When you tell people that you're no longer drinking, there's a word that you must avoid. At all costs. A word that makes people shuffle awkwardly. A word that conjures images you don't want associated with you. A word that is usually apt but makes everyone uncomfortable.
Alcoholic.
You see, people don't mind if you've stopped drinking for any other reason ever. If you're detoxing, that's fine. If you're settling a bet or competing in a challenge, that's okay. Even if it's for health reasons, that's perfectly acceptable (at least, until you're better and therefore able to drink again). But if you even mention the idea of a lack of control, or some sort of problem, or hint at the word alcoholic... well, it's a fun way to watch a conversation stop abruptly.
People generally have one of two reactions to any of these ideas:-
- They imply that, to be in my early 30s and mention alcoholism / lack of control means I am a drama queen / seeking attention / have spent too much time watching Oprah. It's the hint of condescension in their response that usually gives it away. The amused and patronising inflection at the end of their sentences "Oh, you felt like you were sliding towards alcoholism, did you? Maybe you should spend less time talking about your own problems -there's real problems in the world". They don't say it with their words, but with their eyes. Their tone. With the way they discount any of my concerns about alcohol and suddenly talk to me like a child.
- They get defensive. As if, by stating that I felt like I was losing control over my own drinking, I'm challenging their drinking practices. They want to tell me how they can stop drinking at any time. How they once went a week / a month / however long without drinking and they were fine with that goddammit. These claims are usually punctuated by angry sips on their own drink.
There's not just a stigma. There's a complete fear of alcohol problems. Unless you're a tortured artist (I'm not), or you come from some sort of broken background (I don't), or you have obvious character faults (I wouldn't say obvious) then having a problem with alcohol seems to rock everyone's boats a little bit too much. People would be happy if I were some sort of shut-in modern artist from a dysfunctional family. Then there would be a nice, neat reason. Everyone could look at me, ascribe the simplest reason for my problem, and go back to their beers, happy in their own personal knowledge that it couldn't happen to them. But as a mid-30s, well educated professional from your average, suburban nuclear family, my alcohol problem makes people uncomfortable. So it's minimised, trivialised, understated.
This makes everyone feel better. Well, everyone except me.
The first week of new found sobriety is the easiest. You're committed. You're willing to overlook how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. You want to believe that the last drink really was the last one.
So you start cautiously. You avoid Friday night drinks with friends. Because, you know, the drinks. But you want it to be over. So you don't mind that your social life is curtailed. Because you're determined. The first week is just about locking yourself in for the ride.
It's as the time passes that sobriety gets harder. When you start going back out. When you start going to places where there are drinks. When you start going back to your old life, except this time your old life sans alcohol. That's where life gets tricky. When the sobriety starts to get harder. When the desire for a drink stops being a tiny, little niggle and turns back into an overwhelming desire.
That's what this blog is. One person's attempt to get through that overwhelming desire on a day by day, night by night, event by event basis.
It's time to neck up, bitches. Make mine a soda water.
