My booziest friend helped me quit

Six months into sobriety and I'm regularly being told by my husband that my willpower is amazing and how proud of me his is. To be honest I think abstaining from drinking has little to do with willpower...it's simply a result of booze turning me into a creature from the deep, and I don't want to be that monster any more.

But something significant happened to me before I decided to call time on my disastrous relationship with alcohol, and that was one of my best and booziest friends, Sam, moving away. I've wanted to write about this experience for a while but whenever I put some thought into the subject I end up daydreaming about our fun times - always bolstered by booze and fags - and begin to wonder what it would be like to just do it again.

Some of the best memories I hold are attached to Sam and drinking. Late night raving in my living room to Haim, 2.00 p.m. sauvignon blanc sessions down our local. We lived within walking distance of each other and were/still are child free, so our (abundant) spare time revolved around spontaneous drinking, dirty all dayers and boozy couples' date nights.

Last March she surprised me with an amazing day out in London for my birthday, and I remember laughing hysterically at our first drink landing at 3.00 p.m. We thought we were so sophisticated having brunch and visiting a museum first before diving into beer. We then got on it and drank solidly until 1.00 a.m. - with neither of us remembering the 1hr 15m train journey home.

So when Sam announced that she and her hubby we're moving to Canada for two years in June 2018 I lost it. Well, not literally, but I sort of went into mourning. My best drinking bud is leaving me - How the hell am I going to cope? We often joked about how great our separation would be for our livers, but back then I didn't care. I relied heavily on Sam for the good times and I knew I'd be lost without her.

But roughly two weeks after she left town I had the hen do in Brighton which was the event that called time on my drinking, and without even realising, my quest for sobriety was suddenly fair game. When I mentioned to Rob I was going to 'take a break' from booze he immediately quipped 'well Sam leaving the country will be a massive help!' And he was right. I'm not sure if I would have taken quitting seriously if Sam was still in reach.

Thinking more about the whole situation, I don't think Sam will ever realise (unless she reads this which is unlikely as no one knows my blog exists!) how much her departure has helped/saved me. You see Sam and I were the same, we loved drinking, loved drunk smoking and because we had each other it was something we could do all the time. But because of this - and the love that we had for each others company - I don't think we ever realised just how much damage we were doing to our bodies.

And on top of Sam, and when she wasn't available, there were other friends I'd meet for boozy smokey fun times too -so the cycle, as always, was seemingly endless.

I'm not sure how different life would be now if Sam hadn't moved away. I do wonder about it often, and if my sober intentions would have been laughed at and thrown out months ago. The thing with Sam is that she would have hated my decision to go sober but would have supported me all the way. Maybe she would have joined me for a while? Actually no, stamina has never been her strong point. In truth... I don't think I would have even considered sobriety if Sam was still on tap.

So what about people who want to quit booze but their Sam equivalent isn't conveniently moving over 3,000 miles away? I can't say I have any recommendations, but what I do know is the time I spent away from doing the things I used to do has hugely helped my recovery. I'm not saying bin off your amazing friends and live as a hermit, but maybe if you've tried to give up alcohol and the same behaviour/people are your repeat reason for caving then maybe it's time to sit a few plays out.

I know everyone's journeys are different, but during the early days of my sobriety I felt an increased strength as the days and months amassed. It's like you accrue energy and determination with every new sober day banked. I still use an app called Nomo which is such a simple way to check in and count your days - I'd recommend it to anyone who, like me, responds well to continuous streaks and visual aids.

Just being able to see '193 days' sober is a huge incentive.

Sam knows I've given up booze, it isn't a secret, but like many of my friends and family I think she believes that it's just a phase I'm going through. We talk all the time, but every now and again she slips in a question about my non-drinking which I find increasingly funny. I know she's quietly freaking out.

About three weeks ago Rob and I booked our summer holiday and we've decided to road trip up the West Coast of America late-June and then fly to Canada for five nights to spend time with Sam and her other half. As a four we get on really well, so it's going to be an insanely fun trip that will conclude approximately six days before my one year sober anniversary.

Perhaps my final major test? Who knows. But I'm excited to spend time with Sam and for once remember everything we get up to.

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?

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.

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.    

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.  

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.