Using the title 'My OBD (Obsessive Booze Disorder), may seem like I am taking the piss out of people who suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I'm not, because, to me, I DID obsess about alcohol - from the minute I woke up to the minute I passed out in bed .... and then usually at 3am, 3.30am, 4.00am - until I would give in and get up and............
It wasn't just that I thought about booze, it was also what I did.
Usually, my first thoughts would be "Urgh, I feel crap", followed by "Shit, what happened last night? What did I do?". I wasn't an aggressive drunk, or sloppy. When I'd had a lot to drink at home, I would usually be quiet. I was conscious of the fact that I slurred and repeated myself, so I just shut-up. I tended to usually just go to bed incredibly early and pass out. Although sometimes one of my children would take the opportunity to have a go. This might have ended up in a slanging match, but I never listened to them and, mostly, I couldn't remember what had been said anyway.
But, sometimes I'd wake up with that feeling in the pit of my stomach that something had happened. I would check my mobile phone messages - who had I drunk texted? What had I said? I'd check Facebook - what status had I put on? On whose status had I commented? But worse of all, I would wonder - had there been a falling out with me and the girls or me and Mr W? Sometimes, I would just know something had happened, but could I hell remember what. I would then spend some time treading on eggshells. Eventually I started to make notes on my phone if one of my girls had said something I didn't like. These notes were more often than not illegible.
At work, I would obsess over whether I smelled like stale booze (I most probably did). Out would come the breath fresheners. Out would come the anxiety. Without fail, I'd promise to myself that I wouldn't drink that night. A little later I'd promise that I wouldn't drink as much. Then I would spend a lot of time thinking about how much I could drink and where could I get it from this time. I'd already been to the corner shop two times in a row. Should I try the one slightly out of town? It was only a little detour and I hadn't been there for three days.
I also had a horrendous obsession with my husband's shift pattern for work. This was all to do with how much alcohol I could drink... Nothing else. If he was on an early shift, I'd have to plan more carefully. I'd pray he would send me a text to say he'd gone back to bed for an hour or so. I'd encourage him to have an early night. On these nights I would have to slow my drinking down so that I wouldn't be completely out of it by 8pm. I hated early shifts just like I hated his long weekends off. They interrupted by drinking you see. I would inwardly cheer when he was working a late shift. It was even better if I knew my children weren't home for the night (they are young adults now). I could do what the fuck I liked. It was not uncommon for me to be rat-arsed by about 7.30pm. This is usually when the fall in the garden and whatnot happened.
So, you see, that's why I refer my problem with alcohol as my OBD. My life revolved around it. It was all I could think about. Perhaps, if you are reading this, you might be nodding your head in agreement to some of these things?
But, do you know what? Becoming sober has got to be one of the best things that I have ever done.
No longer do I have to worry about what stupid comment or status I put on Facebook (or who I accidentally Facetimed from my iPad). No longer do I have to worry that I am still drunk from the night before or if I smell of stale booze. My local corner shops have probably forgotten who I am (I hope so). I still have a huge interest in my husband's work shifts, but for all of the right reasons: Like if he has an early finish.... He can get the tea on the go!
I know that I am not out of the woods just yet and I have a long, long way to go. I have to give myself credit for getting this far. I can be sober. I want to be sober.
My life truly began again 142 days ago.
If you happen to be reading this blog (thank you!) and haven't yet tried being sober, give it a whirl. Re-start your life.
Monday, 27 November 2017
Sunday, 26 November 2017
Why did I become so dependent on booze?
I've been pondering this question for a long, long time... Way before I actually quit drinking alcohol.
I know that I am just like lots of other people out there in that I don't really know the answer to my question; why did I become dependent on alcohol? I think that in order to begin to answer that question, I have to ask myself why did I drink in the first place?
To help myself answer this I have to delve into my past a little.
When I was younger (late teens and my twenties) I didn't even like alcohol at all. I rarely touched the stuff. Partly because I loathed the smell and taste, but also because of my family background. The following is absolutely not intended to be a sob story, nor an excuse... but it does help me explain to myself why I saw myself as being normal and why it took me a long time to realise that I had a real problem with alcohol.
Both of my maternal grandparents are/were heavy drinkers. Spirits mostly. When I was growing up, I remember that we would visit my grandparents every Sunday and have lunch at their house. There would be occasional fights and falling outs and my mother and step-father would grab us three kids and leave my grandparents house... Usually with the threat that they would never see us again. As I got older, I realised that these spats always happened when too much vodka or whisky had been consumed by my grandparents and my step-father. For some reason, I cannot recall my mother being drunk. Perhaps she was, perhaps she wasn't. I cringe now thinking about how many times we were driven home by my drunk stepdad.
I clearly remember a time, in my early twenties, when I had arranged to meet my mother and grandmother for lunch and a coffee. My grandmother had sunglasses on and didn't take them off. When I got a closer look, I could see she had a black eye. Curious and naive, I asked her how she got it. She said something about walking into something. Later, I asked my mother who told me the truth. My grandparents had gotten into an argument whilst drunk and my grandad had beaten up my grandma. This had been a regular occurrence when my mother was growing up and when I was very young but, apparently, hadn't happened for quite some time.... Which brings me to my biological father.
My biological father is also a very heavy drinker. He is also a class A arsehole and I have nothing to do with him. I do know that he beat the shit out of my mother when they were married. If me or my sister cried and our mother couldn't make us stop, he would take his frustration out on her. Even back in the 1970's it wasn't easy to just leave an abusive spouse, but eventually she did it and eventually met and married my step-father who, yep, you guessed it - is a heavy drinker!
There's a bit of a pattern here isn't there? I think I may need to write a further post about this later. (I can't believe how I've turned out so normal! :-) LOL )
I can't say that me and my siblings ever wanted for much in the way of material things. Mentally, things were very different. I am the eldest child, so I was the one who should know better. I was the example. I was also the one who had to calm and comfort my younger siblings when my mother and step-father argued. I was the one who would pluck up the courage to tiptoe downstairs and ask them why were they screaming and shouting? Why were things being broken? I'd usually end up getting the blame for the argument starting in the first place.
In those days, 'dad' would go to the pub at the weekend. I could never understand why my mother had to wait up on him coming home. There would always be an argument and she would usually start it. Why couldn't she just go to bed and ignore him?
She did leave him once "because of his drinking". It was not long before Christmas as I remember. She took all three of us and we went to stay in some hostel type thing for a little while. No-one learned any lessons because nothing changed. Dad stopped going to the pub at the weekend and drank at home instead.
Even when I moved out into my own home and started my family, I didn't escape my parents' sagas.... From having to confiscate car keys because he had driven to my house drunk, from receiving drunk phone calls in the early hours of the morning. My step-father became very secretive about his drinking: hiding his empty cans of lager in various places, hiding bottles of spirits in the boot of his car.
You'd think that this type of upbringing would put me off drinking alcohol wouldn't you? I suppose it did for a long time. I particularly disliked the way my mother and step-father behaved when booze was involved. But, as I touched on above, my mother didn't actually drink a huge amount.
I always swore that I would never ever end up like them, but I suppose I did - just without the arguments and the violence. I ended up just like my stepdad in a way, but I think I was even more secretive than him!
In the beginning, when I did start to drink alcohol, I liked the way a glass of wine made me feel. It made me feel relaxed and sophisticated. I can't pinpoint the time when a casual glass of wine turned into that casual bottle. Life happened, shit happened... It just crept up.
Drinking became my 'go to' method of relaxing after a stressful day at work, then eventually any day after work. I needed it to help me go to sleep. Then I needed more of it to help me relax and more to help me sleep.
I liked the taste of my wine. I didn't like the taste of neat vodka, but I drank it anyway... It was all about the relaxation and sleep.
I used my grandparents and step-fathers drinking as a gauge against mine. I reckoned to myself that I wasn't as bad as them. I didn't cause arguments, I didn't have fights.
I realise now that I was just as bad as them.
So, in answer to my original question to myself (why did I become dependent on alcohol), I still really don't know. I don't think it was just about relaxing... I do think that my upbringing may not have helped, although I understand that I chose to drink alcohol to excess.
I think this is something I have to look at in more detail.
But, in the meantime, I hit my 20 week mark of being sober yesterday. I feel good. I feel proud.
I know that I am just like lots of other people out there in that I don't really know the answer to my question; why did I become dependent on alcohol? I think that in order to begin to answer that question, I have to ask myself why did I drink in the first place?
To help myself answer this I have to delve into my past a little.
When I was younger (late teens and my twenties) I didn't even like alcohol at all. I rarely touched the stuff. Partly because I loathed the smell and taste, but also because of my family background. The following is absolutely not intended to be a sob story, nor an excuse... but it does help me explain to myself why I saw myself as being normal and why it took me a long time to realise that I had a real problem with alcohol.
Both of my maternal grandparents are/were heavy drinkers. Spirits mostly. When I was growing up, I remember that we would visit my grandparents every Sunday and have lunch at their house. There would be occasional fights and falling outs and my mother and step-father would grab us three kids and leave my grandparents house... Usually with the threat that they would never see us again. As I got older, I realised that these spats always happened when too much vodka or whisky had been consumed by my grandparents and my step-father. For some reason, I cannot recall my mother being drunk. Perhaps she was, perhaps she wasn't. I cringe now thinking about how many times we were driven home by my drunk stepdad.
I clearly remember a time, in my early twenties, when I had arranged to meet my mother and grandmother for lunch and a coffee. My grandmother had sunglasses on and didn't take them off. When I got a closer look, I could see she had a black eye. Curious and naive, I asked her how she got it. She said something about walking into something. Later, I asked my mother who told me the truth. My grandparents had gotten into an argument whilst drunk and my grandad had beaten up my grandma. This had been a regular occurrence when my mother was growing up and when I was very young but, apparently, hadn't happened for quite some time.... Which brings me to my biological father.
My biological father is also a very heavy drinker. He is also a class A arsehole and I have nothing to do with him. I do know that he beat the shit out of my mother when they were married. If me or my sister cried and our mother couldn't make us stop, he would take his frustration out on her. Even back in the 1970's it wasn't easy to just leave an abusive spouse, but eventually she did it and eventually met and married my step-father who, yep, you guessed it - is a heavy drinker!
There's a bit of a pattern here isn't there? I think I may need to write a further post about this later. (I can't believe how I've turned out so normal! :-) LOL )
I can't say that me and my siblings ever wanted for much in the way of material things. Mentally, things were very different. I am the eldest child, so I was the one who should know better. I was the example. I was also the one who had to calm and comfort my younger siblings when my mother and step-father argued. I was the one who would pluck up the courage to tiptoe downstairs and ask them why were they screaming and shouting? Why were things being broken? I'd usually end up getting the blame for the argument starting in the first place.
In those days, 'dad' would go to the pub at the weekend. I could never understand why my mother had to wait up on him coming home. There would always be an argument and she would usually start it. Why couldn't she just go to bed and ignore him?
She did leave him once "because of his drinking". It was not long before Christmas as I remember. She took all three of us and we went to stay in some hostel type thing for a little while. No-one learned any lessons because nothing changed. Dad stopped going to the pub at the weekend and drank at home instead.
Even when I moved out into my own home and started my family, I didn't escape my parents' sagas.... From having to confiscate car keys because he had driven to my house drunk, from receiving drunk phone calls in the early hours of the morning. My step-father became very secretive about his drinking: hiding his empty cans of lager in various places, hiding bottles of spirits in the boot of his car.
You'd think that this type of upbringing would put me off drinking alcohol wouldn't you? I suppose it did for a long time. I particularly disliked the way my mother and step-father behaved when booze was involved. But, as I touched on above, my mother didn't actually drink a huge amount.
I always swore that I would never ever end up like them, but I suppose I did - just without the arguments and the violence. I ended up just like my stepdad in a way, but I think I was even more secretive than him!
In the beginning, when I did start to drink alcohol, I liked the way a glass of wine made me feel. It made me feel relaxed and sophisticated. I can't pinpoint the time when a casual glass of wine turned into that casual bottle. Life happened, shit happened... It just crept up.
Drinking became my 'go to' method of relaxing after a stressful day at work, then eventually any day after work. I needed it to help me go to sleep. Then I needed more of it to help me relax and more to help me sleep.
I liked the taste of my wine. I didn't like the taste of neat vodka, but I drank it anyway... It was all about the relaxation and sleep.
I used my grandparents and step-fathers drinking as a gauge against mine. I reckoned to myself that I wasn't as bad as them. I didn't cause arguments, I didn't have fights.
I realise now that I was just as bad as them.
So, in answer to my original question to myself (why did I become dependent on alcohol), I still really don't know. I don't think it was just about relaxing... I do think that my upbringing may not have helped, although I understand that I chose to drink alcohol to excess.
I think this is something I have to look at in more detail.
But, in the meantime, I hit my 20 week mark of being sober yesterday. I feel good. I feel proud.
Tuesday, 14 November 2017
Grrr! I am so mad with myself
Today, I feel so wound up and angry - at myself.
I had arranged to go and visit a longstanding friend after work and have tea last night. I had purposely arranged it for a week day night because I would have my car and wouldn't be tempted to have 'just one' teeny weeny glass of wine.
Everything went really well. The fact that my friend and her husband were drinking wine (and lots of it too) really did not bother me at all. I was absolutely not tempted in the slightest, but at about 8.30pm, their tipsiness was beginning to get on my nerves a bit. I know I'm being a bit hypocritical here, but the husband began to repeat himself quite a bit.
I took this as my cue to depart and I smugly drove home.
My smugness stopped when I walked into the house. My husband looked me up and down and came over to give me a kiss - with a sniff just before the kiss. "Had a drink?" he asked. I immediately said no, but do you know when you get that feeling that you are protesting too much? I felt like that. "Mmm, must be garlic or something I can smell then" he said. I told him I'd just had flavoured water.
I just made myself a cup of tea and took myself upstairs to read my book for a bit and do some blog reading.
So today, I'm angry. A little bit with the husband for not trusting me, but mainly I am really mad with myself.
I did this. No-one or anything else. Me.
I came across a post written by Untipsy Teacher's husband in December 2015: http://tipsynomore.blogspot.co.uk/2015/12/guest-post-by-mr-untipsy.html
The post gives a very good description of what it feels like for the other half. For a long time, there is always that little bit of doubt in the back of their head.
I have absolutely no right being narked with my husband. I cannot blame him for not fully trusting me.
I have to be sober for a lot longer than what I have been to earn this trust that I am seeking. I have to realise that I may never earn it. I certainly won't if I ever give in and drink alcohol again.
That will teach me for being smug!
I had arranged to go and visit a longstanding friend after work and have tea last night. I had purposely arranged it for a week day night because I would have my car and wouldn't be tempted to have 'just one' teeny weeny glass of wine.
Everything went really well. The fact that my friend and her husband were drinking wine (and lots of it too) really did not bother me at all. I was absolutely not tempted in the slightest, but at about 8.30pm, their tipsiness was beginning to get on my nerves a bit. I know I'm being a bit hypocritical here, but the husband began to repeat himself quite a bit.
I took this as my cue to depart and I smugly drove home.
My smugness stopped when I walked into the house. My husband looked me up and down and came over to give me a kiss - with a sniff just before the kiss. "Had a drink?" he asked. I immediately said no, but do you know when you get that feeling that you are protesting too much? I felt like that. "Mmm, must be garlic or something I can smell then" he said. I told him I'd just had flavoured water.
I just made myself a cup of tea and took myself upstairs to read my book for a bit and do some blog reading.
So today, I'm angry. A little bit with the husband for not trusting me, but mainly I am really mad with myself.
I did this. No-one or anything else. Me.
I came across a post written by Untipsy Teacher's husband in December 2015: http://tipsynomore.blogspot.co.uk/2015/12/guest-post-by-mr-untipsy.html
The post gives a very good description of what it feels like for the other half. For a long time, there is always that little bit of doubt in the back of their head.
I have absolutely no right being narked with my husband. I cannot blame him for not fully trusting me.
I have to be sober for a lot longer than what I have been to earn this trust that I am seeking. I have to realise that I may never earn it. I certainly won't if I ever give in and drink alcohol again.
That will teach me for being smug!
Friday, 10 November 2017
New Christmas Party Animal Required!
Tomorrow, I will be 18 weeks (!!!!) - that's 126 days - sober. I feel good. It is so lovely to not be thinking about booze all day everyday. Those little niggles of feeling "I could moderate", "If only I could have ONE glass" are becoming rarer and rarer.
Our work Christmas party has always been a bit of a raucous affair. A never ending supply of bottles and bottles of red and white wine sit at the table/s. Your glass is never empty. In fact, I don't think mine ever got to be half empty without it being topped up by either myself or someone else.
M was always our resident work party animal. It didn't have to be the Christmas party - any work/social gathering would do. I used to watch M with great interest because I could never ever pin point the moment she switched from being slightly tipsy to absolutely blotto. I also always thought to myself "I'm not as bad as her".
M was always the life and soul of the party, the one who was guaranteed to make an arse of herself and get away with it. She was always "great fun". Until she'd have that one too many. She'd become even more demonstrative, the arms would be waving everywhere, she would become even more touchy feely and she spoke complete gibberish. She became overbearing. Yes, she was fabulous fun and great entertainment for everyone, except for me and a few other work colleagues who saw her antics as being over the top and, quite frankly, a showing up.
Yes, that's right, even an alcohol dependent like me found her embarrassing. That really makes me a bit of a hypocrite doesn't it?
One year, at a retirement do at a pub/restaurant in the middle of nowhere, M went missing. Me and another work colleague looked everywhere we could think of - I even ventured into the men's toilets. We did get very worried about her and we thought perhaps she might have fallen somewhere and hurt herself or wandered off. The mini bus that we had booked that was taking her and some others home had to leave without her. Eventually, M wandered around the corner looking a bit dishevelled. She completely oblivious to the fact that everyone had been worried shit less. She also had no idea where she had been. It cost the company £50.00 to get a taxi to come and take her home. The next day, at work, she remembered nothing. But... (in a sarcastic tone) it was all good fun!
Unfortunately M died suddenly a couple of years ago. Just in her early 60's and her big personality is still a big miss.
However, M's passing left a vacancy for the post of 'Work Party Animal'.
I have always consoled myself with the fact that I always held my shit together at the Christmas Party (or any other work do). I always made a point of never getting in to such a state that I made a fool of myself. Although, there was that time that, after the work Christmas party, I got home and decided to let the dogs out in the back garden. I forgot there was a step into it and promptly fell over (this has happened on more than one occasion). I eventually hauled myself up and staggered back in to the house with one half of my body covered in mud. I was so incapable that my younger daughter had to help me take of my dress, shoes and tights. I then went straight to bed. It was 6pm. However, I digress and, anyway, that happened at home and not at work, so it doesn't count - right?
Anyway, at last years Christmas party I was hailed the new 'Work Party Animal' after:
1. Going to the loo and coming back with the back of my dress tucked into my tights.
2. Trying to pour a glass of wine with the cap still on the bottle.
3. Not realising how much I'd drank, going outside for a cigarette and promptly falling over onto my hands and knees.
I generally just made an arse of myself.
Funnily enough, this was one of the scarce times when I remembered exactly what had happened the day after. To say I was mortified was an understatement.
I really don't want to romanticise my drinking past or make my actions humorous. They were just plain stupid and embarrassing. And, I really did not like this new title.
So, this year, there is a new opening for the work Christmas Party Animal at my firm. I no longer smoke and I no longer drink alcohol and I'd rather be that boring fart sitting in the corner than that pissed idiot on her hands and knees on the floor showing off her arse.
I do admit to already feeling a little nervous about our upcoming Christmas party. Are people going to try to persuade me to have booze? I'm strong enough to say "no thanks". I'm also a little excited. This year I can just coast along and enjoy myself. I can then go home and stay awake until well after 6pm!
Our work Christmas party has always been a bit of a raucous affair. A never ending supply of bottles and bottles of red and white wine sit at the table/s. Your glass is never empty. In fact, I don't think mine ever got to be half empty without it being topped up by either myself or someone else.
M was always our resident work party animal. It didn't have to be the Christmas party - any work/social gathering would do. I used to watch M with great interest because I could never ever pin point the moment she switched from being slightly tipsy to absolutely blotto. I also always thought to myself "I'm not as bad as her".
M was always the life and soul of the party, the one who was guaranteed to make an arse of herself and get away with it. She was always "great fun". Until she'd have that one too many. She'd become even more demonstrative, the arms would be waving everywhere, she would become even more touchy feely and she spoke complete gibberish. She became overbearing. Yes, she was fabulous fun and great entertainment for everyone, except for me and a few other work colleagues who saw her antics as being over the top and, quite frankly, a showing up.
Yes, that's right, even an alcohol dependent like me found her embarrassing. That really makes me a bit of a hypocrite doesn't it?
One year, at a retirement do at a pub/restaurant in the middle of nowhere, M went missing. Me and another work colleague looked everywhere we could think of - I even ventured into the men's toilets. We did get very worried about her and we thought perhaps she might have fallen somewhere and hurt herself or wandered off. The mini bus that we had booked that was taking her and some others home had to leave without her. Eventually, M wandered around the corner looking a bit dishevelled. She completely oblivious to the fact that everyone had been worried shit less. She also had no idea where she had been. It cost the company £50.00 to get a taxi to come and take her home. The next day, at work, she remembered nothing. But... (in a sarcastic tone) it was all good fun!
Unfortunately M died suddenly a couple of years ago. Just in her early 60's and her big personality is still a big miss.
However, M's passing left a vacancy for the post of 'Work Party Animal'.
I have always consoled myself with the fact that I always held my shit together at the Christmas Party (or any other work do). I always made a point of never getting in to such a state that I made a fool of myself. Although, there was that time that, after the work Christmas party, I got home and decided to let the dogs out in the back garden. I forgot there was a step into it and promptly fell over (this has happened on more than one occasion). I eventually hauled myself up and staggered back in to the house with one half of my body covered in mud. I was so incapable that my younger daughter had to help me take of my dress, shoes and tights. I then went straight to bed. It was 6pm. However, I digress and, anyway, that happened at home and not at work, so it doesn't count - right?
Anyway, at last years Christmas party I was hailed the new 'Work Party Animal' after:
1. Going to the loo and coming back with the back of my dress tucked into my tights.
2. Trying to pour a glass of wine with the cap still on the bottle.
3. Not realising how much I'd drank, going outside for a cigarette and promptly falling over onto my hands and knees.
I generally just made an arse of myself.
Funnily enough, this was one of the scarce times when I remembered exactly what had happened the day after. To say I was mortified was an understatement.
I really don't want to romanticise my drinking past or make my actions humorous. They were just plain stupid and embarrassing. And, I really did not like this new title.
So, this year, there is a new opening for the work Christmas Party Animal at my firm. I no longer smoke and I no longer drink alcohol and I'd rather be that boring fart sitting in the corner than that pissed idiot on her hands and knees on the floor showing off her arse.
I do admit to already feeling a little nervous about our upcoming Christmas party. Are people going to try to persuade me to have booze? I'm strong enough to say "no thanks". I'm also a little excited. This year I can just coast along and enjoy myself. I can then go home and stay awake until well after 6pm!
Wednesday, 1 November 2017
My dirty little secret
I've always felt slightly relieved to know that my 'dirty little secret' was just that: mine. The fact that I've had a drinking problem and my reasons for becoming sober are only known to my nearest and dearest and I have never really broadcasted that I am now AF to other family members, friends and acquaintances. I've told my best friend that I've stopped drinking but I haven't been completely open and honest. She doesn't know the depths that I sank to.
Last night, after work, I bumped into an old friend that I haven't seen for months. I'll call her B. We had the usual chat .... Kids are ok, life is fine, etc. B suggested that we get together for a good catch up and a bottle or two of wine. Great, I said. A catch up would be good ... We could go to xxxx for something to eat and they do a great range of mocktails. Mocktails? She said. So, I explained that I'd given up the wine.... Better for my health, better sleep, etc, etc. I thought you'd piled on the weight, she said.... You did like a good drink didn't you? Thank god I'm not like that!
EXCUSE ME? I was speechless, humiliated, horrified and upset. All in one. I said well, I feel much better now for not drinking, but didn't tell her to eff-off. How could I? She was speaking the truth, no matter how harsh. I made my excuses, told her I'd give her a call and said cheerio.
I got home and cried. Luckily, no-one was home. I felt so sorry for myself. I felt almost like I'd been caught out - in the middle of swigging from a stashed bottle of booze.
At about 9pm last night, B rang me. Drunk (It is so strange to listen to someone who is drunk when you are sober - was I like that?). She accused me of being 'holier than thou' about not drinking and who was I to suggest that she drank too much? I was the alkie, not her. She knew when to stop. She remembers the time when I was at her house for a catch up and tea and drank a bottle and a half of wine (so did she and she had a couple of whiskeys). Blah, blah, blah. I apologised for upsetting her and said I'd speak to her today.
This morning I am mad with myself. Why did I apologise to her? I realise that she was drunk and had more than likely twisted everything out of proportion. But still, I didn't say anything out of turn. I suspect it was her own booze demon at play. I do know that B likes her whiskey and likes her pills. But I have always thought who am I to judge? I get that, just like I think she may have a problem with the booze, she thinks exactly the same about me. Although, I would never ever intentionally force my new found views onto anyone.
I had thought all along that my dirty little secret was just that. I had thought that I had hidden my problem well. Perhaps I didn't. Perhaps it wasn't a secret after all. It is humiliating to know that other people may have recognised my drink problem too.
Having had time to reflect this morning, I don't think I need people like that in my life at the minute. That seems harsh, I know. Perhaps B does need a bit of encouragement to cut down or stop drinking. But, that's not my responsibility. I'm so early on in my sobriety that I'm not strong enough for that.
I had an absolutely crap nights sleep mulling over all of this. Re-running my conversations with B, I should have said this, I should have said that.
What worried me more is after all of these days sober, the wine witch was tapping on my shoulder suggesting that I should try moderation. No, no, no. I can't.
I feel like I have taken a step back. I had begun to think less and less about the booze.
I have to get around this, because I cannot go through life avoiding people who may be a 'trigger'.
Last night, after work, I bumped into an old friend that I haven't seen for months. I'll call her B. We had the usual chat .... Kids are ok, life is fine, etc. B suggested that we get together for a good catch up and a bottle or two of wine. Great, I said. A catch up would be good ... We could go to xxxx for something to eat and they do a great range of mocktails. Mocktails? She said. So, I explained that I'd given up the wine.... Better for my health, better sleep, etc, etc. I thought you'd piled on the weight, she said.... You did like a good drink didn't you? Thank god I'm not like that!
EXCUSE ME? I was speechless, humiliated, horrified and upset. All in one. I said well, I feel much better now for not drinking, but didn't tell her to eff-off. How could I? She was speaking the truth, no matter how harsh. I made my excuses, told her I'd give her a call and said cheerio.
I got home and cried. Luckily, no-one was home. I felt so sorry for myself. I felt almost like I'd been caught out - in the middle of swigging from a stashed bottle of booze.
At about 9pm last night, B rang me. Drunk (It is so strange to listen to someone who is drunk when you are sober - was I like that?). She accused me of being 'holier than thou' about not drinking and who was I to suggest that she drank too much? I was the alkie, not her. She knew when to stop. She remembers the time when I was at her house for a catch up and tea and drank a bottle and a half of wine (so did she and she had a couple of whiskeys). Blah, blah, blah. I apologised for upsetting her and said I'd speak to her today.
This morning I am mad with myself. Why did I apologise to her? I realise that she was drunk and had more than likely twisted everything out of proportion. But still, I didn't say anything out of turn. I suspect it was her own booze demon at play. I do know that B likes her whiskey and likes her pills. But I have always thought who am I to judge? I get that, just like I think she may have a problem with the booze, she thinks exactly the same about me. Although, I would never ever intentionally force my new found views onto anyone.
I had thought all along that my dirty little secret was just that. I had thought that I had hidden my problem well. Perhaps I didn't. Perhaps it wasn't a secret after all. It is humiliating to know that other people may have recognised my drink problem too.
Having had time to reflect this morning, I don't think I need people like that in my life at the minute. That seems harsh, I know. Perhaps B does need a bit of encouragement to cut down or stop drinking. But, that's not my responsibility. I'm so early on in my sobriety that I'm not strong enough for that.
I had an absolutely crap nights sleep mulling over all of this. Re-running my conversations with B, I should have said this, I should have said that.
What worried me more is after all of these days sober, the wine witch was tapping on my shoulder suggesting that I should try moderation. No, no, no. I can't.
I feel like I have taken a step back. I had begun to think less and less about the booze.
I have to get around this, because I cannot go through life avoiding people who may be a 'trigger'.
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