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.
No comments:
Post a Comment