Today is Day
44.
My 44th
day in a row of not drinking alcohol. My 83rd in total. 90th,
if you count that week my mum couldn’t find the off licence when she was
pregnant.
It’s been a
traumatic decision. I set the date to quit booze months ago and I feared its
arrival constantly. Four weeks before the big day, I was drinking like a man
who was quitting booze in four weeks. But then, I always did. I loved getting
drunk. It was magical and charming and I was really good at it. A natural, they
said (at a “meeting”). I could get drunk anytime I wanted. Sometimes twice a
day. That’s how good I am. And that’s what scared me about quitting. But I had
no idea of the darkness ahead of me. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t
see any of this coming: Quitting booze was so easy. Like really easy. The
easiest thing I’ve ever done. Which means… I’m not an alcoholic.
I'm Michael and I'm not an alcoholic.
So, what am I? I can’t
sing, I’m not knowledgeable, I’m not good at sport and I can’t build anything. I
was fucking relying on being a drunk. And I’m not even that. What am I? Tall?
No. Short? No. Irish? Well, I’m not typical of being Irish in any way. In fact,
apparently I’m not even one of the main stereotypes of being Irish now. I thought
being drunk was who I was. That was my thing. It defined me. But I’m not an
alcoholic. And knowing that has made me feel antisocial, bleak and lacking in
self-belief. But with nice breath.
Of course,
coming off booze will always bring some sort of problems and lack of identity
isn’t the only one for me, whoever I am. There is always pressure from your
peer group and being sober is one of the most pressured. Friends can be so unnaturally supportive, it's sickening. I would NEVER treat them like that. When I’m with friends,
they’re all really cool and understanding and fucking supportive which stresses me out TOO MUCH. Great!
Now I’ve got to prove that I’m totally OK with being sober even though I am,
and they have in no way hinted that I might not be. Bastards.
So, in company, I
sit with a drink in my hand just like them. Just to let them know I’m relaxed.
I’m fine. Look: I have a drink in my hand too. It’s all good. Them with their
beer and me with my glass of Diet Coke. But still I feel their concern. “That’s
the third Diet Coke Michael’s had”, they seem to say without showing it or
saying it. “Is he really OK with all this?”
And I am. I don't have to drink Diet Coke! I can drink anything I want. Nearly anything I want. That’s why I’ve recently started showing my friends how cool I am about
sobriety by relaxing with them with a refreshing, revolting bottle of alcohol
free beer. See? I’m relaxed and I’m drinking a drink that’s a bit like theirs
so it’s all good. It’s fine. It’s great. Cheers!
And my
friends cheers me back but with suspicion.
Disgust can’t be hidden when you
take a mouthful of alcohol free beer. It’s impossible. It tastes like the ghost
of fun. It’s like there’s a suicide pact in my mouth and only me and Mugabe’s
favourite improv troupe are invited. It’s horrible and I don’t want to drink
another drop but… but just look at my friends’ faces. I’ve told them I’m fine
being sober, but they can tell I can’t hack this stuff. I can’t look like I
want a proper drink in front of them. “Have another drink of your alcohol free beer”, my
friends’ don’t in any way insinuate but I hear loudly. “No one likes the taste
at first. You’ll get used to it”.
And I have.
Look, it
wasn’t that bad at first. I thought I could handle it. Becks Blue has 0.5% alcohol
in it so I’m sure I tasted something that wasn’t just the dust of ancient sick. Lots
of alcohol free beer has 0.5% alcohol in it. Some have “Less than 0.5% alcohol”
in it but that’s still a bit of booze, isn’t it?
But it wasn’t
enough. Or it was too much, it’s hard to tell. My friends wanted me to be fine
being sober, I assumed, so I had to go on the real stuff: The completely
alcohol-free alcohol-free beer. It’s OK, my friend said. His cousin had a
bottle of Cobra Zero at a Foo Fighters gig once. The whole band were doing
them. That explained so much but I had a bottle anyway. Oh, god. What had I
become? I drank an ENTIRE BOTTLE of Heineken 0.0 that weekend.
I’ve started
drinking it at home. I’m up to two bottles a night every four or five nights
now. And the shame of it. Oh, God in heaven, help me: the shame. I wake up so
clear headed the next day and I walk into the kitchen and I see those two empty
bottles lying in the recycling box, those two tiny 330ml alcohol free bastard
bottles… and I think back to the night before and, oh God… I can remember every
single second of it.
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