My friend recommended a book to me by Annie Grace called 'This Naked Mind' I downloaded the audio book and listened to it on daily dog walks. This was approximately 18 months prior to actual my sobriety date. A lot of what was said in this book hit a nerve with me, it was difficult to be ignorant, be in denial or not relate. It wasn't enough to to make me stop but it was certainly adding weight to the tipping scale.
I loved drinking. LOVED IT. For the most part it was a fun, social thing. I drank to get pissed, I loved that feeling of weightlessness in my mind, the fuzzy feeling. I would call it 'feeling lovely'. I was always a happy, lively and excitable drunk.
In my twenties, I drank more than I did my teens, more in my thirties than I did my twenties and most definitely more in my forties than I did my thirties. It was gaining more importance in my life, dictating more of what I did. Getting utterly wasted was becoming even more appealing but stopped being as funny.
Despite my considerable drinking career, I had never had a drink with my Dad. Through circumstance, rather than choice. In lockdown, he had a bar built in his garden and I'm not talking a shed, I'm talking a fully insulated, fully kitted out bar. Beer pumps, optics, Sky Sports, karaoke, tables, bar stools, heating for the winter, air conditioning for the summer. Full sound system that I reckon I could probably hear from my house 25 miles away. I thought it was the best thing ever and especially after attending one of his parties in the summer of 2021. Man, I got so wasted. A few months later in November, he held his birthday party there.
At this time, I was attempting to moderate my drinking. I had worked out that I have a sweet point or a tipping point. 8 units. 8 units and I was lovely, anymore than that and I'm absolutely wasted. Too drunk. So, I had a plan!
I took a bottle of Rose Cava or Prosecco, I can't remember which, but it was 8.4 units for the bottle. I told myself, and Richard, that was my drink for the night. That's all I was going to drink. When it's gone, it's gone.
On arrival at the party, I immediately turned down vodka, explaining that I have this bottle to drink but joking that my tipping point is 8 units and as the bottle was 8.4 units it could go either way! Despite making fun of myself, it was an experiment for me, that I was actually committed to.
It was around 9.30pm and I'd drank the bottle already. For fucks sake. I'd practically necked it. In my drunken state, I thought the best idea ever was to have a vodka. I videod as I was poured a vodka, in a massive wine glass. Half filled with vodka, and a dash of coke.
Yeah, so great night apparently. I know this because of the videos on my phone, not from my memory. I was sick on myself, in the car on the way home. I don't remember that either. Richard was driving so he was stone cold sober. What a lovely sight/experience that must have been for him. Not.
The usual anxiety kicked in during my hangover and the regret that my plan had failed. But the biggest thing that pissed me off was the fact that, the memories of that precious time with my Dad weren't there. Alcohol had taken them. How do I know I had fun? I couldn't remember. I questioned alcohol again at this point. I wanted to see my Dad, I want to get to know him better (I didn't meet him until I was 15) build on a stronger bond and make memories. Ironic when you think about it because alcohol robs you of those things.
This is one of many attempts at moderation, that I failed at. I did succeed sometimes. The trouble was, it was such a gamble. Roulette, every bloody time. And when I failed at it, the regret ate me.
Trying to moderate my drinking took up a lot of my head space. During a dog walk with Richard one evening, I thought I had figured it out. I concluded that because I only drank at the weekend, it's a novelty that I look forward to and that's why I get too excited about drinking and go over the top. So, my idea was, I should DRINK MORE IN THE WEEK so that I don't want as much at the weekend! Yes, that's right, I concluded that moderating meant drinking more often. Oh my god. What I also find amusing is that, I had convinced myself that I only drank at the weekend! LOL
The final straw
Because this wasn't me, I have to protect the identity of the person and therefore, have to be vague with the detail. But what I can say is, this person is someone I love deeply and on a night out in January 2022, something life changing happened to this person, whilst under the influence of alcohol, and had they not been drinking alcohol that night, IT WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED. This was about a week after my mental health crisis point. I was not in a good place. I felt their pain as if it were my own. Desperately wishing I could rewind and un-do it. It was in the aftermath of that, that the dots just connected and I felt clarity.
It's alcohols fault. All of it. Not just for them that night, but when I looked back on the things that have caused me trauma through my life, alcohol had been the common denominator. How the fuck had I not seen it before?
Childhood neglect and trauma (because my parent and step parents were alcoholics) This affected every facet of my life. As an adult living my own life, there was more trauma in the way of physical abuse, arguments, rape to name a few. All of which, take alcohol out of the situation (for myself and the perpetrators) and I firmly believed they would not have happened. If alcohol didn't exist, I would have had a better relationship with my Mum, my formative years would have been better, I wouldn't have experienced or witnessed what I did. Those bad things that happened to me, would not have happened and this bad thing that happened to this person who I loved, would not have happened. Wow.
The contempt that I felt for it was consuming. And oh my god, the guilt. The pain, confusion, loneliness and fear I had felt as a child, I had always blamed alcohol for, so why on earth had I modelled that to my own children? Showing them that part of life and being an adult is getting drunk and it's so normal?! No, I couldn't do that anymore and I couldn't un-see what was now, so obvious to me. Drinking would be incongruous and hypocritical.
Cue mind avalanche. This just wasn't a me thing. When I looked around me, the relationships and experiences of others were also affected by their own consumption of alcohol. The fallouts I saw friends have, the damage to their relationships, the superficialness of friendships. IT WAS ALL SO HD NOW.
Hate is the word. I hated it and everything it had ever brought to my life.
I declared my sobriety, thinking it would help my mental health too. Life would be great without it, my mind would get better, no hangovers, better memory, deeper relationships, better health, weight loss. Bring it the fuck on.
Here's a part of the social media post I posted in March 2022, around moderation:
"My sobriety journey did, like many, start with trying to moderate. I'll give myself a bit of credit here because I did get better (not perfect!) at avoiding shots but I really couldn't slow down my drinking or seem to know when to stop. On occasion, if I did have just a few drinks, it'd piss me off that I couldn't have more and I'd feel short changed. What's the point, kind of feeling. Like an itch left unscratched.
At this moderation game, I failed, a lot. I failed so miserably on so many occasions at pitching my drink intake just right. I know I am no different to many in that respect. We don't wanna wake up having lost a nights memory, our phone or dignity and spend the next 16 hours post-morteming a night you don't remember and making apologies whilst hungover, anxious, vomiting and dying a slow painful death. Yet. WE. DO.
Trying to moderate was arduous and I was sick to death of failing.
Day 68 of abstinence today and I find abstinence far easier than the pain of trying, and failing to moderate. It's a freedom I can't explain."