Hi again. Here's (hopefully) an attempt to get up to date. I've got a new thing I've started doing each morning. Whereas before I'd time getting up each morning for work to the minute, 8:05, to incorporate; shower, dress, eat, brush teeth and run to the bus stop with a target arrival time at the office of 8:58, I've now decided to used my inability to sleep as a positive.The day now goes; wake up 5:30 or 6:00. Snooze or read for a bit, and then get up around 7:00. Have a shower, then turn on the stereo, preferably to indie, metal or something else that needs to be played loud. Adjust the volume accordingly. It's important to get the balance right between "Nightclub vibe", and "Blowing speaker". I then dance around in my pants/dressing gown for a bit eating breakfast and having a coffee. Then it's get dressed, followed by a fag. Another coffee, check my mail and then stroll to the bus stop with the intention of arriving at work 20 - 30 minutes early so I can break into the day gently.
This seems a ridiculous thing to be sharing but it demonstrates a real change of attitude for me. I don't skulk into the office anymore, and try to hide. I'm welcoming each day at full volume and I'm not hiding from anyone or anything. Why should I? I know my problems and I'm facing them. If, god forbid, I fuck up again I'll have to face it. I don't want to hide. I've got too much living to catch up on.
Anyway, back to last Monday. Work was great. Everyone was great. I felt intelligent before 10:00am, and not worried that my breath would stink of beer/wine/rum so I've also saved on mint expenditure. It's a win all round! I was also able to get the coffees in without the fear of someone seeing my hands shaking. The day passed pretty quickly and I generally enjoyed it. No hangover, or counting down to 5 so I could go to the pub. All good! My mate came over in the evening and I cooked him dinner, then we went for a walk up the hill before watching the sun go down from the pub garden. I love elderflower cordial!
The working week has pretty much been the same all the way through with a few extra's in the evening. Tuesday was great. The couple who got married ("Artie" and "Lottie"), a friend who was over from Australia for the wedding ("Bruce") and myself went to the pub we first started drinking in for dinner. It's so cool spending time with these guys. I was driving so on the soft drinks, as was Lottie. The boys hit the lager/cider. Apparently it was a last chance for Bruce to get a decent beer before his next trip to the UK in a years time. The food was good, the company great, and we reminisced over a few stories from years gone by. I did notice that almost all of them involved booze, and the vast majority involved too much booze, so it was a wierd one to look back on. Last orders was called and I see the two guys nursing an inch of beer each and looking sheepish. "For fuck's sake just go to the bar and get a pint. You're depressing me!!". I dropped them off and found my resolution from Sunday strengthened. I need to stop being such a dick and visit my friends more. Obviously Bruce in Oz isn't having me turn up on his doorstep anytime soon, but the ones who live an hour or an 90 minutes away are going to see a lot more of me.
The main alcohol recovery point of the week was on Wednesday. I had my first blood test that morning and the Dr is calling with my results on Thursday, so I'll post them then. I think this routine is going to continue on a fortnightly cycle for the forseeable future so I'll keep posting them so you can follow my progress.
Lenny cancelled me Wednesday and Thursday and I was going out with some guys from work on Friday. I think Lenny has an idea why I want to talk to him, and he's scared of another lecture. Bizarely it'll be the first from me. You have to help yourself before you can be helped by others. More on this next time.
Ah, Friday. We had a chilli eating competition at work as part of "National Stereotypes Day". Our team were Mexico. I came joint first, but sadly that exaulted position was shared by 6 of the 10 entrants. They ran out of chillies. Shame - I was on fire!
Pub crawls are not designed for the non-drinker. Frankly I don't want to neck a pint of lemonade every 30 minutes. It's just annoying. Worse still, you still have to buy a round. A lemonade an hour is good enough for me and I can't see the point of leaving a perfectly comfortable pub to go to one where you may not get a seat. I had similar views when I was drinking, but my main objection was drinking at the pace of the majority and not my own, so I'd often double up. As previously mention, it's at the 4/5 pint point that people get annoying. The Olympic Opening Ceremony provides plenty of scope for casual racism, and that's one thing I can't abide. Heres why.
Before I moved (so about 7) I was put up a year at school. Racism had never occured to me, but this was where the most shameful (sober) episode of my life took place. One lunchtime the boys I was friends with decided to have a go at an asian kid. I remember his name to this day. Prakesh Patel. "Prakesh, is a shit, Prakesh is a shit" and repeat. I didn't join in. I knew it was wrong, but didn't understand why. I was worse than them. I did nothing. Nothing at all. Too scared to stand up to my friends. I got bollocked big style by the Deputy Head but I still didn't get it. I saw Prakesh on the way out of school and ran over to him. "Don't worry, you didn't do anything", he said. "Anyway, I'm used to it". He shook my hand and walked away with his head held high. "I'm used to it", aged fucking seven? I really hope he's having a great life. I've never known such mature humility in someone so young. I remember him every time I hear some twat mouthing off and I feel shame, and anger.
Anyway, every time a choir or crowd shot included a black or asian person one of these guys would pipe up with "Oooh, theres one". It got worse when all the nations athletes walked in. Maybe they thought that's what lads do on a night out. Two of us were really uncomfortable with this. They certainly didn't seem to register our complaints, discomfort or embarrassment. If they did, the chose to do fuck all about it. The "Highlight", of the evening, aside from the racism, was the lad who responded to the barmaid's question "It's time in two minutes. Would you like anything else?". I'm assuming you can fill in the answer yourself....
So, top tip. If going out with people who are drinking that you don't know that well, always frisk them thoroughly for Klan hats and check if their knuckles are scraping on the floor at the start of the evening. It saves a lot of embarrassment later on.
Laters
Monday 30 July 2012
Sunday 29 July 2012
Quitting the booze - Hell is other people
Still with me? Cool.
So, you've accepted your problem and decided to quit. Well done. Big first step made. Here's the problems I found, and maybe you will to. Having booze in the house isn't an issue for me. When I was drinking this is the place I'd finish off the night, not start it, but as my problem is an inablility to stop I'm good as long as I don't start. Also, I really don't fucking want it. You can empty your house of wine, beer, liquor - vinegar even, but if you want a drink the chances are there's a supermarket, a 24/7 or an all night garage within walking distance of where you live. If you haven't been drinking then you can drive and let's face it, most people now live within a 10 minute drive of a booze supplier. If you want to, you will. End of. But we don't want to drink any more, so it's not an issue.
A big issue is time; It moves more slowly when you aren't with Allie. She's a treacherous using bitch, but at least she knew how to kill the hours of a day. This is not neccessarily a good thing. Add to this the sleep problems and you suddenly have a lot of time on your hands. Fill it with something that's for you. Use your booze money to cook great meals. Write a book, start a blog (feel free to link to this one and I'll do the same for you. We can start a community). Read a book. Take up jogging. Sign up to that OU course that you always wanted to do. Go for walks. See friends who live a little bit too far away to get to using public transport. Start volunteering for a charity. Just do something. You're taking your life back - fill it with things that are worthwhile.
Cool. So that's us sorted, yeah? Awesome. We don't need that shit anymore and I hope we're all pretty happy in ourselves about the choices and the progress that we've made. I know I am. It is a bit weird skipping the booze aisle in Tesco's at first, but in a good way. Apparently I shake my head and give a whistful smile when I walk past it, remembering who Allie made me become. Now we come to the hard bit.
OTHER PEOPLE!!!!!
They don't know man - they weren't there! Hopefully you've told your close friends and family what's going on with your life at the minute, so you drinking soft drinks when you're out won't be a surprise. Their reaction can be a bit cringeworthy though. The first time I quit I met a load of my mates in a pub after work to have a chat about what was happening and why, and they all ordered coke. I bet most of them can't even remember the last time they ordered a soft drink in a pub. Fucking hilarious. I really appreciated the sentiment but did they honestly think that the sight of someone drinking a pint would make me vault the bar and start smashing back the sambuca? Could they really believe that I'd spend the next 50 years of my life (fingers crossed) and expect to never see anyone with an alcoholic drink again? You have to give them all 10/10 for effort and I was overwhelmed by the support but I know deep down that as soon as they all left that place they were all thinking "Fuck me, that was hell. I'm going for a pint!!!". Love 'em. Next time I saw them out I made a point of buying a round. If I can buy it and carry it back from the bar and still not go mental I think you're pretty safe to drink it in front of me. This is my problem
The only time your friends get annoying is when they cross that "Happy place line". You either get pissed up hugs, with "I love you man. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you. To be honest, I didn't think you could fucking do this!!". Cheers big man - you know who you are! Even then it does make you feel good. A kind sentiment, even if the delivery was abysmal. Then you've got Lenny, of course. It's bad enough to view when you're drunk too, but seeing it through the eyes of stone cold sobriety makes you wonder what the hell you were like. I might film him one night, just so he can see for himself.
To be honest I quite like driving to town at a weekend. I've got the freedom to go as early or as late as I want, although I normally choose the late option. No cab fees and you generally get a few soft drinks bought for you in exchange for a lift home. I can have just as good a time. The only time you feel left out is the shots. It's not the booze - it's the fact that all the other 7 or 8 people have a clink and you don't. It's strange how that still effects me. For that moment I become alone again. An outsider, just viewing from the periphery. They ought to do non-alcoholic shooters. Just aniseed cordial or something. You still get the clink of togetherness and the evil taste, but just no alcohol. I may suggest this!
Casual aquaintances are a bigger problem. The bloke you talk to in the pub watching cricket, the person you talk to about fishing. Your work mate who has always only ever seen you out on the lash at team do's. How do you explain the drink with straws and umbrellas. None of your options are particularly appealing.
Finally, just enjoy it. Seeing the world sober again may be a strange experience for you at the start, but it's not that scary. Just sit back and enjoy the caberet.
Take care, and I'll be back soon.
So, you've accepted your problem and decided to quit. Well done. Big first step made. Here's the problems I found, and maybe you will to. Having booze in the house isn't an issue for me. When I was drinking this is the place I'd finish off the night, not start it, but as my problem is an inablility to stop I'm good as long as I don't start. Also, I really don't fucking want it. You can empty your house of wine, beer, liquor - vinegar even, but if you want a drink the chances are there's a supermarket, a 24/7 or an all night garage within walking distance of where you live. If you haven't been drinking then you can drive and let's face it, most people now live within a 10 minute drive of a booze supplier. If you want to, you will. End of. But we don't want to drink any more, so it's not an issue.
A big issue is time; It moves more slowly when you aren't with Allie. She's a treacherous using bitch, but at least she knew how to kill the hours of a day. This is not neccessarily a good thing. Add to this the sleep problems and you suddenly have a lot of time on your hands. Fill it with something that's for you. Use your booze money to cook great meals. Write a book, start a blog (feel free to link to this one and I'll do the same for you. We can start a community). Read a book. Take up jogging. Sign up to that OU course that you always wanted to do. Go for walks. See friends who live a little bit too far away to get to using public transport. Start volunteering for a charity. Just do something. You're taking your life back - fill it with things that are worthwhile.
Cool. So that's us sorted, yeah? Awesome. We don't need that shit anymore and I hope we're all pretty happy in ourselves about the choices and the progress that we've made. I know I am. It is a bit weird skipping the booze aisle in Tesco's at first, but in a good way. Apparently I shake my head and give a whistful smile when I walk past it, remembering who Allie made me become. Now we come to the hard bit.
OTHER PEOPLE!!!!!
They don't know man - they weren't there! Hopefully you've told your close friends and family what's going on with your life at the minute, so you drinking soft drinks when you're out won't be a surprise. Their reaction can be a bit cringeworthy though. The first time I quit I met a load of my mates in a pub after work to have a chat about what was happening and why, and they all ordered coke. I bet most of them can't even remember the last time they ordered a soft drink in a pub. Fucking hilarious. I really appreciated the sentiment but did they honestly think that the sight of someone drinking a pint would make me vault the bar and start smashing back the sambuca? Could they really believe that I'd spend the next 50 years of my life (fingers crossed) and expect to never see anyone with an alcoholic drink again? You have to give them all 10/10 for effort and I was overwhelmed by the support but I know deep down that as soon as they all left that place they were all thinking "Fuck me, that was hell. I'm going for a pint!!!". Love 'em. Next time I saw them out I made a point of buying a round. If I can buy it and carry it back from the bar and still not go mental I think you're pretty safe to drink it in front of me. This is my problem
The only time your friends get annoying is when they cross that "Happy place line". You either get pissed up hugs, with "I love you man. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you. To be honest, I didn't think you could fucking do this!!". Cheers big man - you know who you are! Even then it does make you feel good. A kind sentiment, even if the delivery was abysmal. Then you've got Lenny, of course. It's bad enough to view when you're drunk too, but seeing it through the eyes of stone cold sobriety makes you wonder what the hell you were like. I might film him one night, just so he can see for himself.
To be honest I quite like driving to town at a weekend. I've got the freedom to go as early or as late as I want, although I normally choose the late option. No cab fees and you generally get a few soft drinks bought for you in exchange for a lift home. I can have just as good a time. The only time you feel left out is the shots. It's not the booze - it's the fact that all the other 7 or 8 people have a clink and you don't. It's strange how that still effects me. For that moment I become alone again. An outsider, just viewing from the periphery. They ought to do non-alcoholic shooters. Just aniseed cordial or something. You still get the clink of togetherness and the evil taste, but just no alcohol. I may suggest this!
Casual aquaintances are a bigger problem. The bloke you talk to in the pub watching cricket, the person you talk to about fishing. Your work mate who has always only ever seen you out on the lash at team do's. How do you explain the drink with straws and umbrellas. None of your options are particularly appealing.
- I'm in training/on a diet. By the time the half marathon that you said you were entering comes round they'll have forgotten about it and just be used to the soft drinks.
- Tell the truth a) I know we agreed at the start "no more lies", but let's not push it! Most people see an alcoholic as all the stereotypes in the press. "Bottle of whisky before he goes to work", "Baileys on the Rice Crispies", "Takes a hip flask to keep him going when he popped out to buy a paper", etc. They will also regale you with tales of a "Proper alcoholic", that they once knew, as if belittling your problems. This does nothing for how well you feel you are doing. Fitting into peoples view of a "Proper alcoholic" generally means three bottles of whisky a day, living in your own shit and being dead by 40. No one needs to be told that they don't have a "Real" problem when they know they do. They just don't fucking get it, so let's not take this route. Far too much hassle, and people like to stick you in a box. "That's R***. He's an alcoholic you know". "We'll I never! He's got a job and wears a suit and everything. Goes to show you never can tell though". "Well, I always thought there was something a bit odd about him!". Ironically the more pissed they get, the more likely they are to talk. The worlds quite a funny place, when you think about.
- Tell the truth b) "I'm taking a break for a bit. I just don't feel like drinking at the moment". The fact that our definition of "A bit", is hopefully the rest of our natural lives is beside the point. It'll be old news in a few weeks anyway.
- Lie - say you are on medication. You probably will be at the start, so only a little lie.
Finally, just enjoy it. Seeing the world sober again may be a strange experience for you at the start, but it's not that scary. Just sit back and enjoy the caberet.
Take care, and I'll be back soon.
Saturday 28 July 2012
Q & AA's
Hi,
My friends have been helping me since I chose to write this. In fact they are probably the only ones reading it. One of them sent me a mail after post 2, and now it's time for some answers.
1) Was there anything we could have done to help or kill Allie early on?
To be honest, no. I was young, I liked going out and I liked to party. I thought I was having fun but after a while it was just another routine. When I was 22 I could go out until 4 am, and still get into work for 9. It wasn't a problem. I was "Having fun". The age increased but the attitude didn't. If you'd seen me day in, day out you could have said something but no one can help you, except yourself.
2) What happens in your head when you go out to bar a now?
Normally "HOW MUCH????", when a soft drink is on a par with a pint. What a great way to promote responsible drinking. Even the beer in pubs is expensive compared to drinking at home. No wonder people get lashed up before they go out, then end up on TV in "Britains Drunken Youth" or similar. Drunk people are very annoying, however. "Yeah, yeah, but mate, but, yeah, mate.....". I think that was one of my catch phrases. I can still go to a bar. I just have a more limited drinks menu. It's not a temptation. Instead of typing this now I could go to Tesco and get a box of wine. Same thing. Pub crawls are annoying because I don't want to neck a pint of lemonade every half hour, but what can you do?
3) You have a great game face (like at the wedding), how do you keep it up?
Seriously, it's not an act. In that case specifically I was having a great time with my new found freedom and I was surrounded by people I loved, so I just went for it. Sometimes it helps to not give a shit what people think of you, as long as no one gets hurt. I'm happy again, and I want to share it. I think that it shows.
4) Whats the worst thing you've done?
A few spring to mind. Lying to my Dr was pretty heavy. That was a real eye opener of how much of a hold on me that the booze had, has, and probably always will have. I mean, seriously? WTF?
June 22 1996 was pretty bad. England played spain and I had a few with my dad at the local, then ended up in Bristol to see a mate from home at his Uni. Drinking on the way, obviously. DL drove as always. I got to 20 pints and hurled down the stairs of "The Mars Bar".When we got back to his halls I had another two pints, passed out and pissed myself in the kitchen. Not ideal.
A few months after that I was sick in a urinal halfway through my eleventh pint. I washed my mouth out, finished my drink, bought another and then went back to a mates where I drank/snorted 3/4 of a bottle of uzo. My mum found me unconcious on the step in a pool of my own piss. I was blue from the cold and covered in blood from where I'd smashed my face on the wall of the house. I did not make the wedding I was meant to be attending. My mum was so angry, and maternally distraught. I can't believe I did that to her.
To be honest there are so many. I've slept with the wrong girl at a party by mistake when I went to the wrong bedroom on the way back from the loo. How fucked do you have to be to not be able to tell which of the two girls you snogged you'd ended up with? She liked me anyway and thought I had finally come to see her, so no harm done, but her mate was asleep by the time I realised what was going on and found the correct room. We slept together in the morning. Very awkward when I next saw them both out together.
You've probably heard more than I can remember.
Easily the worst is choosing to drink wine or go to a pub instead of spending time with my ex partners. If it comes down to a choice between an early night in bed with the beautiful woman that you love, or a night on the piss with Allie and the choice takes 2 seconds before you pick the booze you really have problems. I didn't do enough to return their love and in the end that drove them away. I'm so sorry.
5) Have you ever admitted it to anyone before?
Do you mean the bad things? Pretty much but where there are no witnesses I tend to leave out nocturnal incontinence.
6) Have you ever met another fan of Allie on your travels?
A few. I met an Irish guy in Ecuador. He was taking a year off it and I took the piss. What I actually meant was "Why can't I do that?". There was another, again in Ecuador. He was a biologist, or similar. When we first met him he wasn't drinking, but after a while he was getting as pissed as me. He went a bit nuts in the jungle and started talking pigeon to the fluent english speaking guide and the two Pakistani guys who both worked for the US government and had oxford equivalent educations. "What buuurd?". "With yella bik?". It could have been the lack of liquor, because it was hitting me a bit hard too. He's the guy who helped me get the aguadente in the rainforest. He was really sound and we got on really well. Maybe we understood something about each other that no-one else got. I'll mail him and check he's ok. I've been meaning to for a while. * I'll come back to this. He kindly got back to me with "That's one hell of a way to say hi!!!". Show's I know fuck all. I'm glad to be wrong.
7) What were the first signs you knew you couldn't stop?
I've always known. I just never admitted it to myself. "Hair of the dog", "Being hardcore", and "I fear no beer", were all great lines, but actually just another reason to have another drink and get fucked again.
Hope this helps..
Laters
My friends have been helping me since I chose to write this. In fact they are probably the only ones reading it. One of them sent me a mail after post 2, and now it's time for some answers.
1) Was there anything we could have done to help or kill Allie early on?
To be honest, no. I was young, I liked going out and I liked to party. I thought I was having fun but after a while it was just another routine. When I was 22 I could go out until 4 am, and still get into work for 9. It wasn't a problem. I was "Having fun". The age increased but the attitude didn't. If you'd seen me day in, day out you could have said something but no one can help you, except yourself.
2) What happens in your head when you go out to bar a now?
Normally "HOW MUCH????", when a soft drink is on a par with a pint. What a great way to promote responsible drinking. Even the beer in pubs is expensive compared to drinking at home. No wonder people get lashed up before they go out, then end up on TV in "Britains Drunken Youth" or similar. Drunk people are very annoying, however. "Yeah, yeah, but mate, but, yeah, mate.....". I think that was one of my catch phrases. I can still go to a bar. I just have a more limited drinks menu. It's not a temptation. Instead of typing this now I could go to Tesco and get a box of wine. Same thing. Pub crawls are annoying because I don't want to neck a pint of lemonade every half hour, but what can you do?
3) You have a great game face (like at the wedding), how do you keep it up?
Seriously, it's not an act. In that case specifically I was having a great time with my new found freedom and I was surrounded by people I loved, so I just went for it. Sometimes it helps to not give a shit what people think of you, as long as no one gets hurt. I'm happy again, and I want to share it. I think that it shows.
4) Whats the worst thing you've done?
A few spring to mind. Lying to my Dr was pretty heavy. That was a real eye opener of how much of a hold on me that the booze had, has, and probably always will have. I mean, seriously? WTF?
June 22 1996 was pretty bad. England played spain and I had a few with my dad at the local, then ended up in Bristol to see a mate from home at his Uni. Drinking on the way, obviously. DL drove as always. I got to 20 pints and hurled down the stairs of "The Mars Bar".When we got back to his halls I had another two pints, passed out and pissed myself in the kitchen. Not ideal.
A few months after that I was sick in a urinal halfway through my eleventh pint. I washed my mouth out, finished my drink, bought another and then went back to a mates where I drank/snorted 3/4 of a bottle of uzo. My mum found me unconcious on the step in a pool of my own piss. I was blue from the cold and covered in blood from where I'd smashed my face on the wall of the house. I did not make the wedding I was meant to be attending. My mum was so angry, and maternally distraught. I can't believe I did that to her.
To be honest there are so many. I've slept with the wrong girl at a party by mistake when I went to the wrong bedroom on the way back from the loo. How fucked do you have to be to not be able to tell which of the two girls you snogged you'd ended up with? She liked me anyway and thought I had finally come to see her, so no harm done, but her mate was asleep by the time I realised what was going on and found the correct room. We slept together in the morning. Very awkward when I next saw them both out together.
You've probably heard more than I can remember.
Easily the worst is choosing to drink wine or go to a pub instead of spending time with my ex partners. If it comes down to a choice between an early night in bed with the beautiful woman that you love, or a night on the piss with Allie and the choice takes 2 seconds before you pick the booze you really have problems. I didn't do enough to return their love and in the end that drove them away. I'm so sorry.
5) Have you ever admitted it to anyone before?
Do you mean the bad things? Pretty much but where there are no witnesses I tend to leave out nocturnal incontinence.
6) Have you ever met another fan of Allie on your travels?
A few. I met an Irish guy in Ecuador. He was taking a year off it and I took the piss. What I actually meant was "Why can't I do that?". There was another, again in Ecuador. He was a biologist, or similar. When we first met him he wasn't drinking, but after a while he was getting as pissed as me. He went a bit nuts in the jungle and started talking pigeon to the fluent english speaking guide and the two Pakistani guys who both worked for the US government and had oxford equivalent educations. "What buuurd?". "With yella bik?". It could have been the lack of liquor, because it was hitting me a bit hard too. He's the guy who helped me get the aguadente in the rainforest. He was really sound and we got on really well. Maybe we understood something about each other that no-one else got. I'll mail him and check he's ok. I've been meaning to for a while. * I'll come back to this. He kindly got back to me with "That's one hell of a way to say hi!!!". Show's I know fuck all. I'm glad to be wrong.
7) What were the first signs you knew you couldn't stop?
I've always known. I just never admitted it to myself. "Hair of the dog", "Being hardcore", and "I fear no beer", were all great lines, but actually just another reason to have another drink and get fucked again.
Hope this helps..
Laters
Sunday. Highs and lows
After a refreshing two hour sleep I jumped out of bed at 8:30am and got ready to return to the hotel wedding breakfast. 25 minutes later I was on the road and it was another beautiful day! The sun was shining, the music was loud and I was on top of the world. Even managed to arrive at my destination without getting lost. "This was going to be another belting day!" You should never think that. Life kicks you at times....
Rolled into the scene of the crime and sat with a few of my friends. Evidence of Allie was everywhere. Glazed eyes, slow movements and a general subdued air. Looks like that bitch had visited everyone last night but I knew they'd all kicked her out this morning and wouldn't be asking her to stay. I had the standard questions about last night..... "So what happened?", "How did you get on?", "How far did you get", etc. The highlight was when one of the ushers wives who I'd only met the day before shouted across the room, "Oi, M*****!!! Did you shag her then or what?". Theres not a lot you can say to that so I just smiled and remembered our talk in the car. I drank all the coffee available as the sugar was wearing off and we all just talked for an hour until it was time for people to start checking out. I was going to leave too but I didn't want it to end just yet. I sat in the garden and said goodbye to them all one by one, until it was just me left. I was a week into my new life and I felt like catching up with what I'd missed in the last 17 years.
I live in a beautiful part of Britain. The countryside is amazing and there are so many places to just sit down and be content. It hasn't got the stark beauty of Pembroke, Anglesey or the Lake District but it's the Shire, and it's home. It's disturbing how much of my life I've spent seeing it as a gap between pubs. Another regret, but there's time to put this one right. New resolution. Make the most of the summer by going into the hills (we actually have a mountain by about 30ft), and the woods at least three time a week. If it involves a walk and then sitting in a pub watching the sun set then all the better. There's a great one near me that sells elderflower cordial. Amazing! When I first quit a girl who'd helped me through the hard days took me up there and I never visit without thinking of her. I liked her, but I could never make a move. Not how as I was then. I wouldn't wish me on anyone.
So, after the hotel I went home, had some lunch and set off. It's amazing how peaceful the world is if you bring peace with you and I basked in the sun at one with the world. By now the afternoon session had started in the cricket so I dropped the car off and went to the pub. The bar manager smiled as I walked in. Apparently I was beaming like an idiot. "Did you do it?", she asked. I'd like to point out this was a reference to the whole wedding sober thing and not another crude comment about Eve. I nodded and she smiled again. Life is good. It was at this point that people started to piss me off.
The cricket going badly for a start. England were getting pasted by South Africa and I went into the garden during the tea break. There was I lad I know out there. I'd told him I'd stopped drinking on the Thursday as he struggled to get his head round the concept of someone drinking a bitter lemon and lemonade (2 straws, 1 umbrella). I didn't tell him why, as frankly I don't know him as well as I know you guys. "Hey R***. Someone told me you was drinking last night", he said in a smug accusatory tone. I wanted to deck him there and then and I never feel like that. Firstly, I hadn't been. Secondly, why would anyone comment if I had been? They'd be more likely to query the umbrella beverage. Thirdly, why would they tell that prick even if I had? Finally, no one from my local was at the wedding. I'm still pretty livid at this point but it quickly gave way to cold contempt. Why would you make something up like that? Why were you trying to undermine me and my efforts? What would you have gained if I had fucked up yesterday? Why do you want to cause me pain? I responded with "Alex you twat. I was at a wedding last night and no one there would talk to a shit like you. I just do it as charity work". Not Oscar Wilde I admit, but I was pretty upset and had to make do with the first thing that came out. I was more satisfied with the Dr Evil-esque "Ssshhh!", everytime he tried to explain in a "Yeah but, no but", kind of way. Childish I know but hey, sometimes you have to drop a level. I was so used to support by this time I couldn't be dealing with anyone who's in my way. You're either with me or you're nothing. I'm facing my shit so look in the mirror before you have a go.
Then at 8pm the phone rang..... it was my mate who we shall call "Lenny". "Hi R***. I've just finished playing snooker with "Bob". Do you fancy playing cards tonight? We'll be back in an hour". I agreed, mainly because Bob is one of my best mates who has lived nearby all my life, and witnessed all the shit first hand, pretty much daily, unable to help. He's a great friend and I wanted him to see me coming out the other side. I also wanted a chat with Lenny. "Playing snooker", translates as "I've had 5 pints, a glass of red and then hit the whisky". Lenny is a guy that people worry about inviting to parties, nights out and especially weddings. He'd been good last night, although he couldn't understand why I'd cancelled his (and three other friends including Bob's) lift home last night in favour of Eve. Face it, four people getting a cab to the same place seven miles away makes a lot more sense than one girl getting a cab ten miles on her own. Anyway, she was really nice and I just wanted to spend time with her. Even then he tried to persuade us to go back to his to play cards. Really? Hot, clever, funny, interesting girl or, on the other hand, cards with a pissed up mess. Not a tricky one!
When I say that Lenny was well behaved this is relative. He was a barely coherent shell of a human by 1:30am but this is progress. Normally he gets wasted and tries to chat up every girl in the bar. I say "chat up". I mean "grope at the earliest opportunity". I've seen him go for a neck kiss after 15 seconds. Married, single, the hosts aunty. All are fair game. Anyway, meanwhile back at the ranch..... I turned up at 9 and his opening line was, "So R***, did you seal the deal?". After explaining that I am no longer 19 and this was not some girl I'd picked up in a shithole of a club and fucked by the duckpond in the park, I elaborated to say "Got a number. Got a date. Got a kiss". To me that was all I was looking for. By this time it was pretty obvious that Lenny was steaming. Bob was looking awkward in the corner and when Lenny went to the bathroom he filled me in. He'd started on coke as it was a heavy one at the wedding, and just had a couple later in the afternoon. Lenny had just topped up straight away, then had a spliff before dinner. Apparently the pasta had to be reheated as he was so fucked he dropped the pan on the floor. If your mate is a recovering alcoholic why would you invite him round when you are shit faced? Who wins? The evening passed in an awkward way. Neither Bob or I wanted to be there. He was embarrassed by what I'd turned up to and I'd had about 11 hours sleep since 7am Thursday. I was angry again, and upset. How could he not see what he was doing? How could he accept that I've got a problem and not look in the mirror???? I left after an hour and went home to bed.
This isn't an attempt to push the shit onto someone else. My problem is mine and his is his. I'm not a smoker who's quit for a fortnight and starts complaining about the smell. I've got another objective. Lenny is smart, kind, happy, funny and good company when sober. I really care about him. Maybe it's payback for all the pain I've caused but that's what I feel when I see him. It hurts. Maybe I have more insight into this than my other friends, as I think I have an idea how empty life can be when you're with Allie. They just see a drunken mess who is an embarrassment in front of their "professional friends". Snooker? Allie comes along. Watch the football? Better save her a seat. She even comes on walks in the country in the form of a four-pack and a hip-flask.
Hopefully I can reach him. Hopefully he'll listen and then decide for himself if he has a problem. Hopefully he'll at least go to the Dr's and get checked out. Hopefully we both get out of this life alive.
Next Q & A
Rolled into the scene of the crime and sat with a few of my friends. Evidence of Allie was everywhere. Glazed eyes, slow movements and a general subdued air. Looks like that bitch had visited everyone last night but I knew they'd all kicked her out this morning and wouldn't be asking her to stay. I had the standard questions about last night..... "So what happened?", "How did you get on?", "How far did you get", etc. The highlight was when one of the ushers wives who I'd only met the day before shouted across the room, "Oi, M*****!!! Did you shag her then or what?". Theres not a lot you can say to that so I just smiled and remembered our talk in the car. I drank all the coffee available as the sugar was wearing off and we all just talked for an hour until it was time for people to start checking out. I was going to leave too but I didn't want it to end just yet. I sat in the garden and said goodbye to them all one by one, until it was just me left. I was a week into my new life and I felt like catching up with what I'd missed in the last 17 years.
I live in a beautiful part of Britain. The countryside is amazing and there are so many places to just sit down and be content. It hasn't got the stark beauty of Pembroke, Anglesey or the Lake District but it's the Shire, and it's home. It's disturbing how much of my life I've spent seeing it as a gap between pubs. Another regret, but there's time to put this one right. New resolution. Make the most of the summer by going into the hills (we actually have a mountain by about 30ft), and the woods at least three time a week. If it involves a walk and then sitting in a pub watching the sun set then all the better. There's a great one near me that sells elderflower cordial. Amazing! When I first quit a girl who'd helped me through the hard days took me up there and I never visit without thinking of her. I liked her, but I could never make a move. Not how as I was then. I wouldn't wish me on anyone.
So, after the hotel I went home, had some lunch and set off. It's amazing how peaceful the world is if you bring peace with you and I basked in the sun at one with the world. By now the afternoon session had started in the cricket so I dropped the car off and went to the pub. The bar manager smiled as I walked in. Apparently I was beaming like an idiot. "Did you do it?", she asked. I'd like to point out this was a reference to the whole wedding sober thing and not another crude comment about Eve. I nodded and she smiled again. Life is good. It was at this point that people started to piss me off.
The cricket going badly for a start. England were getting pasted by South Africa and I went into the garden during the tea break. There was I lad I know out there. I'd told him I'd stopped drinking on the Thursday as he struggled to get his head round the concept of someone drinking a bitter lemon and lemonade (2 straws, 1 umbrella). I didn't tell him why, as frankly I don't know him as well as I know you guys. "Hey R***. Someone told me you was drinking last night", he said in a smug accusatory tone. I wanted to deck him there and then and I never feel like that. Firstly, I hadn't been. Secondly, why would anyone comment if I had been? They'd be more likely to query the umbrella beverage. Thirdly, why would they tell that prick even if I had? Finally, no one from my local was at the wedding. I'm still pretty livid at this point but it quickly gave way to cold contempt. Why would you make something up like that? Why were you trying to undermine me and my efforts? What would you have gained if I had fucked up yesterday? Why do you want to cause me pain? I responded with "Alex you twat. I was at a wedding last night and no one there would talk to a shit like you. I just do it as charity work". Not Oscar Wilde I admit, but I was pretty upset and had to make do with the first thing that came out. I was more satisfied with the Dr Evil-esque "Ssshhh!", everytime he tried to explain in a "Yeah but, no but", kind of way. Childish I know but hey, sometimes you have to drop a level. I was so used to support by this time I couldn't be dealing with anyone who's in my way. You're either with me or you're nothing. I'm facing my shit so look in the mirror before you have a go.
Then at 8pm the phone rang..... it was my mate who we shall call "Lenny". "Hi R***. I've just finished playing snooker with "Bob". Do you fancy playing cards tonight? We'll be back in an hour". I agreed, mainly because Bob is one of my best mates who has lived nearby all my life, and witnessed all the shit first hand, pretty much daily, unable to help. He's a great friend and I wanted him to see me coming out the other side. I also wanted a chat with Lenny. "Playing snooker", translates as "I've had 5 pints, a glass of red and then hit the whisky". Lenny is a guy that people worry about inviting to parties, nights out and especially weddings. He'd been good last night, although he couldn't understand why I'd cancelled his (and three other friends including Bob's) lift home last night in favour of Eve. Face it, four people getting a cab to the same place seven miles away makes a lot more sense than one girl getting a cab ten miles on her own. Anyway, she was really nice and I just wanted to spend time with her. Even then he tried to persuade us to go back to his to play cards. Really? Hot, clever, funny, interesting girl or, on the other hand, cards with a pissed up mess. Not a tricky one!
When I say that Lenny was well behaved this is relative. He was a barely coherent shell of a human by 1:30am but this is progress. Normally he gets wasted and tries to chat up every girl in the bar. I say "chat up". I mean "grope at the earliest opportunity". I've seen him go for a neck kiss after 15 seconds. Married, single, the hosts aunty. All are fair game. Anyway, meanwhile back at the ranch..... I turned up at 9 and his opening line was, "So R***, did you seal the deal?". After explaining that I am no longer 19 and this was not some girl I'd picked up in a shithole of a club and fucked by the duckpond in the park, I elaborated to say "Got a number. Got a date. Got a kiss". To me that was all I was looking for. By this time it was pretty obvious that Lenny was steaming. Bob was looking awkward in the corner and when Lenny went to the bathroom he filled me in. He'd started on coke as it was a heavy one at the wedding, and just had a couple later in the afternoon. Lenny had just topped up straight away, then had a spliff before dinner. Apparently the pasta had to be reheated as he was so fucked he dropped the pan on the floor. If your mate is a recovering alcoholic why would you invite him round when you are shit faced? Who wins? The evening passed in an awkward way. Neither Bob or I wanted to be there. He was embarrassed by what I'd turned up to and I'd had about 11 hours sleep since 7am Thursday. I was angry again, and upset. How could he not see what he was doing? How could he accept that I've got a problem and not look in the mirror???? I left after an hour and went home to bed.
This isn't an attempt to push the shit onto someone else. My problem is mine and his is his. I'm not a smoker who's quit for a fortnight and starts complaining about the smell. I've got another objective. Lenny is smart, kind, happy, funny and good company when sober. I really care about him. Maybe it's payback for all the pain I've caused but that's what I feel when I see him. It hurts. Maybe I have more insight into this than my other friends, as I think I have an idea how empty life can be when you're with Allie. They just see a drunken mess who is an embarrassment in front of their "professional friends". Snooker? Allie comes along. Watch the football? Better save her a seat. She even comes on walks in the country in the form of a four-pack and a hip-flask.
Hopefully I can reach him. Hopefully he'll listen and then decide for himself if he has a problem. Hopefully he'll at least go to the Dr's and get checked out. Hopefully we both get out of this life alive.
Next Q & A
Friday 27 July 2012
An alcoholic at a wedding? What can possibly go wrong?
As it turns out, nothing. Well,almost nothing.
I'd not slept well Thursday or Friday night and had filled the time by reading "The Black Stuff", by Val Cale. It's the true story of a young Irish guy's booze and drug filled travels around the world. The premise is that the human mind is like a pint of Guiness. Concious thought, how we think we should act, our petty concerns, and all the rest are the gleaming white head. Your guts, determination and the fuel that drives you is in the Black Stuff. I like it as an analogy, although I have no idea how I fit into it. Anyway, I digress. I killed some time making risotto (carbs, protein, easy to eat) and finishing the book.
I'd made the decision to drive pretty to the wedding early in the week. As I've stated, I don't drink and drive, so this was a great way to avoid drinking. The coward part of my brain was also telling me that if it got too hard I could just fake illness and do a runner! I got dressed and to be honest I was looking pretty hot, in a Georgian footman kind of way. The dark rings around my eyes were going and I had some colour back in my cheeks. My invite was a plus one but Allie and I had terminal relationship issues, so I was going to have to do this one on my own.
I finally got to the hotel. I say finally. It's 10 miles away but despite being able to find a bar pretty much anywhere I have no sense of direction and ended up 5 miles off target. When I walked into the garden at half ten and realised that everyone else was staying over, and therefore in jeans. I felt a bit stupid but soon it was time to get ready and we could have the bonding process of cufflinks, cravates and the tricky hanky issue. Never mind the buttonholes. Buttoned jackets? Bottom waistcoat undone? Nightmare!
Eventually we were done and the pied piper led his chosen rats into the garden. More of my mates were there and I felt less exposed. The grooms mum came over and gave me a hug. "You're looking so well!!". She's also a receptionist at my Dr's so is pretty up to speed with my issues, as she often reads out my test results to me. I know it's not my day but I'm feeling fucking great right now. I'm surrounded by people I love, and just as importantly they love me. I'm gonna nail this. How could I even dream of letting this man down? He means the world to me. I'm free, newly out of a tortuous relationship, and looking forward to sharing in my friends special day! What can possibly go wrong?
We bundle through the standard groom, best man and usher photo's. I can see my man is shitting it a bit by this time so we just have a laugh and he visibly chills out. He also has a strongbow, but I'm in no position to judge. The waiting is almost over and he just wants to see his bride and say "I will". It's at moments like this that you realise that the dress, suits, flowers, meal and all the rest of it is just beautiful trimming. It's what happens between those two people that counts, and we were lucky enough to witness it. The first shock of the day came when I ordered a lemonade. £1.70 for a half. Shit - this was meant to be the cheap option!!!
Sometimes you have to help yourself in life. Sometimes someone gives you a hand. Sometimes a blisteringly niave lack of preperation and the fact that deep down, you believe that if you try to do the right thing pretty much everything will work out, more or less, ok in the end comes up Aces. All three combined here. My ushing preperation was so poor I didn't even know I had a reserved seat for the service and so as last man in I chose not to check (if I didn't I would have looked a right dick) and just plonked myself down at the back. I looked at the person next to me and she was stunning. I remembered seeing her walk in on her own about five minutes previously, so I said hello. After some initial confusion (I share a name with the groom) we started talking in the pre-bride interlude and hit it off straight away. Clever, funny, warm. Wow. My attempts to play it cool were hampered when I started welling up during the service, so at that point I just gave up with the shit. No more lies!
The service was beautiful. My friend looked so happy when his beautiful bride walked in. To be fair she would look elegant and stunning if she'd just finished a hard day digging the garden, but today she'd reached new levels. It's strange how ambivalence hits you. I was so happy for them both, and their families on what was a beautiful, moving and intimate day. At the same time I had the flashbacks to my previous fucked up relationships. My sadness made their happiness shine all the more brilliantly and lifted me. Now was not the time to look back. Now was the time to bask in someone elses joy and let it feed your own.
Big confession. I fucked up the not drinking almost immediately. When we walked out into the garden after the service there were two trays. One with champagne, one with orange juice. I went for the OJ option and after the first gulp I realised, "Shit! This isn't fucking orange juice". I ditched the bucks fizz straight away, and went back on lemonade. That could have been a turning point. I could have beaten myself up but not today. The sun was shining, and all the people I care about were around me to celebrate something special. Move on boy. It was a mistake.
It turns out that my service buddy was single and only knew the bride. Pretty brave coming on your own. In fact it turns out that we were the only two singles at the wedding. What are the chances? Thank you breathetaking niavity and lack of planning. I introduced her to my friends and their partners, which was almost a mistake. I struggled to get her back for a chat for hours. Fair play, my friends are cool. The day continued with more photo's, a lovely meal and some really moving speeches. The groom is so cool that we had to go back 18 years to find anything to dig up on him. He was sick at mine the first time he drank. He managed to not let it control him. Looking back, I was on the path even then.... I flushed scarlet with shame when they named me as holding the party. Everyone else had moved on. I sensed everybody knew I hadn't.
The meal passed, as did the interlude before the evening party and it dawned on me. I'm having a great time. I'm sober. People find me funny. And interesting. I'm sober. I was happy just hanging with strangers, talking to my friends, talking to the girl I'd just met (lets call her Eve - bit Biblical I know but kind of symbolic). I'm sober. I don't need the booze. I'm happy.
I disproved the theory that alcohol diminishes your feelings of self conciousness. I was sober, although admittedly full of sugar from the lemonade and sweet factory, and feeling the joy. You can get away with dancing like a twat as long as you have a stupid grin on you face that shouts "I know. I don't care. Great isn't it? Come and join in!!". And that's what I did. Dancing like a pillock to indie rock and roll for three hours straight in a full morning suit. I didn't need Allie. I spent a load on booze, but none of it was for me. I was happy. I was so elated I felt bullet-proof. Nothing could go wrong tonight. Not with that much love around us all.
Being the only two singles Eve and I were the centre of the gossip columns and at the end of the night I gave her a lift home. I genuinely did get lost again, but eventually got my bearings and dropped her off where she was staying, luckily about 1/4 of a mile from mine. What are the chances? We swapped numbers, promised to meet again and then she thanked me for not kissing her on the dancefloor. It was a pretty close run thing to be fair, but I remembered that just because I felt 18 again there was no need to act it. I kissed her good night and we talked for a while longer. Another kiss, and then she went inside and I drove home happy. All thoughts of Allie were gone
What an amazing day! It's joint top in my two favourite weddings of all time. Everything was so friendly, everyone was so approachable and happy. I wanted that for me. And I was so proud. My boy had grown up!
There is an ususual post script. I got in about three and sat up reading in the garden until 5:30am, then finally dropped of to sleep some time after 6:30am. The moral is that if you drink a gallon of lemonade and eat two kilo of candy sleeping will be difficult. That's what I tried to tell myself anyway. Deep down I think it was just sheer happiness and elation. Goodbye Allie. I don't miss you. Go and dig your claws into someone else. You've held me back too long. Bitch.
Next up - Sunday and a Q & A mail from one of my oldest friends. He encouraged me to write this and was the first to read it.
I'd not slept well Thursday or Friday night and had filled the time by reading "The Black Stuff", by Val Cale. It's the true story of a young Irish guy's booze and drug filled travels around the world. The premise is that the human mind is like a pint of Guiness. Concious thought, how we think we should act, our petty concerns, and all the rest are the gleaming white head. Your guts, determination and the fuel that drives you is in the Black Stuff. I like it as an analogy, although I have no idea how I fit into it. Anyway, I digress. I killed some time making risotto (carbs, protein, easy to eat) and finishing the book.
I'd made the decision to drive pretty to the wedding early in the week. As I've stated, I don't drink and drive, so this was a great way to avoid drinking. The coward part of my brain was also telling me that if it got too hard I could just fake illness and do a runner! I got dressed and to be honest I was looking pretty hot, in a Georgian footman kind of way. The dark rings around my eyes were going and I had some colour back in my cheeks. My invite was a plus one but Allie and I had terminal relationship issues, so I was going to have to do this one on my own.
I finally got to the hotel. I say finally. It's 10 miles away but despite being able to find a bar pretty much anywhere I have no sense of direction and ended up 5 miles off target. When I walked into the garden at half ten and realised that everyone else was staying over, and therefore in jeans. I felt a bit stupid but soon it was time to get ready and we could have the bonding process of cufflinks, cravates and the tricky hanky issue. Never mind the buttonholes. Buttoned jackets? Bottom waistcoat undone? Nightmare!
Eventually we were done and the pied piper led his chosen rats into the garden. More of my mates were there and I felt less exposed. The grooms mum came over and gave me a hug. "You're looking so well!!". She's also a receptionist at my Dr's so is pretty up to speed with my issues, as she often reads out my test results to me. I know it's not my day but I'm feeling fucking great right now. I'm surrounded by people I love, and just as importantly they love me. I'm gonna nail this. How could I even dream of letting this man down? He means the world to me. I'm free, newly out of a tortuous relationship, and looking forward to sharing in my friends special day! What can possibly go wrong?
We bundle through the standard groom, best man and usher photo's. I can see my man is shitting it a bit by this time so we just have a laugh and he visibly chills out. He also has a strongbow, but I'm in no position to judge. The waiting is almost over and he just wants to see his bride and say "I will". It's at moments like this that you realise that the dress, suits, flowers, meal and all the rest of it is just beautiful trimming. It's what happens between those two people that counts, and we were lucky enough to witness it. The first shock of the day came when I ordered a lemonade. £1.70 for a half. Shit - this was meant to be the cheap option!!!
Sometimes you have to help yourself in life. Sometimes someone gives you a hand. Sometimes a blisteringly niave lack of preperation and the fact that deep down, you believe that if you try to do the right thing pretty much everything will work out, more or less, ok in the end comes up Aces. All three combined here. My ushing preperation was so poor I didn't even know I had a reserved seat for the service and so as last man in I chose not to check (if I didn't I would have looked a right dick) and just plonked myself down at the back. I looked at the person next to me and she was stunning. I remembered seeing her walk in on her own about five minutes previously, so I said hello. After some initial confusion (I share a name with the groom) we started talking in the pre-bride interlude and hit it off straight away. Clever, funny, warm. Wow. My attempts to play it cool were hampered when I started welling up during the service, so at that point I just gave up with the shit. No more lies!
The service was beautiful. My friend looked so happy when his beautiful bride walked in. To be fair she would look elegant and stunning if she'd just finished a hard day digging the garden, but today she'd reached new levels. It's strange how ambivalence hits you. I was so happy for them both, and their families on what was a beautiful, moving and intimate day. At the same time I had the flashbacks to my previous fucked up relationships. My sadness made their happiness shine all the more brilliantly and lifted me. Now was not the time to look back. Now was the time to bask in someone elses joy and let it feed your own.
Big confession. I fucked up the not drinking almost immediately. When we walked out into the garden after the service there were two trays. One with champagne, one with orange juice. I went for the OJ option and after the first gulp I realised, "Shit! This isn't fucking orange juice". I ditched the bucks fizz straight away, and went back on lemonade. That could have been a turning point. I could have beaten myself up but not today. The sun was shining, and all the people I care about were around me to celebrate something special. Move on boy. It was a mistake.
It turns out that my service buddy was single and only knew the bride. Pretty brave coming on your own. In fact it turns out that we were the only two singles at the wedding. What are the chances? Thank you breathetaking niavity and lack of planning. I introduced her to my friends and their partners, which was almost a mistake. I struggled to get her back for a chat for hours. Fair play, my friends are cool. The day continued with more photo's, a lovely meal and some really moving speeches. The groom is so cool that we had to go back 18 years to find anything to dig up on him. He was sick at mine the first time he drank. He managed to not let it control him. Looking back, I was on the path even then.... I flushed scarlet with shame when they named me as holding the party. Everyone else had moved on. I sensed everybody knew I hadn't.
The meal passed, as did the interlude before the evening party and it dawned on me. I'm having a great time. I'm sober. People find me funny. And interesting. I'm sober. I was happy just hanging with strangers, talking to my friends, talking to the girl I'd just met (lets call her Eve - bit Biblical I know but kind of symbolic). I'm sober. I don't need the booze. I'm happy.
I disproved the theory that alcohol diminishes your feelings of self conciousness. I was sober, although admittedly full of sugar from the lemonade and sweet factory, and feeling the joy. You can get away with dancing like a twat as long as you have a stupid grin on you face that shouts "I know. I don't care. Great isn't it? Come and join in!!". And that's what I did. Dancing like a pillock to indie rock and roll for three hours straight in a full morning suit. I didn't need Allie. I spent a load on booze, but none of it was for me. I was happy. I was so elated I felt bullet-proof. Nothing could go wrong tonight. Not with that much love around us all.
Being the only two singles Eve and I were the centre of the gossip columns and at the end of the night I gave her a lift home. I genuinely did get lost again, but eventually got my bearings and dropped her off where she was staying, luckily about 1/4 of a mile from mine. What are the chances? We swapped numbers, promised to meet again and then she thanked me for not kissing her on the dancefloor. It was a pretty close run thing to be fair, but I remembered that just because I felt 18 again there was no need to act it. I kissed her good night and we talked for a while longer. Another kiss, and then she went inside and I drove home happy. All thoughts of Allie were gone
What an amazing day! It's joint top in my two favourite weddings of all time. Everything was so friendly, everyone was so approachable and happy. I wanted that for me. And I was so proud. My boy had grown up!
There is an ususual post script. I got in about three and sat up reading in the garden until 5:30am, then finally dropped of to sleep some time after 6:30am. The moral is that if you drink a gallon of lemonade and eat two kilo of candy sleeping will be difficult. That's what I tried to tell myself anyway. Deep down I think it was just sheer happiness and elation. Goodbye Allie. I don't miss you. Go and dig your claws into someone else. You've held me back too long. Bitch.
Next up - Sunday and a Q & A mail from one of my oldest friends. He encouraged me to write this and was the first to read it.
Back in the real world
Thursday morning and back to work. I had a pretty crap night. Getting to sleep naturally can be an issue when you are used to passing out, but on the bright side I had no booze to flush out so 4 hours suited me fine. There was the usual early morning vomit after a glass of water but I still haven't really eaten so it's only to be expected. The shakes are still with me. You would not believe the fun I had doing up my tie. And it actually was fun. I've won this round and this time the DT's are just Allies last desperate attempt to hang on as opposed to "I need a fucking drink". Finally beat the tie into submission, took some pills for my stomach and managed to hold down breakfast. As far as first day's of the rest of your life go, this one was off to a flier!
I'm not going to lie to you - I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point. I'm not embarrassed to admit it either. Why should I be? I was almost at the 100 hour mark of being straight and I'd tunnelled through three nights of shit to get there. How many normal people go that long without a drink? Admittedly they probably don't drink 8 - 10 weeks recomended intake in 7 days and a have a potentially fatal liver condition but so what? Celebrate the wins!
I still wasn't 100%, obviously. My hands were shakey and my insides hurt. I kept getting strange stabbing or prickling pains that seemed to be in my legs, head and right shoulder but I'm pretty sure these were in my torso and my nervous system was taking the piss. I grabbed some stuff for lunch from the greengrocer (bananas - energy, delicious and most importantly easy to eat) and waited for the bus. I knew I had a lot to do today. Firstly I need to explain to my team what the fuck's been going on. Then I need to have a return to work interview with my boss. Neither of things things scare me. They should. 6 months ago I would have been terrified. Two weeks ago I'd have been ashamed to admit that I'd really fucked up on the whole "controlled drinking" plan, but I felt neither of these things. I am what I am. I'm taking steps. I'm not ashamed. As the sun shone through the morning haze I was looking forward to both tasks as burdens I could unload. I was free!!
The one thing I was worried about was happening Saturday. A guy I've known since 3rd year junior school was getting married. We've always stayed close, as most of my friends from that time have, but a wedding is still a pretty daunting occassion to have on your horizon when you're in my situation. Worse still he'd done me the honour of making me an usher so I couldn't even bale. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck! I'll come back to this in a bit. Fuck!
Work was good. The guys were great, as was my boss. It was nice to be normal. I had to keep taking the drugs as I was still in a lot of pain and subtly indicated it may not be a day for me to get the drinks in. Well, I could, but there's a pretty good chance that either my colleagues or their desk would end up wearing it as my hands were that unsteady. It's odd looking back. I could still type. Maybe it's just actions that other people may see that intensify the shakes. When I was still dating Allie I'd be pretty much ok all day but as soon as I got to the pub I'd struggle to hand over change and picking up a pint was a two-hand job. It was generally ok by the third so clearly the booze was doing some good......I used that lie on myself a few times. Twat!
Finished at five and went straight to the pub. Pineapple and lemonade ordered, and a seat in front of the cricket. Life is good. Home, dinner, and bed.
Friday followed pretty much the same pattern. My manager kindly checked in and told me to call or text her if I needed anything, either at work or out of hours. Just knowing that helps. People are there for you. You just have to let them in. All that was left was wedding prep. My monkey suit had been dropped off so all I had to do was iron a shirt (I had a waistcoat so just did the visible bits), clean my shoes and have a shave. Mission accomplished, I went to the pub and had a chat to a few people, then went to bed.
Big day tomorrow. Scared? Not a bit of it! Fucking terrified? Hell Yeah!!!!
I'm not going to lie to you - I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point. I'm not embarrassed to admit it either. Why should I be? I was almost at the 100 hour mark of being straight and I'd tunnelled through three nights of shit to get there. How many normal people go that long without a drink? Admittedly they probably don't drink 8 - 10 weeks recomended intake in 7 days and a have a potentially fatal liver condition but so what? Celebrate the wins!
I still wasn't 100%, obviously. My hands were shakey and my insides hurt. I kept getting strange stabbing or prickling pains that seemed to be in my legs, head and right shoulder but I'm pretty sure these were in my torso and my nervous system was taking the piss. I grabbed some stuff for lunch from the greengrocer (bananas - energy, delicious and most importantly easy to eat) and waited for the bus. I knew I had a lot to do today. Firstly I need to explain to my team what the fuck's been going on. Then I need to have a return to work interview with my boss. Neither of things things scare me. They should. 6 months ago I would have been terrified. Two weeks ago I'd have been ashamed to admit that I'd really fucked up on the whole "controlled drinking" plan, but I felt neither of these things. I am what I am. I'm taking steps. I'm not ashamed. As the sun shone through the morning haze I was looking forward to both tasks as burdens I could unload. I was free!!
The one thing I was worried about was happening Saturday. A guy I've known since 3rd year junior school was getting married. We've always stayed close, as most of my friends from that time have, but a wedding is still a pretty daunting occassion to have on your horizon when you're in my situation. Worse still he'd done me the honour of making me an usher so I couldn't even bale. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck! I'll come back to this in a bit. Fuck!
Work was good. The guys were great, as was my boss. It was nice to be normal. I had to keep taking the drugs as I was still in a lot of pain and subtly indicated it may not be a day for me to get the drinks in. Well, I could, but there's a pretty good chance that either my colleagues or their desk would end up wearing it as my hands were that unsteady. It's odd looking back. I could still type. Maybe it's just actions that other people may see that intensify the shakes. When I was still dating Allie I'd be pretty much ok all day but as soon as I got to the pub I'd struggle to hand over change and picking up a pint was a two-hand job. It was generally ok by the third so clearly the booze was doing some good......I used that lie on myself a few times. Twat!
Finished at five and went straight to the pub. Pineapple and lemonade ordered, and a seat in front of the cricket. Life is good. Home, dinner, and bed.
Friday followed pretty much the same pattern. My manager kindly checked in and told me to call or text her if I needed anything, either at work or out of hours. Just knowing that helps. People are there for you. You just have to let them in. All that was left was wedding prep. My monkey suit had been dropped off so all I had to do was iron a shirt (I had a waistcoat so just did the visible bits), clean my shoes and have a shave. Mission accomplished, I went to the pub and had a chat to a few people, then went to bed.
Big day tomorrow. Scared? Not a bit of it! Fucking terrified? Hell Yeah!!!!
Thursday 26 July 2012
First 10 days......Sunday lunchtime to Wednesday
Sunday
The shit really started kicking in Sunday lunchtime. I was in a lot of pain, as my organs struggled to adjust. My kidneys were working overtime and god could I feel them. I hadn't been able to eat for almost 24 hours, except a handful of popcorn. The shakes and sweats were kicking in, and I knew I had to ride it out. I knew I could make it. I'd done it before. I texted my boss and told her what was going on. She was really cool as I'd been honest last time and she knew the deal. I said I'd call or text in the morning, but it wasn't looking good. I took a couple of paracetemol and went to bed.
Monday to Wednesday
To be honest there isn't a lot to say. I sweated, shook, and drifted in and out of awareness for most of it. I remember my abdomen hurt a lot. By mid-morning Wednesday I was a lot more lucid. The pain was still there but my temperature had dropped and the sweats were easing. The shakes persisted. The toothpaste cap was really starting to annoy me. It was actually quite funny at the time. I've no idea why! I booked an appointment at the Dr's and got a cancellation that afternoon. In the meantime I had my first meal since Sunday. You feel really weak after a shift like that but it feels good too. The worst is over.
The Dr was really cool. Obviously not glad to see me, but glad I'd made the decision and made a start. She did a general physical and told me to get some bloods booked in. My urine sample was riddled with ketones that meant my body was essentially in a mess. I'm no Dr but even I could tell that piss wasn't meant to look like rusty lucozade. She told me to drink plenty of clear fluids as that should ease the pressure on my kidneysI mentioned my nipples had some tissue underneath them that had developed when I started drinking again. Gynaecomastia.... http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/Gynaecomastia.htm
A hormonal issue associated with liver issues and addictions means that I now have a 2cm disk of tissue under each nipple. I didn't ask if it goes away. That's one for next time I see her......Then I called work and started to prepare to return on Thursday.
Next; Back to work, and possibly the worst social situation for someone whose just quit the booze. What can possibly go wrong??
The shit really started kicking in Sunday lunchtime. I was in a lot of pain, as my organs struggled to adjust. My kidneys were working overtime and god could I feel them. I hadn't been able to eat for almost 24 hours, except a handful of popcorn. The shakes and sweats were kicking in, and I knew I had to ride it out. I knew I could make it. I'd done it before. I texted my boss and told her what was going on. She was really cool as I'd been honest last time and she knew the deal. I said I'd call or text in the morning, but it wasn't looking good. I took a couple of paracetemol and went to bed.
Monday to Wednesday
To be honest there isn't a lot to say. I sweated, shook, and drifted in and out of awareness for most of it. I remember my abdomen hurt a lot. By mid-morning Wednesday I was a lot more lucid. The pain was still there but my temperature had dropped and the sweats were easing. The shakes persisted. The toothpaste cap was really starting to annoy me. It was actually quite funny at the time. I've no idea why! I booked an appointment at the Dr's and got a cancellation that afternoon. In the meantime I had my first meal since Sunday. You feel really weak after a shift like that but it feels good too. The worst is over.
The Dr was really cool. Obviously not glad to see me, but glad I'd made the decision and made a start. She did a general physical and told me to get some bloods booked in. My urine sample was riddled with ketones that meant my body was essentially in a mess. I'm no Dr but even I could tell that piss wasn't meant to look like rusty lucozade. She told me to drink plenty of clear fluids as that should ease the pressure on my kidneysI mentioned my nipples had some tissue underneath them that had developed when I started drinking again. Gynaecomastia.... http://www.patient.co.uk/doctor/Gynaecomastia.htm
A hormonal issue associated with liver issues and addictions means that I now have a 2cm disk of tissue under each nipple. I didn't ask if it goes away. That's one for next time I see her......Then I called work and started to prepare to return on Thursday.
Next; Back to work, and possibly the worst social situation for someone whose just quit the booze. What can possibly go wrong??
First 10 days.....Saturday (Decision and Preperation)
Saturday - Decision time, then preperation
I woke up Saturday, walked downstairs and surveyed the scene. Patio door unlocked, PC on, empty wine bottles strewn across the table and a general scene of destruction. I'd slept in my contacts, my head hurt and I felt like someone had been kicking me in the guts all night. The glass of water I drank was promptly heaved into the sink. I'm assuming the red swirly bits amongst the bile were red wine residue. My hands were shaking and when I finally managed to roll a fag I went and sat outside.
What could I remember about last night? I'd got the bus to the edge of town and met a few mates for a pint, then we headed to the centre. I remember having a "few" more beers, then someone starting bringing out the sammy's and jager bombs. After a couple of hours of this we headed to a late bar/club. I danced with some girl for a bit. I seem to remember her being pretty but she could have looked like Thora Hurd and I'd probably wouldn't have noticed. Think whisky was involved at some point, and possibly rum. After that? How did I get home? Cab? Lift? Sill got £25 in my wallet, and I started with £50. This is a bad sign. Another cash point trip? How much did I get out? Fuck knows. I assume I came back alone as only one wine glass has been used, and there is no one prone in any of the spare rooms. Shit!! Quick check reveals no comatose house guests so all good.
I made the decision there and then. This is not what I promised myself when I started drinking again. "Just a couple of pints now and then". I'd already proved I didn't need it, so how the fuck had this happened? Time to quit again.
I mentioned last time that giving up drinking is not fun, so this time I tried to get the preparation right. To give up drinking you will need;
I CAN GET THROUGH THIS!!!! IT WILL PASS!!!
Next up; Sunday to Wednesday.
I woke up Saturday, walked downstairs and surveyed the scene. Patio door unlocked, PC on, empty wine bottles strewn across the table and a general scene of destruction. I'd slept in my contacts, my head hurt and I felt like someone had been kicking me in the guts all night. The glass of water I drank was promptly heaved into the sink. I'm assuming the red swirly bits amongst the bile were red wine residue. My hands were shaking and when I finally managed to roll a fag I went and sat outside.
What could I remember about last night? I'd got the bus to the edge of town and met a few mates for a pint, then we headed to the centre. I remember having a "few" more beers, then someone starting bringing out the sammy's and jager bombs. After a couple of hours of this we headed to a late bar/club. I danced with some girl for a bit. I seem to remember her being pretty but she could have looked like Thora Hurd and I'd probably wouldn't have noticed. Think whisky was involved at some point, and possibly rum. After that? How did I get home? Cab? Lift? Sill got £25 in my wallet, and I started with £50. This is a bad sign. Another cash point trip? How much did I get out? Fuck knows. I assume I came back alone as only one wine glass has been used, and there is no one prone in any of the spare rooms. Shit!! Quick check reveals no comatose house guests so all good.
I made the decision there and then. This is not what I promised myself when I started drinking again. "Just a couple of pints now and then". I'd already proved I didn't need it, so how the fuck had this happened? Time to quit again.
I mentioned last time that giving up drinking is not fun, so this time I tried to get the preparation right. To give up drinking you will need;
- A stack of towels to wipe off sweat
- A large container of water to hydrate yourself. I chose a 10L barrel I that use when camping.
- Painkillers
- Some food in your guts. I opted for 3 huge bowls of ready brek
- Vitamins. After my food had settled I drank 2 cartons of orange juice
- A warm duvet, a summer duvet and a sheet. It doesn't help much but if you try to regulate your body temperature it should make the sweating less horrific. No idea if this works at all but it kept me occupied.
- Fully charged mobile phone.
- Open windows in your room of choice. Otherwise the stench can get pretty bad
- An easy to eat snack - I made a big bowl of plain popcorn, with a bit of salt
- MOST IMPORTANT! That list you wrote out that details why you are quitting. It's a bit of extra strength when you need it, and trust me you will need it.
- 50:50. You've already made your choice to quit, so this ones easy. If he offers to swap baxes tell the smarmy git to do one. "I'm happy with box 14, thank you Noel".
- Phone a friend. Or three. Or as many as you need too. Be honest with them. Tell them what you're doing and why. If you feel like crying just do it. You're currently being a hell of a lot braver than most people. If they can't handle it, fuck 'em. Just remember who you could count on when the chips were down when this is over.
- Tell the audience. In my emotional and irrational state I wandered over to my local and told the manager what was going on. I didn't want it to be a big deal next time I came in, so we had a chat. She was super cool. The fact that there is another pub down the road and a Tesco round the corner were immaterial. If you get on with them you won't get funny looks when you order a coke. They'll smile, possibly wink, and tell you "well done" every time you do it. And they're right to.
I CAN GET THROUGH THIS!!!! IT WILL PASS!!!
Next up; Sunday to Wednesday.
Tuesday 24 July 2012
Wakey - wakey
I've already admitted I'm an alcoholic. As I've previously stated I don't consider myself to be a stupid man, and I hope people who know me don't either. This beggars the question "Why did it not occur to you that barely eating (I'm 6'2", and got down to 8st 13), pissing yourself on a regular basis and drinking 150 - 200 units a week may put you in the alcoholic category? It must be obvious to your family and friends, you twat!". Very good point. My answer is that I didn't drink in the mornings or at lunch time on working days, so I just like a drink. Everybody likes a drink!
The honest truth is that of course I fucking knew. I made excuses. All the classics. "I've had a hard day". "I'm sad". "I'm stressed". "Liverpool won". "Liverpool lost"I passed!!". "I failed". "I got the job". It's my/your/somebodies birthday". "Only one more day until the weekend!!". "It's the weekend!!!!". "Back to work tomorrow". Etc, etc etc
I don't know if I envy people who can have a couple of pints and then wave cheerio and go home. This is because I can't imagine what that's like. I don't drink for the company or the occassion. I drink for the drink.Then, this March, I got ill. Really ill, to be fair, but it crept up on me like any other normality.
I was eating so little and getting all my calories from booze, that my weight plummetted. I could barely hold food down and every morning I''d retch up the contents of my stomach, mainly acid. In the end I went to a Dr. She gave me some antacids and arranged some blood tests.
I'm going to digress here, as I really need to share this to explain how low a human being I was at this point. I got made redundant near the end of July and my sister had arranged to come to visit me at the seaside with her two boys, both under 4 at the time (actually they were staying in my ex's place as she was away. Told you we get on). The next day my grandad passed away. Any normal brother would have been solely concerned with comforting his sister and we could have spent the time together, sharing our pain. Allie was whispering again. Now THIS is an excuse to get fucking pissed. I was paralytic for 4 days, barely seeing my family. An excuse to wallow in my own self pity. Allie was loving this. Keep going, my boy. She was no longer a mistress - she was a full time lover and we were doing it round the clock.
I'm not making excuses, but I'm not a monster. I loved that man. He was everything I wished I could be. There are times you beg you could go back and change, and this was one of them. Strangely several of his brothers signed "the pledge" in their youth. It seems their father was an alcoholic too. At least I have never been violent. I just want to explain, maybe to myself, how alcohol controls your mind if you have the right buttons to press.
Back to the story; After unemployment I moved back home and when my sister was round the Dr called and she answered. "Does Richard drink?", came the question. Then it all came out. I had an emergency appointment the next day. To cut a long story short a healthy liver reading clocks in at less than 41. Mine was 206. As I said, I'm quite clever and immediately realised that being 5 times the maximum for healthy was a bad sign. "What do I do?". "Don't drink", was the reply. She then advised me not to stop straight away, but to cut down slowly in case the liver went into shock. This would be a bad thing. Halve the daily intake (I chose wine as an easy unit to measure) and then cut down by 25ml a day to nothing. "Come in for more bloods next week and I'll see you a fortnight", she said.
This may seem a fairly basic equation. Stop drinking = live. Keep drinking = dead in 3 years. I'm guessing you know me pretty well by now so can guess what I did next? "Surely he's not that fucking stupid?", I hear you cry. Oh yeah he is. I cheated on my doseage. I was still caning 3/4 of a bottle of wine a day until my bloods. When I went to see her the week after that she showed me the results,and they were worse. "Have you stopped drinking? These bloods seem a bit strange". Guess what I did next? Surely not? That's right. I lied to my Dr. This woman is trying to help me, to stop me dying, and can I accept it? No. Lets say that one more time. I LIED to my FUCKING Dr. It was at this point I went home and started crying. Face it dude. If you keep drinking you will die. Not maybe. You WILL fucking die. This woman is trying to help you. Do you want to add her to the list of people you've fucked up? I started thinking and wrote the list at the top of my first post. I thought "Fuck it. I'll risk the shock and hospital. I'm done". I composed a text, basically an abridged version of all the apologies I've given in this blog, and sent it to friends, family, colleagues. I begged forgiveness. I begged for help. I even wrote it out and sent it to my Dr and begged her to forgive me. She did. They all did, and for that I am truly thankfull.
Mental. I quit. I'm not going to lie to you. Be under no illusions that stopping drinking when your body is used to that level is pleasant. You will sweat (daily sheet changes), shake, vomit, get headaches and your organs hurt as they struggle to adjust. You will start to reek as that shit comes out of you. You will struggle to sleep. But it passes. I truly promise it does. You HAVE to believe me on this. When you get through that life gets so much better. The pain goes. You feel clear headed. Smarter. I didn't have to lie anymore. I wasn't going to hurt people anymore. You have no idea what not banging back 25 - 30 units a day of a known depressant does for your sense of well being. I was happy, and back on my way 11 stone. Not a lot, but anymore and I'd look stupid.
Over the next three months my stats got better and better. To be honest I found it easy. I told my local pub landlord what was going on and I barred myself, not from the pub, from the booze. The bar staff were amazing. I'd order a pineapple lemonade (no charge for dash) and end up with 2 straws and an umbrella on top. They'd have competitions to see who could make the best non-alcoholic cocktail. Why was I in a pub anyway you ask? This may sound stupid but I don't have sky sports and I love cricket and football.... also I liked the challenge. After about 3 1/2 months of this it all changed. I went to a specialist. Remember that 206? Now 17. Physically I was on the mend. I had to take someone with me and my dad asked the question I'd been dreading. "Will my son be able to drink again?". My fingers were crossed and I was praying for the right answer. "In time, yes", came the reply. FUCK!!! That is the WRONG answer you cock sucker. Don't go fishing with me for fucks sake. Don't open that door even a fucking crack. At that point I knew I was in a world of trouble. As the song goes "I used ta do a little then a little wouldn't do so the little got more and more....".
Last Friday night (13th, unlucky for some. Hopefully lucky for me) I went out with friends. Drank a gallon plus, jager bombs, sambuca, whisky and got home at 3.30. I cracked open a bottle of wine. I woke up Saturday and looked in the mirror. "Face it mate. One is too many for you". So I've quit. Again. This time I'm not going to fuck it up. Allie isn't going to ruin my life any more.
And that brings us to 10 days ago.
Next; The first ten days
The honest truth is that of course I fucking knew. I made excuses. All the classics. "I've had a hard day". "I'm sad". "I'm stressed". "Liverpool won". "Liverpool lost"I passed!!". "I failed". "I got the job". It's my/your/somebodies birthday". "Only one more day until the weekend!!". "It's the weekend!!!!". "Back to work tomorrow". Etc, etc etc
I don't know if I envy people who can have a couple of pints and then wave cheerio and go home. This is because I can't imagine what that's like. I don't drink for the company or the occassion. I drink for the drink.Then, this March, I got ill. Really ill, to be fair, but it crept up on me like any other normality.
I was eating so little and getting all my calories from booze, that my weight plummetted. I could barely hold food down and every morning I''d retch up the contents of my stomach, mainly acid. In the end I went to a Dr. She gave me some antacids and arranged some blood tests.
I'm going to digress here, as I really need to share this to explain how low a human being I was at this point. I got made redundant near the end of July and my sister had arranged to come to visit me at the seaside with her two boys, both under 4 at the time (actually they were staying in my ex's place as she was away. Told you we get on). The next day my grandad passed away. Any normal brother would have been solely concerned with comforting his sister and we could have spent the time together, sharing our pain. Allie was whispering again. Now THIS is an excuse to get fucking pissed. I was paralytic for 4 days, barely seeing my family. An excuse to wallow in my own self pity. Allie was loving this. Keep going, my boy. She was no longer a mistress - she was a full time lover and we were doing it round the clock.
I'm not making excuses, but I'm not a monster. I loved that man. He was everything I wished I could be. There are times you beg you could go back and change, and this was one of them. Strangely several of his brothers signed "the pledge" in their youth. It seems their father was an alcoholic too. At least I have never been violent. I just want to explain, maybe to myself, how alcohol controls your mind if you have the right buttons to press.
Back to the story; After unemployment I moved back home and when my sister was round the Dr called and she answered. "Does Richard drink?", came the question. Then it all came out. I had an emergency appointment the next day. To cut a long story short a healthy liver reading clocks in at less than 41. Mine was 206. As I said, I'm quite clever and immediately realised that being 5 times the maximum for healthy was a bad sign. "What do I do?". "Don't drink", was the reply. She then advised me not to stop straight away, but to cut down slowly in case the liver went into shock. This would be a bad thing. Halve the daily intake (I chose wine as an easy unit to measure) and then cut down by 25ml a day to nothing. "Come in for more bloods next week and I'll see you a fortnight", she said.
This may seem a fairly basic equation. Stop drinking = live. Keep drinking = dead in 3 years. I'm guessing you know me pretty well by now so can guess what I did next? "Surely he's not that fucking stupid?", I hear you cry. Oh yeah he is. I cheated on my doseage. I was still caning 3/4 of a bottle of wine a day until my bloods. When I went to see her the week after that she showed me the results,and they were worse. "Have you stopped drinking? These bloods seem a bit strange". Guess what I did next? Surely not? That's right. I lied to my Dr. This woman is trying to help me, to stop me dying, and can I accept it? No. Lets say that one more time. I LIED to my FUCKING Dr. It was at this point I went home and started crying. Face it dude. If you keep drinking you will die. Not maybe. You WILL fucking die. This woman is trying to help you. Do you want to add her to the list of people you've fucked up? I started thinking and wrote the list at the top of my first post. I thought "Fuck it. I'll risk the shock and hospital. I'm done". I composed a text, basically an abridged version of all the apologies I've given in this blog, and sent it to friends, family, colleagues. I begged forgiveness. I begged for help. I even wrote it out and sent it to my Dr and begged her to forgive me. She did. They all did, and for that I am truly thankfull.
Mental. I quit. I'm not going to lie to you. Be under no illusions that stopping drinking when your body is used to that level is pleasant. You will sweat (daily sheet changes), shake, vomit, get headaches and your organs hurt as they struggle to adjust. You will start to reek as that shit comes out of you. You will struggle to sleep. But it passes. I truly promise it does. You HAVE to believe me on this. When you get through that life gets so much better. The pain goes. You feel clear headed. Smarter. I didn't have to lie anymore. I wasn't going to hurt people anymore. You have no idea what not banging back 25 - 30 units a day of a known depressant does for your sense of well being. I was happy, and back on my way 11 stone. Not a lot, but anymore and I'd look stupid.
Over the next three months my stats got better and better. To be honest I found it easy. I told my local pub landlord what was going on and I barred myself, not from the pub, from the booze. The bar staff were amazing. I'd order a pineapple lemonade (no charge for dash) and end up with 2 straws and an umbrella on top. They'd have competitions to see who could make the best non-alcoholic cocktail. Why was I in a pub anyway you ask? This may sound stupid but I don't have sky sports and I love cricket and football.... also I liked the challenge. After about 3 1/2 months of this it all changed. I went to a specialist. Remember that 206? Now 17. Physically I was on the mend. I had to take someone with me and my dad asked the question I'd been dreading. "Will my son be able to drink again?". My fingers were crossed and I was praying for the right answer. "In time, yes", came the reply. FUCK!!! That is the WRONG answer you cock sucker. Don't go fishing with me for fucks sake. Don't open that door even a fucking crack. At that point I knew I was in a world of trouble. As the song goes "I used ta do a little then a little wouldn't do so the little got more and more....".
Last Friday night (13th, unlucky for some. Hopefully lucky for me) I went out with friends. Drank a gallon plus, jager bombs, sambuca, whisky and got home at 3.30. I cracked open a bottle of wine. I woke up Saturday and looked in the mirror. "Face it mate. One is too many for you". So I've quit. Again. This time I'm not going to fuck it up. Allie isn't going to ruin my life any more.
And that brings us to 10 days ago.
Next; The first ten days
Relationships
So, where did you meet your last partner? Work? Friend of a friend? In a pub? However you met I'm pretty sure your first date was in a pub. They probably thought you seemed so fun, relaxed, interesting. At the start you go out and have fun. Then you have a quiet night in and have a glass of wine. Before they know it you're opening the second bottle, and they've only had a small glass. That was dating me.
I promised to be honest in this blog, but on this subject I'm going to generalise. I'm finding I can talk about the pain I've caused myself fairly easily, but the way I've hurt people who loved me, cared for me and tried to help me is a step too far.
My relationships with the two loves of my life followed a remarkably similar pattern. They were both destroyed by my mistress, Allie Cohol. The first lasted 6 years and ended in a failed marriage. The latest lasted four and a half. In both cases they left because I didn't seem to love them enough to give up Allie. I couldn't break away.
On both occasions we met in bars, although I knew both girls previously. At the start we enjoyed the crazy nights out but they didn't realise the depths of my problem, until it was too late. We'd fallen in love. I'd do anything for them; the latest girl persuaded me to take a year out and go travelling. Not many people are able to source liquor in the Amazon, but if you try hard enough you can achieve anything. Then we relocated from the town in which I'd lived all my life, but Allie came too. Eventually the years of slowly watching me drink myself into oblivion and failing to be the man I could be, the man they loved, took it's toll. The worries of "will he wet the bed" became an understandable strain. They'd keep me away from social occasions as I'd invariably turn up drunk. In the end and despite all the warnings they both left me. We still meet up on occasion and they look at me with sad eyes, as they remember how it could have been. Or maybe I'm misjudging. Maybe it's just pity. Sadness at watching someone you loved destroy themselves.
I am glad to say that both are doing well. My ex-wife is remarrying and my latest ex has found herself a new guy and has been seeing him for about 9 months. He seems really nice. If any of this sounds familiar here's a free tip. Next time you think about opening that second or third bottle, or ordering an extra pint, imagine seeing pictures of your partner holding hands with someone else on facebook - giving them the smile that was once reserved for you. Picture waking up in 5, 10, 20, 50 years time, sad and alone and wishing you could have it all again. Here's the bad news. It's gone. It's fucking gone. That ship has sailed and you were in the pub. Not a great feeling is it? The good news is that now you know that you can make a choice, because believe me you do have a choice.
Everyone is nervous the first time they spend a night together. "Will he like my breasts?". "Did her last boyfriend have a bigger dick than me?". "Will they like me naked?". "Will I be as good in bed as their ex?". If you chuck "Please don't piss the bed, please don't piss the bed" into that mix you can imagine it's pretty hard. Then again, after the first couple of times it just becomes normal for them too.
As you can see, both of my two main relationships followed a similar pattern. Looking back, I do not think this is coincidence. I'm not a stupid man, I just have a weakness for the other woman. So, back to choice again. Do you want your obituary to read "....Married to xxxxx, and father to 2 children", or "died alone, surrounded by whisky bottles"?
I'm hoping for another chance to put it right. Allie doesn't love me. She uses me. Time to ditch the bitch.
Next time; wake up call.
I promised to be honest in this blog, but on this subject I'm going to generalise. I'm finding I can talk about the pain I've caused myself fairly easily, but the way I've hurt people who loved me, cared for me and tried to help me is a step too far.
My relationships with the two loves of my life followed a remarkably similar pattern. They were both destroyed by my mistress, Allie Cohol. The first lasted 6 years and ended in a failed marriage. The latest lasted four and a half. In both cases they left because I didn't seem to love them enough to give up Allie. I couldn't break away.
On both occasions we met in bars, although I knew both girls previously. At the start we enjoyed the crazy nights out but they didn't realise the depths of my problem, until it was too late. We'd fallen in love. I'd do anything for them; the latest girl persuaded me to take a year out and go travelling. Not many people are able to source liquor in the Amazon, but if you try hard enough you can achieve anything. Then we relocated from the town in which I'd lived all my life, but Allie came too. Eventually the years of slowly watching me drink myself into oblivion and failing to be the man I could be, the man they loved, took it's toll. The worries of "will he wet the bed" became an understandable strain. They'd keep me away from social occasions as I'd invariably turn up drunk. In the end and despite all the warnings they both left me. We still meet up on occasion and they look at me with sad eyes, as they remember how it could have been. Or maybe I'm misjudging. Maybe it's just pity. Sadness at watching someone you loved destroy themselves.
I am glad to say that both are doing well. My ex-wife is remarrying and my latest ex has found herself a new guy and has been seeing him for about 9 months. He seems really nice. If any of this sounds familiar here's a free tip. Next time you think about opening that second or third bottle, or ordering an extra pint, imagine seeing pictures of your partner holding hands with someone else on facebook - giving them the smile that was once reserved for you. Picture waking up in 5, 10, 20, 50 years time, sad and alone and wishing you could have it all again. Here's the bad news. It's gone. It's fucking gone. That ship has sailed and you were in the pub. Not a great feeling is it? The good news is that now you know that you can make a choice, because believe me you do have a choice.
Everyone is nervous the first time they spend a night together. "Will he like my breasts?". "Did her last boyfriend have a bigger dick than me?". "Will they like me naked?". "Will I be as good in bed as their ex?". If you chuck "Please don't piss the bed, please don't piss the bed" into that mix you can imagine it's pretty hard. Then again, after the first couple of times it just becomes normal for them too.
As you can see, both of my two main relationships followed a similar pattern. Looking back, I do not think this is coincidence. I'm not a stupid man, I just have a weakness for the other woman. So, back to choice again. Do you want your obituary to read "....Married to xxxxx, and father to 2 children", or "died alone, surrounded by whisky bottles"?
I'm hoping for another chance to put it right. Allie doesn't love me. She uses me. Time to ditch the bitch.
Next time; wake up call.
Monday 23 July 2012
Me (part one - the education system)
"alcoholic. of, like containing or due to alcohol. - n one addicted to excessive drinking of alcohol. - n alcoholism. alcohol poisoning; condition suffered by an alcoholic".
Hi. I'm 35 years old. I'm kind, intelligent, witty, good company and I will always stand up for my beliefs and other people. I'm also an alcoholic, I'm trying to quit, and I'm writing this to share my experience, both of the booze and my attempt to quit. I'm a week in, and I'll let you know how it's going in the next few days. Hopefully it may help someone. It will certainly help me.
Over the past 17 years booze has cost me, in no particular order;
My Degree
My driving license
My self respect
The respect of family and friends
My marriage
Another 5 year relationship
My health
Career prospects
Around £120 - 150k
It has made me lie to my family and friends, and to myself.
In addition I have caused misery and angst to all those who have loved and cared about me over the years, as they watched me rage on my path of wanton self destruction.
I'd like to point out at this point that I'm not proud of what I've done. All of this is unfortunately true, and I'd change most of it if I could.
Before I go any further I would like to explain why this blog is anonymous. If I name myself, I also name my family, friends and the women I've loved. They've been hurt enough. If you know who I am feel free to contact me, but please respect my wishes and don't cause the people any more pain than I already have.
At 17 I was a clever, skinny kid who hung around with similar people who were happy with the description of 'geek', and 'greeebo', as they had sufficient self belief and self esteem to know they'd do better. I lacked this personal trait. I knew I was clever, I just wanted to be accepted. Then one night I discovered I had a gift.
I COULD DRINK
There was a strange sense of satisfaction seeing a guy at college who had bullied you, in a casual way to pass the time, left puking in a nightclub as he couldn't keep up. Revenge? Maybe a bit. Not so cool on Monday morning are you? After a while volume wasn't enough. It was also about speed. "Two pints, 12 seconds, no hands? Bullshit!!". "Fiver it is then, and you can pay for the pints". I'd get crowds. People were impressed. I was accepted!
By the time I got to Uni this was my new personality. "Crazy man". A chance to hide away from all I'd been before and invent a facade of deception to hide the pain emptiness. By that time, although I didn't realise it, the pattern for the next 17 years was set. I'd burnt out the switch that most people have that tells them to stop. I couldn't go to a pub for two pints. I was there until my wallet was empty, or I was asked to leave. Even nights at clubs were spent getting smashed until 1am, and then trying to find a girl who was as pissed as me.
My new friends thought this was me. If I tried to cut down they would think I was "losing it" or "getting dull". It wasn't a proper night out unless I was drunk I scraped the first year and it took a turn for the worse. Lectures got dropped. I'd stay up with as much cheap booze as I could get my hands on, watching shit on tv until 5, 6, or even 10am and then pass out till evening when I'd go to the pub before doing it all over again. By this stage I was pissing the bed 3 or 4 nights a week. You can tell that your view on the world is twisted when waking up in your own urine is an everyday occurence. Even if I did get a girl, my place was NOT an option.
In the end I dropped out, and returned home in disgrace, but not before I'd spent three years slashing my parents money, the banks money, the credit cards money and whatever cash I could earn up against a wall.
The one thing I never did was drink and drive. It was my only moral. Obviously I'd get straight on it as soon as I was back home, but that was ok. It is a dirty crime. I had no problem fucking up my own life, but I had enough respect not to endanger others.
When I've told people this story in the past I've claimed I'd had my head shaved for charity. Another lie I'm afraid. Actually I pissed myself at a student party and got a buzz cut as punishment. I deserved it.
The incident that started this chain of events happened at a party in the summer of 96, on a rare occassion that I was driving. The hostesses car, and I think stereo/PC got nicked by some pissed and drugged up dick that no one wanted there, but were too scared to chuck out. I was the perfect witness. 2 years down the line I arrived home, 200 miles from Uni with a court case the next day. I met my friend, who was also a witness, and we went to the pub. I drank, he drank. When the pub shut we went back to mine, and made jugs of cocktails from my parents spirit cabinet and drank until it was early. I call them "cocktails", but it was basically booze in a jug.
I picked up my friend at 9.30am, in my mums car. We had been discussing Crown Court the previous night and were both terrified. Can you remember a man you saw once on a dark night two years ago? We bloody couldn't. My mate had been drunk at the time, and I'd been drunk since. The lawyer was going to tear us apart. I was thinking of this when I heard "have you seen that van?". I snapped back to reality, and skidded into the back of a transit parked at the lights on a busy crossroad. Mum's Metro is now two feet shorter than it should have been. No problem. We'd just passed a police station so I ran off to get the boys in blue to help us out. Even at this point it never occured to me that I was in big trouble. I didn't feel drunk. This was how I normally felt. They turned up, breathalised me and BANG - your nicked. A drunk skinhead in a suit saying he has to get to court.
I got to the station and was asked if I wanted a lawyer, which I politely refused. By this time I'd realised that I was guilty as hell, and just chose to take my medicine. The first station test registered big, but "don't worry, they normally go down on blow two". Mine went up. I refused a blood test for the same reason I refused a lawyer. I have some morals. Finally got to court only to be told that I wasn't needed until the morning. That's a kick in the teeth. I got home only to get a call informing me that "Mr Evil Drunk Driving Drug Dealing Bastard" had absconded from court. I'd made a 400 mile round trip to lose my licence and wreck a car. Happy April 1st 1998. In the end they dropped all charges against Mr E.D.D.D.B, so I was a liar as well as being guilty of a crime I had utmost contempt for. I ended up with a year ban. The Magistrates realised I was a muppet who had no idea what he'd done when he stepped into that car. Even the arresting officer wrote a statement in my defence. I didn't drive again for five years.
Next up - How to ruin relationships
Hi. I'm 35 years old. I'm kind, intelligent, witty, good company and I will always stand up for my beliefs and other people. I'm also an alcoholic, I'm trying to quit, and I'm writing this to share my experience, both of the booze and my attempt to quit. I'm a week in, and I'll let you know how it's going in the next few days. Hopefully it may help someone. It will certainly help me.
Over the past 17 years booze has cost me, in no particular order;
My Degree
My driving license
My self respect
The respect of family and friends
My marriage
Another 5 year relationship
My health
Career prospects
Around £120 - 150k
It has made me lie to my family and friends, and to myself.
In addition I have caused misery and angst to all those who have loved and cared about me over the years, as they watched me rage on my path of wanton self destruction.
I'd like to point out at this point that I'm not proud of what I've done. All of this is unfortunately true, and I'd change most of it if I could.
Before I go any further I would like to explain why this blog is anonymous. If I name myself, I also name my family, friends and the women I've loved. They've been hurt enough. If you know who I am feel free to contact me, but please respect my wishes and don't cause the people any more pain than I already have.
At 17 I was a clever, skinny kid who hung around with similar people who were happy with the description of 'geek', and 'greeebo', as they had sufficient self belief and self esteem to know they'd do better. I lacked this personal trait. I knew I was clever, I just wanted to be accepted. Then one night I discovered I had a gift.
I COULD DRINK
There was a strange sense of satisfaction seeing a guy at college who had bullied you, in a casual way to pass the time, left puking in a nightclub as he couldn't keep up. Revenge? Maybe a bit. Not so cool on Monday morning are you? After a while volume wasn't enough. It was also about speed. "Two pints, 12 seconds, no hands? Bullshit!!". "Fiver it is then, and you can pay for the pints". I'd get crowds. People were impressed. I was accepted!
By the time I got to Uni this was my new personality. "Crazy man". A chance to hide away from all I'd been before and invent a facade of deception to hide the pain emptiness. By that time, although I didn't realise it, the pattern for the next 17 years was set. I'd burnt out the switch that most people have that tells them to stop. I couldn't go to a pub for two pints. I was there until my wallet was empty, or I was asked to leave. Even nights at clubs were spent getting smashed until 1am, and then trying to find a girl who was as pissed as me.
My new friends thought this was me. If I tried to cut down they would think I was "losing it" or "getting dull". It wasn't a proper night out unless I was drunk I scraped the first year and it took a turn for the worse. Lectures got dropped. I'd stay up with as much cheap booze as I could get my hands on, watching shit on tv until 5, 6, or even 10am and then pass out till evening when I'd go to the pub before doing it all over again. By this stage I was pissing the bed 3 or 4 nights a week. You can tell that your view on the world is twisted when waking up in your own urine is an everyday occurence. Even if I did get a girl, my place was NOT an option.
In the end I dropped out, and returned home in disgrace, but not before I'd spent three years slashing my parents money, the banks money, the credit cards money and whatever cash I could earn up against a wall.
The one thing I never did was drink and drive. It was my only moral. Obviously I'd get straight on it as soon as I was back home, but that was ok. It is a dirty crime. I had no problem fucking up my own life, but I had enough respect not to endanger others.
When I've told people this story in the past I've claimed I'd had my head shaved for charity. Another lie I'm afraid. Actually I pissed myself at a student party and got a buzz cut as punishment. I deserved it.
The incident that started this chain of events happened at a party in the summer of 96, on a rare occassion that I was driving. The hostesses car, and I think stereo/PC got nicked by some pissed and drugged up dick that no one wanted there, but were too scared to chuck out. I was the perfect witness. 2 years down the line I arrived home, 200 miles from Uni with a court case the next day. I met my friend, who was also a witness, and we went to the pub. I drank, he drank. When the pub shut we went back to mine, and made jugs of cocktails from my parents spirit cabinet and drank until it was early. I call them "cocktails", but it was basically booze in a jug.
I picked up my friend at 9.30am, in my mums car. We had been discussing Crown Court the previous night and were both terrified. Can you remember a man you saw once on a dark night two years ago? We bloody couldn't. My mate had been drunk at the time, and I'd been drunk since. The lawyer was going to tear us apart. I was thinking of this when I heard "have you seen that van?". I snapped back to reality, and skidded into the back of a transit parked at the lights on a busy crossroad. Mum's Metro is now two feet shorter than it should have been. No problem. We'd just passed a police station so I ran off to get the boys in blue to help us out. Even at this point it never occured to me that I was in big trouble. I didn't feel drunk. This was how I normally felt. They turned up, breathalised me and BANG - your nicked. A drunk skinhead in a suit saying he has to get to court.
I got to the station and was asked if I wanted a lawyer, which I politely refused. By this time I'd realised that I was guilty as hell, and just chose to take my medicine. The first station test registered big, but "don't worry, they normally go down on blow two". Mine went up. I refused a blood test for the same reason I refused a lawyer. I have some morals. Finally got to court only to be told that I wasn't needed until the morning. That's a kick in the teeth. I got home only to get a call informing me that "Mr Evil Drunk Driving Drug Dealing Bastard" had absconded from court. I'd made a 400 mile round trip to lose my licence and wreck a car. Happy April 1st 1998. In the end they dropped all charges against Mr E.D.D.D.B, so I was a liar as well as being guilty of a crime I had utmost contempt for. I ended up with a year ban. The Magistrates realised I was a muppet who had no idea what he'd done when he stepped into that car. Even the arresting officer wrote a statement in my defence. I didn't drive again for five years.
Next up - How to ruin relationships
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