They say that being a parent is like walking around with your heart on the outside of your body. I would argue that being addicted to alcohol - or any drug - is much the same: there’s this fragile version of you - the
real you - that you must protect at all costs. If this other you - your inner child - gets hurt you’re going to be at risk of extreme pain, and subsequent use of your drug of choice, in the same
way that a parent’s world would be shattered should something happen to their child. A parent must protect their offspring with every fibre of their being to avoid them coming to harm, and the pain that would cause to everyone involved. An addict must protect
themselves and their emotional wellbeing at all costs, to avoid turning to their vice, and the harm and pain
that would cause to everyone involved.
The reason many of us begin using alcohol or other substances in the first place is that it gives us something we feel we are lacking: confidence; sass; bravado. An extra dimension to our character. A protective layer. It takes the edge off the social awkwardness we feel as teenagers. By the time we mature into adults and realise we no longer need that substance for the boost we once did, it’s too late: we’re already in its thrall - hopelessly addicted to it (even if we won’t admit for years - even to ourselves - that we are).
Ironically, our natural social development has been stunted by the very thing we thought was giving us what we needed. By relying on it, this external substance, instead of trusting in ourselves and our innate sense of oneness with other fellow human beings, we’ve damaged our brains as well as our social development. It’s easier, therefore, to continue using this substance, this drug, as a lubricant, a shortcut to social ease, than to remove it and rely on our interpersonal skills to make that connection.
This is why so many people use alcohol or other drugs socially for their entire lives. It’s become such an intrinsic part of their personality and their related behaviour that to live without it would be a huge wrench - like living without a family member. Learning to adapt to a life without alcohol is like grieving a close relative - you feel like a part of you has been removed. Even if the relative in question was a toxic troublemaker who often caused more upset than fun, they are familiar and have shared your life; they inhabit your fondest memories so you love them, warts and all. To have to go through the rest of your life without them feels like a hardship, especially at first.
Making the decision to remove alcohol from your life is not an easy one. It’s like walking without crutches after an accident. I broke my wrist earlier this year - and before you ask, yes alcohol was present as usual - she was always by my side in times of need. (This was no coincidence, I now realise, since she was usually the one contributing to the times of need.)
When the cast was removed from my arm almost two months later, as well as the immediate relief I also experienced another emotion: fear. Will my wrist be strong enough without the plaster? Will it break again? Can I live my life as I did before? The trepidation you feel at ‘testing’ a newly-repaired limb is akin to testing your life without alcohol: it’s scary. It takes courage. The courage that you’d usually get from...yes, you’ve guessed it...alcohol.
Which brings me to my current wobble. Having taken the decision to give up drinking, I threw myself headlong into the task, like I always do as a typical Aries: I put my mind to something and I go at it, 100%. Like the ram that I am I’m head down, horns first, ramming my way through life. The first weeks were easy - they flew by in a determined flurry of exercise, reading and related podcasts. I started writing my blog. I scoured the internet, craving information and inspiration for my new alcohol-free life, soaking it up like a sponge. I went on my first sun-soaked alcohol-free holiday in 30 years and absolutely loved it. And then I went back to real life. In a dreary wet and windy October. Which is where things got trickier. Some say the first weeks are the hardest, as you struggle to break your routine and forge new habits. For me, the past week has been harder, a few months in, as the pandemic tightens its grip on the nation once more and we move into a wintry new season...
In my eyes, autumn is usually all about a large glass of red with a roast dinner, or sitting with a crisp glass of refreshing white in front of a roaring fire in a country pub...mmmm...
See, I’ve romanticised alcohol in my head already! Like looking back on a past relationship and glossing over the bad bits, the rose-tinted (or should I say rosé-tinted) glasses are slowly slipping on. I need to remind myself that - like that old partner with their long-forgotten flaws - alcohol lied to me. It promised me the world...but left me all alone in a cold house to fend for myself. I thought my marriage to alcohol was for life...but now the party’s over and I want a divorce.
I just need to remind myself that when the going gets tough, the only person I ultimately have to rely on is myself. I’m a very independent person, because I’ve had to be. Like most people, I’ve had my heart broken and I’ve got through it - albeit with the crutch of alcohol. Rather than turn to alcohol again, my new challenge is to endure any hardships that life throws at me without that Sauvignon splint supporting my injured limb. To feel the pain and work through it, rather than immediately applying the ol’ Aperol anaesthetic. Alcohol is merely the sticking plaster; what you really need is to heal the wound. And to perform open-heart surgery it’s best to be sober, I think you’ll agree...
After a long day at work, the default action is to reach for a large glass of vino. It’s what our culture, and the media, prescribes. Our relaxation medication. (Why did I just sing the theme tune of that ancient TV show Record Breakers in my head, replacing ‘dedication’ with ‘medication’?):
“Cos medication, that’s what you need!”
No! I need to retrain my brain to seek solace in other pastimes: exercise, reading, podcasts...a booze-free catch-up with a friend. Last week was cold, wet and doom-laden - a few weeks back at work after an amazing foreign holiday and reality had kicked in. But instead of collapsing on the sofa with a large glass of anaesthetic to switch off my buzzing brain (which would ultimately result in a groggy headache and irritability the following morning), I made myself a herbal tea and took myself to bed with a book. (I know, who even is this person - and what has she done with the old me? I keep expecting to open a wardrobe and find the Old Me sitting in there drunkenly glugging a warm bottle of Baileys and inappropriately texting an old flame).
Have I fallen off the wagon? Sorry to any haters reading this (because they do, you know), but no. The road may occasionally be rocky but I just white-knuckle it, strengthen my resolve and cling on tighter than ever.
After 3 decades of viewing alcohol as one of my besties (albeit of the pain-in-the-ass, drama-fuelled variety), I still have to remind myself occasionally that we’re no longer friends. She let me down, and I’m done with forgiveness and second chances - no matter how much she begs and sheds crocodile tears. Do I miss her? Sometimes, when I see her out having fun. But life is so much simpler and smoother without her in it. I’m stubborn: I’m sticking to my guns. And as us kids of the 70s all know:
“ If you wanna be the best,
well dedication’s what you need.”
So I’m now on day 72...and that makes me a record breaker.
(Well, it's a record for me, anyway ;-) )
Sam x
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