Sometime in the beginning of this year I thought, perhaps for the first time, that I maybe had an issue with alcohol. That I wasn’t enjoying it as much as I had originally enjoyed it. And then I wrote about how I had decided to quit it. I was quite good at that, or at least I thought I was. I stuck to not drinking alcohol at all for a couple of months. I even attended a few parties and resisted the temptation to join in on all the fun. Then, for some reason, I convinced myself that I could let it go whenever I wanted to, and so I really did not have anything else to prove to myself. I had done what I needed to do to show myself I was in control and I could maybe go back to doing the things I ‘enjoyed’. Ever since I have gotten back to drinking I have been thinking about a relationship with alcohol and how it has changed over the years.
Why did I start to drink? You know I honestly don’t know. It wasn’t peer pressure that got me started onto it. I was just one of those kids and I had it set in my mind that I was going to start drinking as soon as I could. That it would add something that had hitherto been missing from my life. I had my first night of drinking when I was sixteen. I was eighteen when I first blacked out. For many years after that, I thought this was normal. I thought it was okay to blackout and that if you didn’t, you weren’t really enjoying yourself as much as you’re supposed to. That the night could have been a lot ‘better’. I subscribed to ridiculous ideas of how I don’t drink to have fun, I would instead drink to get drunk. Like it is some serious milestone I need to achieve every time I pick a glass up. And if you ask me today why that was the case, what was achieved through all this, I really would not have an answer for you. That is just the way I thought. For me, there was no other way I was going to be involved with alcohol. I had to, absolutely had to, be one of those kids that got into it quickly and went in deep. And so I did.
Why did I keep up with it? This I do have a bit more clarity on. A couple of years into drinking – and I mean drinking almost every weekend – I realized blackouts were not the norm. That there were people out there who enjoyed alcohol without forgetting huge chunks of the previous night. At first, I scoffed at these people. Who were they? Why were they so boring? Did they not know that you’re young only once, and you can do all of this responsible drinking once you enter the middle ages? I was arrogant in all the wrong ways. But the thing is, as much as I maintained this on the outside, there was a growing disconnect between drinking and enjoyment in my life. I didn’t recognize it at the time. Every night of blacking out was followed up by an anxiety riddled morning. I experienced all the emotional symptoms of a hangover without any of the physical ones. I had intense self-loathing. I wanted to ask people what happened the night before, but at the same time, I didn’t want them to tell me something that would make me dislike myself. So, I never asked. I figured that as long as no one came up to me and complained about my behavior it must have been okay, and as long as I had no idea what I had done the night before, I could in some way distance myself from it. Which was, as you can guess, absolutely not the case. I still felt like crap every single time I went out drinking. And yet, I would pick it up again whenever I went out.
Was there a turning point? Absolutely. I just didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time. I think it happened around 7 years into my drinking. I started getting raging hangovers. No one really talks about how suddenly your body ages. You’re fine till one night of drinking (as fine as you can be), and then the next time you go out drinking, you’re hit by a sixteen-wheeler of a headache, nausea, cramps, body aches and shivering out of nowhere. I honestly didn’t even realize what was happening to me the first time I got a hangover. I thought I was genuinely sick. I panicked and told my flat mate at the time about it, who informed me that I was being silly, and it was just a hangover. Just a hangover? Is this what it felt like then? Wow. I was shocked, and also perversely impressed with myself. I had finally crossed over into the mythical land of adulthood (at least in this one aspect) and I could now claim camaraderie with all who were constantly (yet ever so stylishly) complaining of hangovers (think: movie characters). That lasted for about a minute, before I started loathing my hangovers. I had been turning away from drinking (at least the idea of it) for some time now, and having hangovers just gave me that additional push I needed. And so, I thought I’ll give it up. How card could it be.
And in the end, how hard was it? I haven’t managed to give it up yet. But I did leave it for a couple of months this year. The hardest part about trying to give up alcohol – this is only if you’re like me and drink with friends and not alone, because luckily that was a habit I never picked up – was realizing what a big part of your personality alcohol becomes. I have friends I started disliking spending time with because it seemed to me that the only thing we had connecting us was alcohol. I stopped wanting to go to parties or hanging out with even close friends, because for some reason people don’t take you seriously when you try and tell them you’re trying to quit drinking. They all seem to take it as a personal attack for some reason. As though their fun will become any less legitimate if you’re not as drunk as them. And even when they (finally!) leave you alone, everyone seems to view you suspiciously, as though one is simply not supposed to enjoy oneself sober after a certain age.
How did I get back to this place? I quit cold turkey for a couple of months because of a particularly nasty blackout and hangover. I felt uneasy just thinking about drinking in large settings after that night. But after a couple of months of sobriety I had the chance to re-explore my relationship with alcohol. I went out drinking with an old set of family friends and for the first time in forever, I drank in moderation and thoroughly enjoyed my night out. The entire vibe of the evening and everyone present at the gathering was so….immaculate. No one was trying to get you to drink more than you wanted (or needed) to. Here was a set of people who weren’t using alcohol to overcome some form self-perceived defect in their social skills. Nope. They were entirely comfortable in their respective skins, and around the people they had chosen to get drunk with. The circle was, for lack of a better phrase, airtight. After getting drunk with this set, I thought maybe it was possible to become a better drinker (I don’t know if this is the right phrase). For the first time since I had started drinking, I felt like I didn’t have to drink for the benefit of other peoples’ entertainment, or to show people I could still pull impossible feats of alcohol absorption like I did in my younger years.
I have since tried it out a couple of other times. And I found that I could, when I wanted to, drink in a way that let me enjoy the night and wake up the next day feeling quite alright. All I needed was a bit of control and a re-assessment of my drinking circle.