Day Thirty Four.
I'm now over one month sober. What this basically means is that I can no longer hide behind the banner of "Dry January", as I have been thus far. In practical terms, I'm going to have to navigate my way around various social events (beginning tomorrow), and continuing over the weekend. I realise that this is what it will be like now, and must be like for every alcoholic who no longer drinks. It won't just be tomorrow evening, or saturday or sunday, but a hassle at each and every occasion from now on. I wish I could restrict myself to two or three pints of beer and leave it there, but that isn't how this works. I keep going until I pass out. I don't know why and I don't know how not to. I also feel sad and angry simultaneously, ugly parts of myself that have been growing noticeably at a steady rate for the last couple of years. That shit is still there, a permanent tattoo on my mind, I worry.
I'm scared of what will happen if I drink again. The physical aspect, and what it will do to hammer my body so violently after this period of sobriety. But also how it'll affect my psyche - of letting myself down in such a spectacularly pathetic way.
I'm finding the Reddit threads on alcoholism interesting, and in some places - comforting. It's very hard to do this alone.
- UnderReCover
Tuesday, 3 February 2015
Friday, 30 January 2015
Nightmares
Day Thirty.
I keep having very vivid, very nasty nightmares. My unconscious mind clearly doesn't trust me, seeing as these bad dreams always revolve around me letting down and destroying relationships with family/friends/colleagues, usually due to disastrous choices made when drunk.
What's that about? Any workable solutions to this sort of anxiety dream?
There's a party on Saturday night. I'd like to go, but am worried that I'll drink if I do.
- UnderReCover
I keep having very vivid, very nasty nightmares. My unconscious mind clearly doesn't trust me, seeing as these bad dreams always revolve around me letting down and destroying relationships with family/friends/colleagues, usually due to disastrous choices made when drunk.
What's that about? Any workable solutions to this sort of anxiety dream?
There's a party on Saturday night. I'd like to go, but am worried that I'll drink if I do.
- UnderReCover
Thursday, 29 January 2015
Dinner with a drinker
Day Twenty Nine.
Last night presented one of the more challenging evenings of my near-month of sobriety. It wasn't as I would have expected; an "Oh My God - I NEED a drink" situation, but a stark confrontation with one source of my negative habit, as well as highlighting what I'm actually attempting to commit to here.
I went for dinner with a few friends just off of the Southbank in London. I was a little nervous, aware that there was a high chance the others would be drinking. Two of the attendees were old drinking buddies from school, who I haven't been in touch with in the last six months or so. One, who we'll call Guy, was a particularly notable player in some of the darker, more pathetic moments of my drinking career. I don't want to label him alcoholic because I feel it's a very objective and personal term - one only YOU can truly confirm within yourself based on your individual relationship with mental health and addiction. What I will admit is that Guy used to be a very, very heavy drinker.
The pair of us began working professionally at around the same time, in the same city, both in what are externally perceived to be fairly glamorous industries that often lend themselves to evening events brimming with free alcohol and 'alternative substances'. We would meet up regularly, usually on a random week night, and tag along to some party or launch, whichever of us had been invited to, and make good use of the free champagne. We would usually then detour via one of London's many gay clubs and complete the evening with one or both of us vomiting in a taxi or back at his place, before an hour or two of restless sleep.
I justified my recklessness - the committed drinking and hangovers at work, and meaningless sex - on the basis that there was someone out there, someone I knew (in the always smartly-presented shape of Guy), who was one step worse than me on the boozy ladder to alcoholism, yet still holding onto his job and functioning professionally and personally with what appeared to be relative ease. I suppose you never really know what someone else is going through. Like me, he'd ended up in hospital thanks to a particularly ugly run in with alcohol, which he now considers a Life Changing Event. Shortly afterwards he was advised by his employer to stop drinking and calm down, which he chose to ignore for another eight crazy months. Again, like me, he seriously suffers from "I'm more fun when I'm drunk" syndrome.
Around two years ago something seemed to click in his head and he suddenly leapt muscles first into health and fitness. This obsession replaced alcohol entirely, Guy seemingly unable to moderate/tolerate one alongside the other. He was still on hiatus from boozing when I last saw him, back in August. And so it was to my surprise when he tipsily arrived at the restaurant forty minutes late.
After the obligatory "how have you been?" shit, anecdotes of our drinking days began to surface. This lead to Guy talking about he defines memories as either before or after The Life Changing Incident that left him in hospital, all the while gently swilling his third margarita between forefinger and thumb. There was something very odd and vaguely sad in listening to him talk about how bad things had been when he was pissed all of the time, and then how boring he'd found himself during his years as a fitness fanatic, whilst watching him slur his words and tip more and more booze down his throat. A couple of hours into the evening he realised that I'd been sipping at an elderflower and grapefruit mocktail for the entirety, and voiced utter disgust with me. This was, of course, after he'd explained how hard he'd found keeping up with friends during his period of sobriety, the majority of his social life restricted to pubs and bars - as is the curse of our generation of lost partygoers. I wondered what he really thought about it all, hoping he'd gained a more moderate head atop of more experienced shoulders.
As we were settling the bill, my friend confronted the manager over an issue to do with his tequila. The complaint grew into an ugly scene where, despite Guy professing fear of being "that arsehole who complains", he really was being That Arsehole Who Complains. It reminded me of the clumsy way you slip past normal thought processes when you're drunk, misjudging tone and misreading signals, adding a bitter tinge to the close of what had been, up until then, a rather pleasant evening.
I woke up fresh and rested at 7.30am. I wonder whether Guy has a headache.
- UnderReCover
Last night presented one of the more challenging evenings of my near-month of sobriety. It wasn't as I would have expected; an "Oh My God - I NEED a drink" situation, but a stark confrontation with one source of my negative habit, as well as highlighting what I'm actually attempting to commit to here.
I went for dinner with a few friends just off of the Southbank in London. I was a little nervous, aware that there was a high chance the others would be drinking. Two of the attendees were old drinking buddies from school, who I haven't been in touch with in the last six months or so. One, who we'll call Guy, was a particularly notable player in some of the darker, more pathetic moments of my drinking career. I don't want to label him alcoholic because I feel it's a very objective and personal term - one only YOU can truly confirm within yourself based on your individual relationship with mental health and addiction. What I will admit is that Guy used to be a very, very heavy drinker.
The pair of us began working professionally at around the same time, in the same city, both in what are externally perceived to be fairly glamorous industries that often lend themselves to evening events brimming with free alcohol and 'alternative substances'. We would meet up regularly, usually on a random week night, and tag along to some party or launch, whichever of us had been invited to, and make good use of the free champagne. We would usually then detour via one of London's many gay clubs and complete the evening with one or both of us vomiting in a taxi or back at his place, before an hour or two of restless sleep.
I justified my recklessness - the committed drinking and hangovers at work, and meaningless sex - on the basis that there was someone out there, someone I knew (in the always smartly-presented shape of Guy), who was one step worse than me on the boozy ladder to alcoholism, yet still holding onto his job and functioning professionally and personally with what appeared to be relative ease. I suppose you never really know what someone else is going through. Like me, he'd ended up in hospital thanks to a particularly ugly run in with alcohol, which he now considers a Life Changing Event. Shortly afterwards he was advised by his employer to stop drinking and calm down, which he chose to ignore for another eight crazy months. Again, like me, he seriously suffers from "I'm more fun when I'm drunk" syndrome.
Around two years ago something seemed to click in his head and he suddenly leapt muscles first into health and fitness. This obsession replaced alcohol entirely, Guy seemingly unable to moderate/tolerate one alongside the other. He was still on hiatus from boozing when I last saw him, back in August. And so it was to my surprise when he tipsily arrived at the restaurant forty minutes late.
After the obligatory "how have you been?" shit, anecdotes of our drinking days began to surface. This lead to Guy talking about he defines memories as either before or after The Life Changing Incident that left him in hospital, all the while gently swilling his third margarita between forefinger and thumb. There was something very odd and vaguely sad in listening to him talk about how bad things had been when he was pissed all of the time, and then how boring he'd found himself during his years as a fitness fanatic, whilst watching him slur his words and tip more and more booze down his throat. A couple of hours into the evening he realised that I'd been sipping at an elderflower and grapefruit mocktail for the entirety, and voiced utter disgust with me. This was, of course, after he'd explained how hard he'd found keeping up with friends during his period of sobriety, the majority of his social life restricted to pubs and bars - as is the curse of our generation of lost partygoers. I wondered what he really thought about it all, hoping he'd gained a more moderate head atop of more experienced shoulders.
As we were settling the bill, my friend confronted the manager over an issue to do with his tequila. The complaint grew into an ugly scene where, despite Guy professing fear of being "that arsehole who complains", he really was being That Arsehole Who Complains. It reminded me of the clumsy way you slip past normal thought processes when you're drunk, misjudging tone and misreading signals, adding a bitter tinge to the close of what had been, up until then, a rather pleasant evening.
I woke up fresh and rested at 7.30am. I wonder whether Guy has a headache.
- UnderReCover
Monday, 26 January 2015
The Weekend Away
Day Twenty Six.
Yep, I've matched my previous best. What a terrifying thought. In all the years of drinking (beginning on a regular basis the summer I turned fifteen), I've never previously managed more than twenty six days sober. For most people, tomorrow will be just another day where they've felt neither the need nor inclination to get drunk, whilst for me it will be a landmark. Melodramatic, I know. Stupid? Probably.
I spent this last weekend in the countryside with a group of people my girlfriend went to Uni with. Nine of us were staying in the ex-home of one girl's recently deceased grandmother, which was far less macabre than it sounds but with as many hilarious family photos featuring outdated hairstyles and clothes creeping back into fashion, as one would expect. We went on walks, cooked and played board games. Usually a situation such as this, isolated sans-Internet reception with a group of people I don't know particularly well, would be managed by a steady flow of beer and spirits straight to my stomach. However, I abstained and managed to make it through with relative ease. It helped that the majority of the gang were partaking in Dry January. One girl referred to a daily mash article she'd read - "Non-alcoholics enjoying pretend battle with drink", which I chuckled at whilst feeling a bit shit about myself for not being strong enough to tell them the truth.
We got up early, did exercise, had wholesome breakfasts alongside cafetiere after cafetiere of coffee over discussions on feminism and politics and education. We went to bed before midnight and slept well, without the ceiling spinning or waking up at 5am plagued by ravenous dehydration. Zero headaches, which I'm still adjusting to.
It was what I'm trying to get over calling 'Square'. That's one of my biggest problems; I don't want the party to end and, for me, the party relies on the social boost of alcohol and the silliness it causes. Social drinking and young people go hand in hand - normalised to the extent that you grow up doing it and thinking nothing of criticising those who don't drink of being boring old fuckers. Actually, you're the dull one - a tiresome spout of tipsy nonsense flowing out to anyone within earshot, forcing your views without the calm head to sensibly discuss them. I feel as if I'm less fun, sober. Less of a hilarious, talented and charming conversationalist. I'm aware that, in reality, I'm probably an obnoxious twat. But that's not how it feels.
Did I have a good time? Yes. Am I glad I wasn't drunk? Yes. So why do I feel empty and unfulfilled? I don't know. Sorry.
I've been hiding behind the banner of 'Dry January' so far, ever aware that the most vigorous external pressures will arrive in force within the next week or so. That should be interesting.
- UnderReCover
Yep, I've matched my previous best. What a terrifying thought. In all the years of drinking (beginning on a regular basis the summer I turned fifteen), I've never previously managed more than twenty six days sober. For most people, tomorrow will be just another day where they've felt neither the need nor inclination to get drunk, whilst for me it will be a landmark. Melodramatic, I know. Stupid? Probably.
I spent this last weekend in the countryside with a group of people my girlfriend went to Uni with. Nine of us were staying in the ex-home of one girl's recently deceased grandmother, which was far less macabre than it sounds but with as many hilarious family photos featuring outdated hairstyles and clothes creeping back into fashion, as one would expect. We went on walks, cooked and played board games. Usually a situation such as this, isolated sans-Internet reception with a group of people I don't know particularly well, would be managed by a steady flow of beer and spirits straight to my stomach. However, I abstained and managed to make it through with relative ease. It helped that the majority of the gang were partaking in Dry January. One girl referred to a daily mash article she'd read - "Non-alcoholics enjoying pretend battle with drink", which I chuckled at whilst feeling a bit shit about myself for not being strong enough to tell them the truth.
We got up early, did exercise, had wholesome breakfasts alongside cafetiere after cafetiere of coffee over discussions on feminism and politics and education. We went to bed before midnight and slept well, without the ceiling spinning or waking up at 5am plagued by ravenous dehydration. Zero headaches, which I'm still adjusting to.
It was what I'm trying to get over calling 'Square'. That's one of my biggest problems; I don't want the party to end and, for me, the party relies on the social boost of alcohol and the silliness it causes. Social drinking and young people go hand in hand - normalised to the extent that you grow up doing it and thinking nothing of criticising those who don't drink of being boring old fuckers. Actually, you're the dull one - a tiresome spout of tipsy nonsense flowing out to anyone within earshot, forcing your views without the calm head to sensibly discuss them. I feel as if I'm less fun, sober. Less of a hilarious, talented and charming conversationalist. I'm aware that, in reality, I'm probably an obnoxious twat. But that's not how it feels.
Did I have a good time? Yes. Am I glad I wasn't drunk? Yes. So why do I feel empty and unfulfilled? I don't know. Sorry.
I've been hiding behind the banner of 'Dry January' so far, ever aware that the most vigorous external pressures will arrive in force within the next week or so. That should be interesting.
- UnderReCover
Friday, 23 January 2015
The Experiment
This is an experiment. Perhaps it'll help me, perhaps it won't. It might even help you. In all honesty, I doubt it will help either of us. I'm a realist, you see.
This is my twenty third day sober. Which makes it the longest period of alcohol-free-me since the summer of 2007 (which amounted to twenty six days, I think). I've tried to give up drinking in the past. God, I've tried. Until now, excluding that one summer, the most I've managed is about ten sunsets in a row. Pathetic, I tell myself. Because it is.
A little background on me; I'm not an old guy. In fact I'm only in my twenties. I'm kind of funny (people have told me). I'm fairly handsome (I've told myself). I've never been 'off the rails' in the traditional sense. I wasn't expelled from school, I've never hit a girl, and I even hold down a decent job. I often stumble into the office in yesterday's clothes, stinking of yesterday's booze. I fill myself with coffee and fight through it. I didn't even consider myself an alcoholic until recently. I've lied to partners, friends and I've lied to myself. But I'm trying to change, so bear with me.
Fuck. Add me to the endless list of narcissists screaming into the internet's faceless void.
Why am I doing this? There's such a lot to write about that I thought putting it on the page might be useful and introspective. After all, addiction not only takes over your life - it is your life - it becomes the way you define yourself, affects how you make decisions, all the while sparing you that old forgotten tart, Rational Reasoning. I'm still trying to work out exactly who and why I am and how I fit in, socially and within my own head. So again, bear with me.
I'm going to try to update this every few days. Apologies if I don't - there's a high chance I'll be in a bar somewhere. Nice to meet you. I'm a fucking mess, by the way.
- UnderReCover
This is my twenty third day sober. Which makes it the longest period of alcohol-free-me since the summer of 2007 (which amounted to twenty six days, I think). I've tried to give up drinking in the past. God, I've tried. Until now, excluding that one summer, the most I've managed is about ten sunsets in a row. Pathetic, I tell myself. Because it is.
A little background on me; I'm not an old guy. In fact I'm only in my twenties. I'm kind of funny (people have told me). I'm fairly handsome (I've told myself). I've never been 'off the rails' in the traditional sense. I wasn't expelled from school, I've never hit a girl, and I even hold down a decent job. I often stumble into the office in yesterday's clothes, stinking of yesterday's booze. I fill myself with coffee and fight through it. I didn't even consider myself an alcoholic until recently. I've lied to partners, friends and I've lied to myself. But I'm trying to change, so bear with me.
Fuck. Add me to the endless list of narcissists screaming into the internet's faceless void.
Why am I doing this? There's such a lot to write about that I thought putting it on the page might be useful and introspective. After all, addiction not only takes over your life - it is your life - it becomes the way you define yourself, affects how you make decisions, all the while sparing you that old forgotten tart, Rational Reasoning. I'm still trying to work out exactly who and why I am and how I fit in, socially and within my own head. So again, bear with me.
I'm going to try to update this every few days. Apologies if I don't - there's a high chance I'll be in a bar somewhere. Nice to meet you. I'm a fucking mess, by the way.
- UnderReCover
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