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.    

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.

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.... :)

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.

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.