my blood temperature increase. Not boil, just an upping of heat that made me want to shut the conversation down quickly and firmly. I realised I was talking to someone, my own Mum, who had absolutely zero understanding of my situation and evidently her own.
'You weren't drinking in the week were you, Em? Oh you were? Hmm. Oh dear. I never drink in the week. Only as a treat at the weekends. Nope, never in the week. That's not good. I didn't realise you were that bad.'
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My mum was THE midweek drinker, and I know this because I lived with her for what, 18 years? My childhood was surrounded by alcoholic drinks being poured nightly. If my parents weren't enjoying a brandy or beer with dinner every.night.of.the.week something was wrong. Nothing would stop them from having a 'well needed' or 'deserved' drink.
Sure she may have cut back in recent years but I couldn't believe the patronisation. I really felt judged and for a split second angry. But then I remembered that people who drink, and typically defend or rationalise their behaviour, tend to be completely unaware of the amount they're actually consuming. My mum is that person. I just thought on this occasion she may have been more supportive.
Perhaps it's my fault that I haven't been more talkative about my sobriety but what am I supposed to do? Call every single one of my friends and family and have a lengthy discussion about my decision to not drink? Hold a press conference announcing my stepping down from boozing? That may work for some people but my approach has to be slow and steady. The approach that's right for me.
But it's moments like above, where my mum had the opportunity to ask questions and really get her head around my decision to stop drinking - which, by the way, is apparently a huge deal in my family (step-mum behaviour in my previous post) - that confirm my cautiousness is right and for a reason. So many people are brainwashed by the alcohol industry and instead of listening to your reasons why not to drink they take it as an opportunity to cast shame and judgement to protect their own insecurities.
Apparently now I've quit drinking it's cool to label me as a problem drinker? Not cool.
I quickly closed the conversation and felt really deflated by the whole thing. My mum and I aren't massively close but I just felt frustrated by her lack of empathy and support. And as I haven't told many people about my sobriety I'm now even more nervous about discussing it openly.
If I hadn't called her to offer a lift none of this would have happened! Lesson learned for next time. Perhaps offering to help people as a result of being sober is just asking for trouble.
Wednesday 31 October 2018
Tuesday 30 October 2018
The day I quit drinking
Given my hell raiser past, people’s interest in my non-drinking hasn’t come as a huge surprise. Comments during the first few months were always attached to pregnancy, with raised eyebrows or wry smiles surfacing when I talked (sparingly) about my choice to go sober.
People just didn’t believe that a piss head party girl like me could choose a life of sobriety over alcohol. I must have been pregnant. That was the only logical answer to my out of character behaviour, right?
People just didn’t believe that a piss head party girl like me could choose a life of sobriety over alcohol. I must have been pregnant. That was the only logical answer to my out of character behaviour, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
When I surpassed the 12 week sober mark peoples’ expressions began to change when I reinforced my alcohol free decision making. ‘Oh, you’re still not drinking? How long has it been now? Nearly four months? Crikey, what happened?’
And there it is. The new question that replaces the pregnancy whispers. The ‘what happened’. As if I would begin to out-pour some horrific drunk scandal because people like me just don't 'choose' to be sober.
When I surpassed the 12 week sober mark peoples’ expressions began to change when I reinforced my alcohol free decision making. ‘Oh, you’re still not drinking? How long has it been now? Nearly four months? Crikey, what happened?’
And there it is. The new question that replaces the pregnancy whispers. The ‘what happened’. As if I would begin to out-pour some horrific drunk scandal because people like me just don't 'choose' to be sober.
Well actually that's exactly what I did. On Sunday, 8th July 2018 I decided enough was enough. I couldn't do it any more and didn't want to tolerate a life controlled by booze. So I made a pact with myself to quit. It really was that simple.
This decision came after one of the filthiest weekends I'd endured in a long while. And by filthy I mean alcohol, cigarettes and junk food. The lot. One of my oldest and booziest friends was getting married, so on Friday, 6th July 2018 we beetled off to Brighton for two days of hysterical hen party fun, amazing activities and of course, an abundance of booze.
I can't possibly count how many units of alcohol went in me that weekend. But we started at 11.30 a.m. on the Friday and I drank solidly until 4.00 a.m. on Sunday morning. The bride-to-be had to drag me to bed as we had to be up in a few hours to catch the train home. Safe to say the 9.00 a.m. wake up call was hell.
My body ached all over and my lungs were shrivelled from chain smoking. Up until this year I was always someone who could take or leave cigarettes. I smoked at Uni and throughout the whole of my twenties continued to dip in and out when drunk. It only took two glasses of wine to make me crave a smoke, and before I quit booze my smoking had rapidly increased to secretive daily puffs. I'd sneak off and smoke cigarettes during the week and plough through packs of 20 on Friday and Saturday nights. I must have smoked over...60 cigarettes in Brighton? I genuinely felt like I was close to hospitalisation.
My body ached all over and my lungs were shrivelled from chain smoking. Up until this year I was always someone who could take or leave cigarettes. I smoked at Uni and throughout the whole of my twenties continued to dip in and out when drunk. It only took two glasses of wine to make me crave a smoke, and before I quit booze my smoking had rapidly increased to secretive daily puffs. I'd sneak off and smoke cigarettes during the week and plough through packs of 20 on Friday and Saturday nights. I must have smoked over...60 cigarettes in Brighton? I genuinely felt like I was close to hospitalisation.
So waking up to a screaming headache, battered kidneys and razor blade lungs saw me leave the hen party a broken woman. I was still hammered and looked horrific. All I needed was to be on the train home - I couldn't stand to be seen in the light of day and my legs could barley hold me.
We got to the station and due to technical problems the trains weren't running. Kill me. So we were shoehorned onto a bus replacement service and at 12.00 p.m. the temperature was showing 28 degrees. We were sat on fuzzy seats in a bus with no air conditioning or windows that could open. I took a selfie and sent it to my friends complaining of the world's worst hangover and appearance from hell. Maybe one day I'll pluck up the courage to post it - but my youthful face and good makeup had been replaced by a puffy, spotty faced hag. I was sweating profusely and felt like I was suffocating.
Everything seemed to be piling on top of me that day and I wanted to scream. I hated myself and I hated everything about my situation.
We got to the station and due to technical problems the trains weren't running. Kill me. So we were shoehorned onto a bus replacement service and at 12.00 p.m. the temperature was showing 28 degrees. We were sat on fuzzy seats in a bus with no air conditioning or windows that could open. I took a selfie and sent it to my friends complaining of the world's worst hangover and appearance from hell. Maybe one day I'll pluck up the courage to post it - but my youthful face and good makeup had been replaced by a puffy, spotty faced hag. I was sweating profusely and felt like I was suffocating.
Everything seemed to be piling on top of me that day and I wanted to scream. I hated myself and I hated everything about my situation.
It was only until I made the journey home, crawled into the living room and inhaled a Dominoes Pizza that I decided enough was enough. I felt fat and polluted. My athletic 5'3 frame had inflated to 10 stone of wine belly. I took myself into my bedroom, stripped off and just stared at myself. I hated everything I had become and launched my body into the shower. No more abuse, no more booze. I decided there and then to wash the alcohol off of my skin and out of my life. I was done. I wasn't its puppet any more.
At 6.00 p.m. I was already craving a cold Corona to ease the hangover but I ignored the voice in my head, which I've now named Blix, my booze demon, and drank tea instead. I was withdrawn and miserable but my body was too sore and weak to argue. During the year I had collected a number of rock bottom moments that subsequently evolved into a 'fuck this shit' protest. Multiple black outs, endless looks of judgement from Rob in the morning, compromising and out-of-character decisions, smoking, slurring, zombie eyes, face-melting embarrassing behaviour.
I'd downed tools and stopped playing ball. As Allen Carr says in his book 'Stop Drinking Now', I'd had my last drink and immediately became free. I'd crawled out of the trap that I'd been stuck in for so long.
So what is an 'addict'? Someone who reaches for booze first thing in the morning? Someone who fills their water bottle with Vodka to get through the day? A person who can only calm their shakes by taking an alcoholic drink? An old man who passes out on a park bench at night clutching a bottle of Cider?
That's what I used to think, but actually it's me. And you, and millions of people on this planet who are struggling to cope with the effects of alcohol but continue to put up with the bullshit because they feel ashamed or stupid for fighting the system. A drug that is so socially acceptable, so widely forced on society yet is one of the most harmful and damaging poisons thrown down the necks of educated and normal people - like you, me, our family, friends and loved ones - who still view it as something positive, endearing and necessary.
In my opinion you don't have to be reaching for the bottle at 8.00 a.m. to identify as a problem drinker. If YOU think your drinking is starting to hold you back - in any way shape or form - then you absolutely have to do something about it. I'd been trying to cut back for years and failed, and before I knew it my consumption was worse than ever and I was completely dependent. This is the alcohol I know and choose never to know again.
Everything wrong, or going wrong, in my life stemmed from booze and it's life-ruining side effects - so I decided to quit - there and then - and it's been the best decision I have ever made.
That's what I used to think, but actually it's me. And you, and millions of people on this planet who are struggling to cope with the effects of alcohol but continue to put up with the bullshit because they feel ashamed or stupid for fighting the system. A drug that is so socially acceptable, so widely forced on society yet is one of the most harmful and damaging poisons thrown down the necks of educated and normal people - like you, me, our family, friends and loved ones - who still view it as something positive, endearing and necessary.
In my opinion you don't have to be reaching for the bottle at 8.00 a.m. to identify as a problem drinker. If YOU think your drinking is starting to hold you back - in any way shape or form - then you absolutely have to do something about it. I'd been trying to cut back for years and failed, and before I knew it my consumption was worse than ever and I was completely dependent. This is the alcohol I know and choose never to know again.
Everything wrong, or going wrong, in my life stemmed from booze and it's life-ruining side effects - so I decided to quit - there and then - and it's been the best decision I have ever made.
Monday 29 October 2018
Funerals and cancelled plans
On Friday, 26th October we said goodbye to my Nan at the Forest of Dean Crematorium. It felt like a long time coming and huge relief once over as we'd been waiting for this day for almost five weeks since her passing.
For the whole of this month I've felt unsettled, restless and drained - knowing my Nan is cold, still and just...lying there I guess. I know I paint a really morbid picture here but waiting for a funeral is the shittest thing ever.
I put myself forward to drive as the service was in Hereford, approximately two and a half hours from our home, which I felt was the obvious thing to do given my recent shunning of alcohol. We were offered a room at a local hotel...but a part of me felt like this could encourage some bad and out-of-character behaviour given the circumstances.
Although I feel so strongly about my decision to become a non-drinker being 100% the right one, I am always nervous about dealing with new and unfamiliar situations that may lead to increased stress and momentary weakness.
Like going on holiday for the first time...Jeeze! I couldn't stop freaking out over the impending situation and morphed into the tightest ball of bad energy and self loathing. If you fancy a read part one of two is here.
And the time one of my best friends flew back from Canada to celebrate her 30th birthday and I showed up to the bar clutching my car keys and crying hysterically. OK, so that didn't happen, but I pretty much felt like this on the inside. Up until this point (her birthday was only a few weeks back) I had avoided the Saturday night bar scene like the plague. Not that I'm out clubbing every weekend, but invites centred on extensive cocktail menus, loud music and obnoxious drunk people have been screwed up and set fire to with a match since I stopped drinking. I made the effort on this occasion but took serious joy in leaving the party.
So a funeral falls into this bracket of 'first time' events, and a fear of the unknown washed over me - actually no, crashed over me - as I made the lengthy drive to the ceremony. I knew that refusing the hotel room was the best decision I could have made. It eliminated any possibility of me being coerced into 'just one' to celebrate Nan's life, or a glass of red to relieve the stress and pain of her passing. If I removed my responsibility to drive home I would have been open to unnecessary pressure.
As a result of not drinking the day was far more successful than I ever imagined. I stayed in control of my emotions, I embraced family members with genuine compassion and enjoyed introductions to twice-removed cousins and long lost Aunts. I even managed to avoid an argument with Rob which would have erupted should I have been five glasses of vino in.
The day was just better. Infinitely better than an afternoon fuelled by booze and hate.
On the drive home I did feel slightly drained and wanted nothing more than to sit in silence and reflect on the sadness that absolutely was, but my Bro and Aunt had hopped in for a lift so we chatted more about my Nan's life and it helped to pass the time. Knowing that I'd be returning home to good sleep and a fresh head in the morning was everything I needed.
The next day Rob and I had plans to meet up with his friend and girlfriend for dinner in the evening. They're a lovely couple but sometimes I feel that socialising on a weekend, sans booze, can really feel unnatural, hard and just...shit. However I'm typically one of those people that hate hate hate cancelling so will usually put up with situations just to remain a good and reliable person.
Yet this weekend was different, and I decided (for once) to share how I felt with Rob - that socialising with his friends was the last thing I wanted to do - or felt capable of doing - given the funeral compounding my stress and anxiety levels. Luckily he didn't push back and we spent the night at the cinema instead, sat in silence watching a film which required little to no attention span which was utterly ideal for my fragile state of mind. It was bliss. And I'm so glad I said something as opposed to going with the flow.
At 113 days sober I'm learning that sobriety is mine, and yours, and absolutely no one else's - so never put yourself in a situation whereby you're pleasing others just for the sake of being a 'good' person. Sure, some days you'll have to put in a shift, but if you need to turn down a hotel room so you can exit an event early, or cancel boozy dinners with acquaintances that will make you feel inadequate then just do it.
Life is hard, but with alcohol it's so much harder. I'm so grateful for my sobriety this weekend, it's really pulled me through and I feel infinitely better for it.
For the whole of this month I've felt unsettled, restless and drained - knowing my Nan is cold, still and just...lying there I guess. I know I paint a really morbid picture here but waiting for a funeral is the shittest thing ever.
I put myself forward to drive as the service was in Hereford, approximately two and a half hours from our home, which I felt was the obvious thing to do given my recent shunning of alcohol. We were offered a room at a local hotel...but a part of me felt like this could encourage some bad and out-of-character behaviour given the circumstances.
Although I feel so strongly about my decision to become a non-drinker being 100% the right one, I am always nervous about dealing with new and unfamiliar situations that may lead to increased stress and momentary weakness.
Like going on holiday for the first time...Jeeze! I couldn't stop freaking out over the impending situation and morphed into the tightest ball of bad energy and self loathing. If you fancy a read part one of two is here.
And the time one of my best friends flew back from Canada to celebrate her 30th birthday and I showed up to the bar clutching my car keys and crying hysterically. OK, so that didn't happen, but I pretty much felt like this on the inside. Up until this point (her birthday was only a few weeks back) I had avoided the Saturday night bar scene like the plague. Not that I'm out clubbing every weekend, but invites centred on extensive cocktail menus, loud music and obnoxious drunk people have been screwed up and set fire to with a match since I stopped drinking. I made the effort on this occasion but took serious joy in leaving the party.
So a funeral falls into this bracket of 'first time' events, and a fear of the unknown washed over me - actually no, crashed over me - as I made the lengthy drive to the ceremony. I knew that refusing the hotel room was the best decision I could have made. It eliminated any possibility of me being coerced into 'just one' to celebrate Nan's life, or a glass of red to relieve the stress and pain of her passing. If I removed my responsibility to drive home I would have been open to unnecessary pressure.
As a result of not drinking the day was far more successful than I ever imagined. I stayed in control of my emotions, I embraced family members with genuine compassion and enjoyed introductions to twice-removed cousins and long lost Aunts. I even managed to avoid an argument with Rob which would have erupted should I have been five glasses of vino in.
The day was just better. Infinitely better than an afternoon fuelled by booze and hate.
On the drive home I did feel slightly drained and wanted nothing more than to sit in silence and reflect on the sadness that absolutely was, but my Bro and Aunt had hopped in for a lift so we chatted more about my Nan's life and it helped to pass the time. Knowing that I'd be returning home to good sleep and a fresh head in the morning was everything I needed.
The next day Rob and I had plans to meet up with his friend and girlfriend for dinner in the evening. They're a lovely couple but sometimes I feel that socialising on a weekend, sans booze, can really feel unnatural, hard and just...shit. However I'm typically one of those people that hate hate hate cancelling so will usually put up with situations just to remain a good and reliable person.
Yet this weekend was different, and I decided (for once) to share how I felt with Rob - that socialising with his friends was the last thing I wanted to do - or felt capable of doing - given the funeral compounding my stress and anxiety levels. Luckily he didn't push back and we spent the night at the cinema instead, sat in silence watching a film which required little to no attention span which was utterly ideal for my fragile state of mind. It was bliss. And I'm so glad I said something as opposed to going with the flow.
At 113 days sober I'm learning that sobriety is mine, and yours, and absolutely no one else's - so never put yourself in a situation whereby you're pleasing others just for the sake of being a 'good' person. Sure, some days you'll have to put in a shift, but if you need to turn down a hotel room so you can exit an event early, or cancel boozy dinners with acquaintances that will make you feel inadequate then just do it.
Life is hard, but with alcohol it's so much harder. I'm so grateful for my sobriety this weekend, it's really pulled me through and I feel infinitely better for it.
Tuesday 23 October 2018
Moderation doesn't exist
So I'm just over half way through Allen Carr's 'Stop Drinking Now' book and I'm kind of enjoying it and I guess not enjoying it. It's repetitive in parts, which I know is for a reason, and slightly...mysterious in others i.e. 'keep reading and you'll find out why...' Again, I can only assume this is part of the book's appeal. I just want the answers now, gimme!
But I'm continuing to read and follow Allen's advice, and one thing I am hugely grateful for is the book stamping out, in perfect English, just why drinking in moderation is not an option. Up until now I haven't really been able to put into words why I can't have 'just one or two', but this book smashes it and the analogies are spot on.
It's the question I get asked the most by friends and family. 'So this whole not drinking thing...it's not permanent is it? I mean, you'll drink again...surely?' My Step Mum said these exact words to me on Saturday when I told her I was fast approaching four months sober. And she genuinely looked worried for me. Deeply concerned that my life may never include an alcoholic beverage ever again.
She asked me this at a big family gathering I attended at the weekend. Every year my Uncle takes a large box at Ascot races and entertains corporate clients, business associates, close friends and family. It's a spectacular day that I've attended for the past six-or-so years now.
The year before last was probably the most drunk I've ever been around this side of my family (Rob's side have seen me much, much worse a few Christmas' ago). I made sure I took advantage of the free bar and didn't go home when I should have. After the races we went to the pub where I continued to drink, in the company of my much-less-pissed family, and blacked out in the taxi home with zero memory of the evening. The next time I saw my Uncle he discreetly told me I had one too many and that I embarrassed myself in front of one of his business associates. Still to this day I don't know what I did...but for my Uncle to mention it...it must have been inappropriate.
Being told I'd done something embarrassing while drunk with zero recollection of doing it. Story of my fucking life.
So last year I took note and managed to behave, but that's only because it was my friend's birthday party the same night and I didn't want to turn up wasted. So I paced myself at the races, graciously leaving in a taxi at 6.00 p.m. to journey to the local golf club. Fast forward to 11.00 p.m. and I was legless. The pressure of holding it 'together' during the day had turned me into a ticking time bomb, and depriving myself of alcohol at the races had only made me want it more that same evening. So I arrived in fifth, no actually sixth gear, and annihilated roughly three bottles of prosecco and however many cocktails. Rob didn't speak to me the next day and never told me why he was upset with me. 'I don't want to talk about it, Em. You clearly have no memory of what you said, so let's just leave it at that and not fall out again'.
I've never really understood why I can't 'moderate'. It's a word I've been struggling to get to grips with for years and only now, while reading Allen's book, am I understanding why this word isn't part of my language. It's because it's a myth.
Truth is, 'moderating' my alcohol intake - something I've tried to do many times in the past - has only lead to me feeling miserable, hard done by, punished and withdrawn. The fact that alcohol was still an option, yet I wasn't allowed it all the time, turned me into a crazy person without me even realising it. All my friends can moderate, why can't I!!
My often recycled detox would be to quit midweek and select only one night at the weekend where I was allowed to drink. As Rob and I lead such busy social lives I thought a one-night-a-week policy would be bullet proof. And of course, it wasn't.
The night I'd allow myself to drink would regularly evolve into an all day drinking session, with a hair of the dog (or 6) thrown in the next day to help me get over the previous night's events. Then, because I'd allow the booze, I'd let it seep back in to my routine slowly but surely. Like a deceitful lover I couldn't get rid of. The alcohol would be back and this time with a vengeance.
If booze remains an option I will always fail.
So as my Step Mum quizzed my sobriety I didn't offer a definite 'Yep, I'm sober, no more booze for me' response, but instead shrugged my shoulders, like I always do, and delivered an ambiguous 'not sure if I'm honest'.
Her eyes remained panicked and for a split second I thought I had grown two heads...but we soon talked about other things and quickly forgot about my sobriety.
Allen's book is essentially two fingers up to moderation and that's why I'm enjoying it so much. And the parts I'm not enjoying are only due to me being a petulant child wanting results now now now. I've always felt like I couldn't understand moderation as a 'thing', no matter how hard I tried I was just a hopeless mess addicted to booze that was never going to experience the holy grail of it.
But now I can see that it was never an option to begin with - I was simply missing the blaringly obvious choice of sobriety and now, finally, it feels like I'm starting to make the right choices.
But I'm continuing to read and follow Allen's advice, and one thing I am hugely grateful for is the book stamping out, in perfect English, just why drinking in moderation is not an option. Up until now I haven't really been able to put into words why I can't have 'just one or two', but this book smashes it and the analogies are spot on.
It's the question I get asked the most by friends and family. 'So this whole not drinking thing...it's not permanent is it? I mean, you'll drink again...surely?' My Step Mum said these exact words to me on Saturday when I told her I was fast approaching four months sober. And she genuinely looked worried for me. Deeply concerned that my life may never include an alcoholic beverage ever again.
She asked me this at a big family gathering I attended at the weekend. Every year my Uncle takes a large box at Ascot races and entertains corporate clients, business associates, close friends and family. It's a spectacular day that I've attended for the past six-or-so years now.
The year before last was probably the most drunk I've ever been around this side of my family (Rob's side have seen me much, much worse a few Christmas' ago). I made sure I took advantage of the free bar and didn't go home when I should have. After the races we went to the pub where I continued to drink, in the company of my much-less-pissed family, and blacked out in the taxi home with zero memory of the evening. The next time I saw my Uncle he discreetly told me I had one too many and that I embarrassed myself in front of one of his business associates. Still to this day I don't know what I did...but for my Uncle to mention it...it must have been inappropriate.
Being told I'd done something embarrassing while drunk with zero recollection of doing it. Story of my fucking life.
So last year I took note and managed to behave, but that's only because it was my friend's birthday party the same night and I didn't want to turn up wasted. So I paced myself at the races, graciously leaving in a taxi at 6.00 p.m. to journey to the local golf club. Fast forward to 11.00 p.m. and I was legless. The pressure of holding it 'together' during the day had turned me into a ticking time bomb, and depriving myself of alcohol at the races had only made me want it more that same evening. So I arrived in fifth, no actually sixth gear, and annihilated roughly three bottles of prosecco and however many cocktails. Rob didn't speak to me the next day and never told me why he was upset with me. 'I don't want to talk about it, Em. You clearly have no memory of what you said, so let's just leave it at that and not fall out again'.
I've never really understood why I can't 'moderate'. It's a word I've been struggling to get to grips with for years and only now, while reading Allen's book, am I understanding why this word isn't part of my language. It's because it's a myth.
Truth is, 'moderating' my alcohol intake - something I've tried to do many times in the past - has only lead to me feeling miserable, hard done by, punished and withdrawn. The fact that alcohol was still an option, yet I wasn't allowed it all the time, turned me into a crazy person without me even realising it. All my friends can moderate, why can't I!!
My often recycled detox would be to quit midweek and select only one night at the weekend where I was allowed to drink. As Rob and I lead such busy social lives I thought a one-night-a-week policy would be bullet proof. And of course, it wasn't.
The night I'd allow myself to drink would regularly evolve into an all day drinking session, with a hair of the dog (or 6) thrown in the next day to help me get over the previous night's events. Then, because I'd allow the booze, I'd let it seep back in to my routine slowly but surely. Like a deceitful lover I couldn't get rid of. The alcohol would be back and this time with a vengeance.
If booze remains an option I will always fail.
So as my Step Mum quizzed my sobriety I didn't offer a definite 'Yep, I'm sober, no more booze for me' response, but instead shrugged my shoulders, like I always do, and delivered an ambiguous 'not sure if I'm honest'.
Her eyes remained panicked and for a split second I thought I had grown two heads...but we soon talked about other things and quickly forgot about my sobriety.
Allen's book is essentially two fingers up to moderation and that's why I'm enjoying it so much. And the parts I'm not enjoying are only due to me being a petulant child wanting results now now now. I've always felt like I couldn't understand moderation as a 'thing', no matter how hard I tried I was just a hopeless mess addicted to booze that was never going to experience the holy grail of it.
But now I can see that it was never an option to begin with - I was simply missing the blaringly obvious choice of sobriety and now, finally, it feels like I'm starting to make the right choices.
Monday 15 October 2018
Day 100 - No pink clouds today
It's been roughly 3.3 months, or 14.2 weeks, or 100 days (if we're aiming for a sexy round number) since I've had an alcoholic drink. How do I feel.... well the truth is I feel weird. I thought I'd be bursting with pride writing this but I'm not. I don't feel proud. I actually feel quite sad and conflicted.
Wow...boozy old me...100 days?! Who'd 'a thunk it! I thought I'd be shouting these words from the rooftops - beaming with happiness as I click my heels mid-jump. Instead I feel kind of....meh. My pink clouds haven't arrived and I'm finding day 100 quite miserable really.
When I started my journey into sobriety I read and researched like a crazed librarian. Punching phrases into Google that would take me to articles and blogs crammed full of inspiration and you-can-do-it-fist-bumping mantras. Cartoon Em would be producing steam from her information-obsessed tappy fingers on the keyboard. I was excited for the benefits yet naïve to think quitting booze would be breezy.
When I completed the internet (I actually think I did) I moved onto books and tucked a few titles under my belt that I thought I would relate to the most. Catherine Grey's The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober got me through my first booze-free holiday around the 43-day-sober mark, and is written by a woman who was on the verge of losing it all from her alcohol dependence.
Clare Pooley's The Sober Diaries was a softer read yet made me feel reassured that I wasn't the only one choosing to pour red wine into a china mug to disguise my drinking of it at 11.00 a.m. Clare's book gave me warm soothing hugs on the dark days yet I felt my drinking and behaviours were a lot more...hard core.
Yet still, with every page I read I couldn't help but give myself a hard time (something I'm still obviously doing). I was a newbie to this sober malarkey. Someone who has repeated form for caving and celebrating a short-lived detox with a whopping great big glass of wine.
In truth, I didn't really feel worthy of being in club sober, but in the early days a tiny voice inside said 'go easy, Em, no pressure.' So I continued to press my nose against the window of sobriety and stare in. Day in, day out. Looking back, did I even want to be in this club? Maybe that's the issue.
Since quitting booze my anxiety has been a complex bugger to deal with. Blix, my booze demon, on at me constantly - scratching away at my drinking scabs which are desperately trying to heal. Everything is still very raw, but aside from being a lovely big number - 100 days sober feels little more than a scary reality check. Today there are no pink clouds. Today they are black and crammed full of rain.
There have been really significant wins along the way, mind - like my first sober wedding, first sober dinner party (oh how I hate them), first sober night out for a friend's birthday. To someone in control of their drinking these achievements seem trivial, but to me they're riddled with doubt and temptation. Alcohol is a drug and people are addicted to it. That's what drugs do. They ruin lives and the majority of people on drugs can't cope. So hey, being in a room littered with drugs and saying 'no thanks' when everyone's doing them is a pretty big deal.
Since giving up drinking on July 8th, which technically marked the start of a very busy summer for me, I haven't given myself an easy run. But then when is it ever going to be easy? So many people have said to me 'Oooh bad move giving up drinking in the summer, why don't you just wait until October when everyone's doing it?'. Of course I considered throwing in the towel on a number of occasions, but every time I considered an excuse for quitting I remembered now. Now is the right time to do this as there will never, ever be a right time. It doesn't exist so it needs to happen now.
So yes, I've done it. I've hit 100 days. But I can't take any joy from that as I simply feel like I'm treading water. I'm sick of talking to people about my not drinking and I'm sick of missing the fucking stuff.
Yesterday I was working in London and arrived at Waterloo at 6.30 p.m. to get my train home. I wandered over to M&S to grab a quick bite and found myself starring at the perfectly chilled gins in tins. Booze everywhere. I had legitimately floated to the booze aisle without even realising. Gawping blankly at the ready-mixed cosmopolitans, mojitos, caipirinhas. I could buy at least four and finish them all on the train before getting home like I used to. Rob wouldn't even know.
You could enjoy your alone drinking time on the train again, Em. Remember how much it relaxed you? Remember how no one cares what you do on the train? They're strangers, you'll never see them again. Buy some lovely drinks for the journey.
Fuck off, Blix.
Instead I got a little teary, paid for my ready meals and walked into Foyles book store next door. During my early days of research I read about a book written by Allen Carr, The Easy Way to Stop Drinking and skipped over the synopsis. The title alone made it seem too much like a cringey self-help book (however the reviews were good). I opted for Catherine and Clare's more....poetic titles. At the time I wanted to find joy and comfort from not drinking, but tonight, on day 99, I needed something to remind me just how shitty and life-ruining alcohol is.
Luckily there was one copy available, tucked in the very bottom left-hand-side of Foyles' Self Help aisle. Beyond poor product placement indicating that abstinence at Waterloo is a dirty rotten secret.
I started Allen's book on the train home while sipping sparkling water and hated everything about the journey. People all around me drinking beers and laughing among themselves while I'm pressed against a damp window trying desperately to hide the cover of my book. God forbid anyone sees what I'm reading - I'll be laughed out of London!
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that day 100 is just like any other day really. I'm struggling to come to grips with a life without booze and the big milestones are compounding my feelings of hatred and loneliness. I hate that I'm someone who can't have a normal relationship with alcohol yet what is normal? How the fuck is drinking an addictive poison even deemed as normal?
But it is. Every day. And I'm seriously hoping Allen's book has some shit hot advice for me. On day 100 I absolutely need it.
Wow...boozy old me...100 days?! Who'd 'a thunk it! I thought I'd be shouting these words from the rooftops - beaming with happiness as I click my heels mid-jump. Instead I feel kind of....meh. My pink clouds haven't arrived and I'm finding day 100 quite miserable really.
When I started my journey into sobriety I read and researched like a crazed librarian. Punching phrases into Google that would take me to articles and blogs crammed full of inspiration and you-can-do-it-fist-bumping mantras. Cartoon Em would be producing steam from her information-obsessed tappy fingers on the keyboard. I was excited for the benefits yet naïve to think quitting booze would be breezy.
When I completed the internet (I actually think I did) I moved onto books and tucked a few titles under my belt that I thought I would relate to the most. Catherine Grey's The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober got me through my first booze-free holiday around the 43-day-sober mark, and is written by a woman who was on the verge of losing it all from her alcohol dependence.
Clare Pooley's The Sober Diaries was a softer read yet made me feel reassured that I wasn't the only one choosing to pour red wine into a china mug to disguise my drinking of it at 11.00 a.m. Clare's book gave me warm soothing hugs on the dark days yet I felt my drinking and behaviours were a lot more...hard core.
Yet still, with every page I read I couldn't help but give myself a hard time (something I'm still obviously doing). I was a newbie to this sober malarkey. Someone who has repeated form for caving and celebrating a short-lived detox with a whopping great big glass of wine.
In truth, I didn't really feel worthy of being in club sober, but in the early days a tiny voice inside said 'go easy, Em, no pressure.' So I continued to press my nose against the window of sobriety and stare in. Day in, day out. Looking back, did I even want to be in this club? Maybe that's the issue.
Since quitting booze my anxiety has been a complex bugger to deal with. Blix, my booze demon, on at me constantly - scratching away at my drinking scabs which are desperately trying to heal. Everything is still very raw, but aside from being a lovely big number - 100 days sober feels little more than a scary reality check. Today there are no pink clouds. Today they are black and crammed full of rain.
There have been really significant wins along the way, mind - like my first sober wedding, first sober dinner party (oh how I hate them), first sober night out for a friend's birthday. To someone in control of their drinking these achievements seem trivial, but to me they're riddled with doubt and temptation. Alcohol is a drug and people are addicted to it. That's what drugs do. They ruin lives and the majority of people on drugs can't cope. So hey, being in a room littered with drugs and saying 'no thanks' when everyone's doing them is a pretty big deal.
Since giving up drinking on July 8th, which technically marked the start of a very busy summer for me, I haven't given myself an easy run. But then when is it ever going to be easy? So many people have said to me 'Oooh bad move giving up drinking in the summer, why don't you just wait until October when everyone's doing it?'. Of course I considered throwing in the towel on a number of occasions, but every time I considered an excuse for quitting I remembered now. Now is the right time to do this as there will never, ever be a right time. It doesn't exist so it needs to happen now.
So yes, I've done it. I've hit 100 days. But I can't take any joy from that as I simply feel like I'm treading water. I'm sick of talking to people about my not drinking and I'm sick of missing the fucking stuff.
Yesterday I was working in London and arrived at Waterloo at 6.30 p.m. to get my train home. I wandered over to M&S to grab a quick bite and found myself starring at the perfectly chilled gins in tins. Booze everywhere. I had legitimately floated to the booze aisle without even realising. Gawping blankly at the ready-mixed cosmopolitans, mojitos, caipirinhas. I could buy at least four and finish them all on the train before getting home like I used to. Rob wouldn't even know.
You could enjoy your alone drinking time on the train again, Em. Remember how much it relaxed you? Remember how no one cares what you do on the train? They're strangers, you'll never see them again. Buy some lovely drinks for the journey.
Fuck off, Blix.
Instead I got a little teary, paid for my ready meals and walked into Foyles book store next door. During my early days of research I read about a book written by Allen Carr, The Easy Way to Stop Drinking and skipped over the synopsis. The title alone made it seem too much like a cringey self-help book (however the reviews were good). I opted for Catherine and Clare's more....poetic titles. At the time I wanted to find joy and comfort from not drinking, but tonight, on day 99, I needed something to remind me just how shitty and life-ruining alcohol is.
Luckily there was one copy available, tucked in the very bottom left-hand-side of Foyles' Self Help aisle. Beyond poor product placement indicating that abstinence at Waterloo is a dirty rotten secret.
I started Allen's book on the train home while sipping sparkling water and hated everything about the journey. People all around me drinking beers and laughing among themselves while I'm pressed against a damp window trying desperately to hide the cover of my book. God forbid anyone sees what I'm reading - I'll be laughed out of London!
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that day 100 is just like any other day really. I'm struggling to come to grips with a life without booze and the big milestones are compounding my feelings of hatred and loneliness. I hate that I'm someone who can't have a normal relationship with alcohol yet what is normal? How the fuck is drinking an addictive poison even deemed as normal?
But it is. Every day. And I'm seriously hoping Allen's book has some shit hot advice for me. On day 100 I absolutely need it.
Tuesday 2 October 2018
87 days sober - My first bereavement
A few weeks ago I posted about my Nan's lengthy illness and battle with cancer. It's been a few days since her passing and I feel just about strong enough to write about it now.
Let's cut to the chase. My previous coping mechanism has always been alcohol.
Emotionally good: let's get drunk and celebrate. Emotionally bad: let's get drunk and forget about it. Any time I needed to accommodate or cope with my emotions I'd uncork the vino and unleash hell.
When my mum called to let me know my Nan had died I was watching my brother speed around Goodwood Racetrack with my dad. We gifted him a track day for his 60th birthday and we were enjoying our Friday afternoon in the glorious sunshine - it was perfect. After my mum hung up the phone I stared into space for roughly 10 minutes before making my way down the viewing platform to meet my bro. Not wanting to ruin the day for my dad, I waited for a discreet moment before sharing the news alone with Dean.
We decided to tell dad when we got home and subsequently cancelled the birthday dinner we had planned to go and spend time with my mum instead. My parents are divorced and hate each other but dad understood, naturally.
We made it over to mums and sat on the sofa. Being her usual hospitable self she began to reel a drinks menu longer than the Covent Garden Cocktail Club. With every suggestion my brain responded: Nope. Definitely not. Could you imagine what that would do to you? Disaster written all over it. Alcohol is poison. Don't make this day any worse. Stay strong you twat.
I didn't expect this if I'm brutally honest. I thought I'd go easy on myself, dive headfirst into a bottle of rum and drink for the remainder of the weekend because I was grieving. I was allowed. Yet despite the day being a continuous fog of pain, my only clear and recurring thought was do.not.drink. Whatever you do Em, do not drink.
It seemed at my most vulnerable hour, some Gandalf-esque saviour had swooped into my brain and decided to paralyse Blix. He was deadly quiet and it unnerved me somewhat. Had a new character just entered stage right? Protector of the tee-total realm? My new sober wizard?
We talked and cried until it was late and we couldn't do it anymore. I got into bed that night and woke up the next morning not knowing how and when my head hit the pillow. I'd blacked out but this time from emotional exhaustion. The first thing I did the morning after my Nan's death was check-in with my Nomo app. As the screen flashed 'day 88, well done!' I burst into tears of relief.
Day 88 could have easily been day one. A day riddled with guilt and anxiety. A day spent curled up in a ball with a screaming headache and hangover from hell. Blix whispering from within, 'Don't feel bad dear. Nanny's dead, you deserved a drink last night. It helps with the pain. Go pour yourself another, no point staying sober now is there?'
But it's not day one. It's my 88th consecutive day of sobriety and yes, I'm terribly emotional and numb from the pain but none of that is self inflicted. My heart is broken but my head is in one piece. My nan couldn't even drink water during her final hours of survival, so abusing my health with a poisonous substance is genuinely the last thing I want to do right now.
If there's any advice I can give at this stage of sobriety its don't feel like you 'deserve it'. Ever. Tragedy triggers very real yet irrational emotions, which can ultimately trick you into behaving a certain way because you think or feel you need to. Sabotage disguised as sympathy. Destruction dressed as compassion... A glass of wine camouflaged as relief.
What I'm trying to say is if - like the old me - you feel that drink is the only medicine, and you deserve said medicine because of the trauma you're experiencing then please please know it won't fix a thing. Your heart will still ache and your eyes will still leak, and alcohol will not make you feel any better about the situation.
What will make you feel better is waking up to another day sober and remembering to take every day as it comes. The clarity will ease the grief and you will have something good and real to focus on in times of absolute darkness.
My Nan wouldn't want me to fail, so for her I'm staying strong and getting through this the best way I know how - by focussing on the light and keeping this journey as painless as possible. I just wish the same could have been true for my Nan. RIP beautiful soul. x
Let's cut to the chase. My previous coping mechanism has always been alcohol.
Emotionally good: let's get drunk and celebrate. Emotionally bad: let's get drunk and forget about it. Any time I needed to accommodate or cope with my emotions I'd uncork the vino and unleash hell.
When my mum called to let me know my Nan had died I was watching my brother speed around Goodwood Racetrack with my dad. We gifted him a track day for his 60th birthday and we were enjoying our Friday afternoon in the glorious sunshine - it was perfect. After my mum hung up the phone I stared into space for roughly 10 minutes before making my way down the viewing platform to meet my bro. Not wanting to ruin the day for my dad, I waited for a discreet moment before sharing the news alone with Dean.
We decided to tell dad when we got home and subsequently cancelled the birthday dinner we had planned to go and spend time with my mum instead. My parents are divorced and hate each other but dad understood, naturally.
We made it over to mums and sat on the sofa. Being her usual hospitable self she began to reel a drinks menu longer than the Covent Garden Cocktail Club. With every suggestion my brain responded: Nope. Definitely not. Could you imagine what that would do to you? Disaster written all over it. Alcohol is poison. Don't make this day any worse. Stay strong you twat.
I didn't expect this if I'm brutally honest. I thought I'd go easy on myself, dive headfirst into a bottle of rum and drink for the remainder of the weekend because I was grieving. I was allowed. Yet despite the day being a continuous fog of pain, my only clear and recurring thought was do.not.drink. Whatever you do Em, do not drink.
It seemed at my most vulnerable hour, some Gandalf-esque saviour had swooped into my brain and decided to paralyse Blix. He was deadly quiet and it unnerved me somewhat. Had a new character just entered stage right? Protector of the tee-total realm? My new sober wizard?
We talked and cried until it was late and we couldn't do it anymore. I got into bed that night and woke up the next morning not knowing how and when my head hit the pillow. I'd blacked out but this time from emotional exhaustion. The first thing I did the morning after my Nan's death was check-in with my Nomo app. As the screen flashed 'day 88, well done!' I burst into tears of relief.
Day 88 could have easily been day one. A day riddled with guilt and anxiety. A day spent curled up in a ball with a screaming headache and hangover from hell. Blix whispering from within, 'Don't feel bad dear. Nanny's dead, you deserved a drink last night. It helps with the pain. Go pour yourself another, no point staying sober now is there?'
But it's not day one. It's my 88th consecutive day of sobriety and yes, I'm terribly emotional and numb from the pain but none of that is self inflicted. My heart is broken but my head is in one piece. My nan couldn't even drink water during her final hours of survival, so abusing my health with a poisonous substance is genuinely the last thing I want to do right now.
If there's any advice I can give at this stage of sobriety its don't feel like you 'deserve it'. Ever. Tragedy triggers very real yet irrational emotions, which can ultimately trick you into behaving a certain way because you think or feel you need to. Sabotage disguised as sympathy. Destruction dressed as compassion... A glass of wine camouflaged as relief.
What I'm trying to say is if - like the old me - you feel that drink is the only medicine, and you deserve said medicine because of the trauma you're experiencing then please please know it won't fix a thing. Your heart will still ache and your eyes will still leak, and alcohol will not make you feel any better about the situation.
What will make you feel better is waking up to another day sober and remembering to take every day as it comes. The clarity will ease the grief and you will have something good and real to focus on in times of absolute darkness.
My Nan wouldn't want me to fail, so for her I'm staying strong and getting through this the best way I know how - by focussing on the light and keeping this journey as painless as possible. I just wish the same could have been true for my Nan. RIP beautiful soul. x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)