I am Not an Alcoholic: ‘She was much more fun when she was drinking’

The role of alcohol is important in marking life’s milestones, but the non-drinker is often seen as something of a nuisance.

“Someone’s looking for water. Have we any water?” asks an overworked waiter trying to keep everyone’s glasses topped up.

The non-drinker is someone to be avoided at parties… “Oh, what a bore. She was much more fun when she was drinking,” is heard as you quickly retreat to the bathroom. The speaker is oblivious to the fact that in her raucous laughter, she tipped her glass and a splash of red wine landed on your white linen top. What’s sad about this is that in the past I probably did the same thing myself, oblivious in my raucous laughter.

I read some letters to this newspaper complaining about the excess of articles written on alcohol and its negative impact on society. So, I apologise to anyone experiencing annoyance on seeing yet another article on the drug that holds our society together.

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Quitting drinking is very hard, but in its initial stages, it comes with a sense of empowerment. “I can do this.” “Look at me.” “I didn’t take a drink yesterday, now I can do that again today” – and so on and so forth. However, a complacency emerges as the days, weeks, months and years pass, and the high we felt with this achievement lessens, until it becomes commonplace. Don’t take that as an excuse to relapse – it’s just another stage of learning to live without alcohol. The stories I have read where people pick up a glass after 10, 15, 20, even 30 years of abstinence are revelatory and frightening.

I can recognise such a person as that in me.

I have heard it said (a lot) that relapse is a part of rehab. That everyone will relapse at least once, but more likely several times.

[ What is it like being addicted to alcohol in a culture soaked in it?Opens in new window ]

It is not an option for me.

Being out of our comfort zone is a good thing, but it doesn’t always feel that way. It can challenge us, and we put up defence mechanisms. If anger is our first response, it will heighten our discomfort and exacerbate the situation. When rage and powerlessness overcome us, we could ask ourselves: “Shall I lose my temper or my dignity?” The choice is ours.

But if we sit with unpleasant feelings and say quietly to ourselves: “This has happened. What can I do to lessen its impact? Rant and rage and stamp my feet?” I know this doesn’t work because I used to do this and it always failed me.

Yet, this is the reaction of so many people. As I said, it was my reaction, until I realised the futility of anger and the value of dignity. Our response will make a difference. Let your difference not cost you your dignity.

When I notice someone not drinking, my interest is piqued and I try to steer the conversation to asking them why they are not drinking, thinking they might, like me, not know when to stop. But no, their answers are always that they’re on medication incompatible with alcohol and, on the advice of their doctor, they have stopped drinking.

Once done with the medication, they would say, they decided to remain alcohol-free because of how much better they felt. I had to remember to close my mouth as I listened to them telling me this story. I had tried to do just that for decades and never succeeded. I envied them their ability to stop on demand.

Recently, however, I met a woman who told me a different story.

I had lied to myself, saying that drinking was helping me to cope with life. But it wasn’t. It was stealing from me

She didn’t hit rock bottom. She didn’t find herself in a police station at 1am, nor in an accident and emergency unit, not knowing how she got there. These were the things I felt were necessary before going to rehab.

She just drank. Every night. And couldn’t stop. Until, finally, she went to rehab. It was refreshing to meet her. Listening to her was revelatory, and in sharing my story, which was remarkably similar to hers, I felt understood.

It struck me that this is exactly how Alcoholics Anonymous works. It provides a platform to share your story and listen to others share theirs. Yet, somehow, I never felt comfortable in that milieu. My loss.

One thing many recovering alcoholics say is that they enjoy the alcohol-free drinks the market is flooded with. They say they taste like the real thing, and ask, have I not tried them? No, I have not. The market for non-alcoholic drinks is growing and it is a good alternative for those who don’t abuse alcohol. But such products are not for me. I stick to water. Never mind the non-alcoholic drinks – I fear that even discussing options for drinks could open a can of worms. Fortunately for me, I like water.

Interestingly, the woman who entered rehab agreed these products were not an option for her. Like me, she believed that one glass of non-alcoholic wine would have her reaching for the real thing in time – a short time.

I was sitting on a terrace overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and writing down all the things I had to be grateful for: the birdsong, the blue sky, the warmth of the sun, the tranquillity, the peace I felt in my heart, the waiter who knew exactly how I liked my coffee, the new two-tone navy and white sling-back shoes I had bought in Marrakesh the day before, when a shadow crossed over my table and an ominous black cloud appeared on the horizon.

My cup of gratitude, which had been overflowing, began to drip like a leaking tap. I grabbed my bowl of berries and yoghurt to rush indoors as torrents of rain fell. The rain splattered on my notebook, erasing my words as if written in invisible ink. My erstwhile grateful mind turned into an angry one, finding an avalanche of things to complain about.

Adulthood doesn’t begin at 18 years of age. It develops gradually as we make disastrous decision after disastrous decision

On arrival at the hotel, I gasped when I pulled back the curtains in my room. It was not a gasp of joy and delight. I was overlooking the car park. It hardly mattered, was my thinking. I wouldn’t be spending much time in my room. However, suddenly, it mattered. My plan to read a book while the sun’s rays fed Vitamin D into my veins like an IV dispensing life-saving drugs was not going to happen. My mood was sinking faster than a coin tossed into the Trevi Fountain. It was time to take charge. I could grumble and complain (I was doing that), but that wouldn’t bring out the sun. I decided, enough of complaining.

Amid my grumbling I overheard myself, and decided to write another list of things to be grateful for. It took a lot longer. Pen poised in midair, I looked around for inspiration. Nothing. Earlier, things had freely popped into my head in quick succession. Now I was struggling to think of one thing. Maybe that’s the time to show gratitude – when it’s difficult to do so? I was determined to be happy, even as my feet squelched in my flip-flop-clad feet.

When I was drinking, I knew gratitude was important to maintaining good mental health, but beyond that I rarely gave it a thought. How could I when my mind was fogged and my rationale for being grateful was blemished? With abstinence, however, comes clarity and a sense of oneself, a sense of responsibility and integrity. I had lied to myself, saying that drinking was helping me to cope with life. But it wasn’t. It was stealing from me.

[ Why I stayed in a damaging relationship with an alcoholicOpens in new window ]

Life is a struggle, and there are times when I feel like I’ve landed in a game of Twister with my limbs akimbo. I know that this will pass, but in the meantime, by way of compensation, I need to maintain my equilibrium. One of the best ways to do this is, of course, exercise – walking, in my case. The inclement weather of late has seen me neglect walking, culminating in my low mood level.

Another consequence of the weather is that minor irritations in life that normally go over my head take on disproportionate meanings and can overwhelm me. Then I procrastinate. Unpleasant tasks which I can carry out quite easily become mammoth chores because I leave them, but they don’t leave me. I’m sure I hear the still-unpacked suitcase sitting in the corner of the landing speaking to me as I pass by several times a day. Yes, I utter between clenched teeth, I see you.

Why are children in such a hurry to grow up? If we knew what adulthood was really like, perhaps we’d remain children all our lives. Actually, some of us do. I almost did.

Adulthood doesn’t begin at 18 years of age. It develops gradually as we make disastrous decision after disastrous decision until, one day, we realise we’re swimming without arm bands and there is no one to catch us when we jump in at the deep end. That is adulthood, where all our decisions, good and bad, are ours alone. We take responsibility and we own them.

If life hands us a recipe for apple tart when we want crème brulee, learn to like apple tart.

That is adulthood.