It has been two years since I drank any alcohol. I'm not sure if that is an accomplishment or not?
Despite attempts by various recovery groups to change this, the labels associated with overindulgence of any kind are pretty heavy. So I personally reject them. Suffice to say, I enjoyed my beer.
This whole thing started several years ago. Stopping drinking was a lot like knocking over a Pepsi machine. It couldn't be done in one push. You don't just walk up to one of those things and push them over. You have to get it rocking back and forth, and then with one more heave, over it goes.
A little over two years ago, work was getting very stressful. That was also around the time I was thinking I really wanted to move, which can also cause some stress (the housing market was far from rosy). Between these two things, it was too easy to get home after a long day and use inappropriate (and frankly ineffective) coping means. For far too long, alcohol was a distraction. Some health issues came up as well. This was not something caused by alcohol, but definitely exasperated by it. That was the shove that was needed to push over the Pepsi machine.
How did I stop? I'm not sure, but I just did. I didn't seek out help, although I threatened myself with it. Too much of my work life is spent in painfully long meetings, and the thought of doing that in my personal time frequently seemed at least as bad as the alternative. I also didn't want to trade one problematic habit with another one.
Some of the time, this wasn't easy. And, it was a significant adjustment, but I like where I am.
I have never approached this as some do with the zeal of a convert. This was my Pepsi machine to vandalize. My deamon to slay on my own terms. This was not something to be shared.
I have one bottle of Bear Republic Red Rocket Ale on a high shelf in the kitchen. I half-jokingly tell myself that that will be the next bottle I will drink, so all I have to do is not drink it. Simple...
I'm not sure whether to talk the good or bad about this so I'll start with the bad. I do miss it at times. I miss the social lubrication of alcohol. I'm not the most outgoing person, and alcohol helped as a personal aid. I can be walking my dog home after a long week on a blazing hot afternoon and think there could be a big bottle of a Belgian Triple in the refrigerator, or a few 6-packs waiting for me. But, no more. Alcohol involves all the senses. I miss the smell of cooking wort when making my own beer. The clink of beer bottles in the grocery store reminds me of it. The spray of opening a bottle or can and the glug of liquid being poured over ice. There is something lost.
I have never woke up on a Saturday morning and wished I had a hangover. Never. Not once. I wake up early in the morning and after a few creeks from getting older, I feel good, refreshed. My morning coffee is a happy ritual, not something I feel I need to survive. In social or semi-social situations, I still blunder or say the wrong thing, but I at least have a chance of catching myself first and make instant corrections. I don't wake up the next day with vague recollections of being an ass, or incomplete memory of why my arm hurts so much. I have more time to do things I really enjoy doing; sometimes too much, but true boredom is very rare. The amount of money I have NOT spent on alcohol is pretty fantastic. My blood pressure is lower, almost too low. I've lost weight. Life's lows are not nearly as crushing; the highs can be diminished as well, but that could leave more room for the creamy middles. I am happier.
I do rarely go to bars or happy hour. I don't miss the alcohol there, or feel some crazy craving. I'm just out of place, like a band member in the middle of a performance, with sheet music in front of me, but my tuba was left at home.
I have tested myself a couple times. I used to make lamps out of old bottles. Drilling a hole in the bottom and running wires up to a fixture contained in the cap. A few months after I stopped I found a bottle of Crown Royal with a few dregs in it. I opened the cap and smelled it. It was like being hit with a cinder block. I still have that bottle. A friend had a party not that long ago. Literally, with the exception of one person, everyone was drunk, some very much so. I enjoyed it (the party) though. It was odd having nearly the same conversation with the same person a few times during the night. And some really dumb things were said (by myself as well as those who were drinking). Part way through the night I realized that in the morning, if any of what was happening was remembered by people other than me, it would likely be a scratchy movie at best. That realization made the time even more fun.
Three books were pretty insightful as well as helpful with this adventure:
Pete Hamil's A Drinking Life is a great book. One of the criticism's I've heard of this book is that it is very little about drinking. Read with the right eyes (and history), it is there. I actually have the last section of this book photocopied and reread it occasionally. I've even used his explanation for not drinking, "No thanks, I have no talent for it."
Carolyn Knapp's Drinking was probably too close to my own experience. Still, I enjoyed the book. I don't know what this means, but it was written from a feminine perspective that I had a hard time relating to.
Neil Steinberg's Drunkard was also exceptionally good. His writing style is engaging, and he relates strongly how personal this can be while writing about it publicly.
I don't know what will happen in the next two years, but I'm ready for it. Drawing an analogy too far, there is a Pepsi machine on the ground, and I'm walking away from it. This sounds arrogant and self-congratulatory, but I'm a better person now than I was.
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