I Am Not an Alcoholic: I think I need to change my attitude to dining out

It was with some surprise that I accidentally came across a site where people had posted comments about me - not all pleasant. They appeared more than three years ago and the detractors evidently thought that, because of the title of the article, “I am not an Alcoholic”, that I was in denial.

Although vitriolic, their comments did not upset me. They had taken certain things I said out of context. What was interesting to me was my reaction to reading such comments. If I had read anything negative about myself while I was still drinking, I am sure I would have been affected badly. Another benefit of not drinking.

Something happened recently.

It occurred, as these things do, out of the blue. It made my heart sink as if someone had just let the air out of me. Mind racing and loud, disparate voices in my head contributed to a feeling of powerlessness. Exactly the time not to react. Unfortunately, most of us do. I was the worst.

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Now I close my eyes and take deep breaths. It doesn’t change the situation, but it does change how I’ll respond to it.

No one’s life is as they present it. We’re all wearing masks. And that’s right too. We don’t want to listen to the pain caused by the meniscus tear in someone’s knee (mine) or the back surgery that went wrong. So, we present ourselves in a positive light. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be sincere. And kind. Kindness is the best virtue – it has a ripple effect and should be practised daily. But don’t expect gratitude for any act of kindness. Do it because it’s a good thing to do.

I passed a woman sitting on the street, and she told me she was hungry. I kept on walking, but her voice kept me company until I had to turn around. I bought her a sandwich and a bottle of water. She asked me: ‘What’s in it?’ I told her chicken and she said she didn’t eat chicken. I proffered the bottle of water, which she looked at suspiciously before accepting it ungraciously. People forget their manners when they are unhappy.

I was away on a walking holiday. Being with a group heightens my sense of feeling different, not quite fitting in, like a square peg in a round hole. I’m like them outwardly: white, middle-class, same socioeconomic background, but only I know that I’m not really like them deep down.

It’s not that I think their lives are perfect – far from it – but I think they may have the right tools when the tsunami of life events hits the beach and the holiday is over. I struggle with insecurity and have done so my entire life. Bizarrely, the awareness of my insecurity has made me more confident. When I couldn’t identify why I felt the way I did, it manifested in my behaviour. Bad behaviour. There is a level of security that is unattainable for me and I must accept that. Not drinking has its rewards. Well, it would have to, wouldn’t it? I do feel so much stronger as a person, but the most significant gain is liking myself and that gives me a confidence to deal with my insecurity which, although much diminished, will be a constant companion throughout my life.

Why is it that one day causes so much angst and turmoil in so many?

They were a lovely group, and with blue skies and warm sunshine, what was there not to like? The evening dinners where wine flowed as freely as the deluge in Mesopotamia back in the day that’s what.

Trying to dodge the bottle of wine that the waiter insisted on placing in front of me, or being asked to pour out a glass for someone. But, on other occasions when my will is stronger, I can enjoy the side show of people picking up the bottle and pouring out a drink with the lid still attached and looking at the bottle accusingly, wondering why no liquid is flowing before the penny drops. Perhaps I shouldn’t find this amusing, but I do.

A fine dining experience is not something I should seek out – too many triggers. Yet, I found myself in that position a little while ago. There is too much emphasis on which wine pairs well with which food. Having to ask the waiter surreptitiously, “is there any alcohol in that dish?” Suffice to say, it wasn’t as relaxing an experience for me as it assuredly was for the other diners. Ironically, the same experience would have been hampered if I had been drinking. Trying to appear nonchalant about whether to have another glass of wine or not. “Oh, go on then, why not?” Or pretending to listen to conversations as my eyes darted to the bottle of wine every time it moved. Not a good memory.

It never ceases to astonish me when the waiter wants to top up someone’s glass and they cover their glass with their hand and say, “no, thank you”. How can they do that?

But I think I need to change my attitude to dining out. It is not going to be the same as before and I should adapt to it while still able to enjoy a meal out and not feel envious of how others can drink a glass or two and then stop. Instead, I should contemplate how abstinence has given me a new lease on life and a level of security which was previously unattainable to me.

There are fewer obstacles harder to navigate than Christmas.

I’m often asked questions I would never pose to anyone because it’s none of my business

Why is it that one day causes so much angst and turmoil in so many? No sooner have the ghouls and ghosts disappeared, the carved pumpkins rot in a compost bin and the Batman, Spiderman and Princess costumes are stored away for another year than the twinkling lights are taken out and strung on anything that doesn’t move. Pop-up Christmas shops appear on every street corner, extracting money from you for presents nobody wants.

It is not just one day. Though unlike the puppy, it is still a long time.

“Have you done all your Christmas shopping?” is the much-hackneyed phrase on everyone’s lips, even as they are consuming the leftover chocolate and sweets from the trick or treating. This question always gets my heart racing and my mind going into overdrive. Who have I forgotten? Will the shops be sold out of that product that my daughter asked for last July? Or that other question. “How many are you having on Christmas Day?” Like it’s a competition and the more guests around your festive table, the more points you will gain. “I’m having 23″, is uttered dramatically, but you know that’s just for effect and you can’t help secretly hoping they’ll be too exhausted on the actual day to enjoy their perfectly cooked roast turkey and roast potatoes. And if you admit to any number under 10, they look at you askance. Nul points for you then.

I’m often asked questions I would never pose to anyone because it’s none of my business. Sometimes, I suspect that the people who are so interested in my life and what I’m doing for Christmas are comparing their lives with mine and trying to discover if they are perhaps missing out on something. The proverb, “comparisons are odious” is one to which we should all adhere. Making comparisons will only end in dissatisfaction and/or jealousy because no two people start in the same place. It is a pointless exercise because we are all individuals and making comparisons neglects our individuality.

Yes, Christmas is hard.

And it’s not just about the fact that I can’t have a glass of wine. It’s all the happy families gathering together and enjoying each other’s company exactly like the picture on the Christmas card that came through my letterbox this morning. No one is sniping at another family member. No one is hogging the remote control. No one has eaten the last Rolos. No one is cheating at Scrabble or Journey Through Europe (you know who you are). No one is dodging the bullets that occasionally come too close to their target.

But I did all the shopping, decorated the tree, wrote Christmas cards, queued in the post office (why do I always seem to get there when the queue is out the door?), put a wreath on the hall door and sat in traffic trying to get to the shops for the last-minute present that I always forget. And I left the gift receipt in the present so that the unhappy recipient can return my unwanted gift and get the present they really want. I do it all and hope that by setting the scene, the actors won’t forget their lines and improvise.

Abstinence has been a gift to me.

Gosh, I never thought I would write that sentence.

But although my life has its share of heartaches, I am content in my skin and I value the good things in my life (and they are plentiful) and know that when the tsunami comes, I can cope with it by breathing and remembering that, “this too shall pass”.