This year would have been the first time I tackled the party sober (having attended for the past three years) but to my (initial) disappointment my fear of alcohol kept me indoors. First time its happened since I quit in July.
I should have made the journey. I really should have. But the scale of this event teamed with my above-average anxiety made me follow my intuition and send a sick note (email) instead. Bad liar, I know, but the situation would have been too intense and right now I can't be dealing with unnecessary pressure.
The event was on Thursday, so naturally on Friday morning I gave myself a hard time. Really ticked off that my confidence was low, I mentally and quite literally kicked myself for letting alcohol get the better of me. This was a big-time invitation, Em. You should have showed up and made an effort, shit head.
I did the math though, and the odds were seriously crap.
1). There was no way I could drive. Central London + rush hour = bullshit so I would have taken the train. My designated driver safety blanket left at home. No bat mobile to whisk me away from danger.
2). I didn't have a plus one. So I would have been on my own. And my previous coping mechanism was multiple trips to the bar to look busy. So this would have been very unfamiliar and stressful territory.
3). In the past this event has served ultra premium drinks including Crystal. So yeah...
4). My guard just felt down. And there was absolutely nothing telling me I could attend this event and execute it sober. Every bone in my body is loving sobriety but there are traps and hazards everywhere. If I take my eye off the ball just once it could smack me in the face and break my nose. I know this. And this event had warning signs all over it.
So in addition to the 'what-to-wear' moans and 'ooh-the-weather's-bad-which-will-give-me-shit-hair' grumbles I decided to follow my (now considerably flatter) gut and stay indoors.
And yes, the self-loathing lingered for roughly two days but you know what? I actually feel the opposite of weak now. I said no. And for me that's a huge deal.
There would never, EVER, have been a time that drinking Em said no. The promise of a free bar? Sign me the hell up! Attending solo? No one judging me - lets get shit faced!
But this time I took a step back. I listened to my booze demon, Blix, begging me to attend and treat myself to 'just one festive drink without anyone knowing' and I duly absorbed the chatter. I then calmly and systematically identified the danger. I pictured Blix giggling and laying booby traps eagerly awaiting my arrival. Then, as the hours ticked by and his nervous vulnerable victim didn't show, he sulked enormously and got booted out by security for not showing a valid invitation.
Here's what matters: alcohol is no longer making my decisions for me and the above is proof of that. At first I felt like booze had won in this situation, but in reality it got lambasted with reason and sense and go fuck yourself-ness.
And who cares if I'm off the guest list for next year? I did what was categorically right for me now. If I would have showed up my attendance would have been solely for the benefit of others and the evening could have gone horribly wrong as a result of my needs coming second.
Putting my needs first in sobriety is vitally important and I feel it's a big contributor to my success rate. By doing so I'm ensuring my odds of reaching tomorrow morning sober far outweigh the odds of landing on day one again.
Cheers to saying non! Merci beaucoup.
No comments:
Post a Comment