I Am Not an Alcoholic: I was told the prosecco was free but the water was €7

I find it amazing that alcohol, in particular wine, is so prevalent in my mind.

More than three years since I last tasted a glass of wine, it is like a shadow following me. Always there when I turn around as if to say; “Ha, you thought I’d gone away, didn’t you? Well, I haven’t. I’m still here. You don’t get away that easily.”

Evidently not.

Just because I’ve stopped drinking alcohol doesn’t mean alcohol has forgotten me.

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I’ve faced lots of challenges in the past three years without alcohol to numb the pain and I don’t know how I haven’t had a drink. This is not written in praise of myself. It is just a fact. The moment I think I’m great is the moment I fail. Today, I know what having a drink means for me. When the clouds are dark and the sky has turned into a grey blanket, will a drink seem like a good idea? I hope not.

I was away in Portugal for a week and, with the beautiful weather, my laissez-faire attitude to life was augmented, and a drink didn’t seem like a bad idea. Everyone else seemed to be doing it and enjoying themselves. Why not me?

My drinking was not like others’ who drink socially and know when to stop. I drank to forget. There is nothing social about that kind of drinking.

With the holiday vibe going on, I forgot the hangovers, the shame of forgetting whole conversations from the evening before, or the times I would sneak off to the garage shop to buy a bottle of wine, holding the paper bag as if it was a litre of milk in the event of bumping into a neighbour out walking their dog.

Oh, the shame of remembering that. It’s hard to believe I was that person – but necessary.

In the early days of my sobriety those memories were sketched on to my mind, but, as time elapsed, they became blurry and less graphic until, like now on holidays, they are just a vague shadow. And I find myself asking: Was my drinking so bad? In rehab the reason to stop drinking was very clear but, with the elapsed time and holiday vibes, it is not so clear. That is when not drinking becomes hard. And it is why I need to be aware of my triggers and know them for what they are.

There are some days when the need to work harder at motivating myself is greater than others. Today is such a day. Since I got up this morning, instead of the day becoming brighter, it has become darker as if it was dusk instead of 9.45am. I struggle with these heavy dark ominous clouds. As I am writing this there is no sky. The clouds are grey and so low I think I could touch them if I reached up. My spirits are on the same level. I am trying to conjure up the evening sunsets I so recently saw: sunsets so beautiful they could have been painted by Leonardo di Vinci. But it’s with little effect.

I don’t have the time to go for a walk so I go into my back garden and walk around. I pull a few weeds and promise the Japanese anemones and the aquilegias I will feed them this afternoon. It is only for a few minutes but as I return to my kitchen there is a shift, and a different me walks back into the house. A couple of minutes in nature has worked its magic. As with nature, music can lift your spirits and nothing is required of you but to listen. Listening to Born to be Alive by Patrick Hernadez will have you nodding your head, tapping your feet and wanting to dance around your kitchen.

In the film The Shawshank Redemption, there is a scene where the protagonist plays Duettino-Sull’aria from The Marriage of Figaro. Here there is nothing to do except listen to the aching voices singing their lament. Listening to this aria, the prisoners forget where they are. They are transfixed in the moment. It may be momentary but everyone is moved by the unbearable sadness in the voices even while not understanding a word of what they are singing. It doesn’t have to be sung in a prison. I have heard this aria sung in Palais Garnier and the reaction of the audience was the same. Transfixed. Music is balm for the soul.

I have wondered about if I were to start drinking again: would I hide it?

Not only is alcohol ubiquitous in social interactions but the presumption that everyone drinks is also prevalent. It was my friend’s birthday, and a group of us were celebrating in a restaurant. We hadn’t ordered when a waiter brought over a tray of Prosecco. Without asking he placed a glass in front of each of us. When I smiled and said, ‘No, thank you,’ it was a moment before his widened eyes returned to normal.

In the early days I would say, “No, thank you” when offered a drink but with longevity comes a little confidence, and I’ve recently started to say, “No thank you, I don’t drink.”

No sooner have the words left my mouth than the confidence abates. Am I being too cocky? Will that come back to haunt me? “She told me only last week she didn’t drink and now look at her knocking back that glass of wine and refilling her glass immediately.”

When people tell me I’m wonderful the way I stopped drinking and how much they admire me, it falls on deaf ears. There is nothing wonderful about not drinking when you know your drinking is out of control.

While in Portugal I was stupefied at others sipping beer while I was sipping my flat white (one shot) – at 11am! I couldn’t get my head around that. When I drank, it was to get drunk. I never just had a glass and walked away. How do they do that? That is the difference between me and those who drink socially – my purpose in drinking was to lose myself in an alcoholic haze.

Why is it that drinks receptions only serve Champagne or prosecco? Have you noticed that? Well, I have. Recently, I asked the waiter for a sparkling water only for him to look confused. It was only when I asked him a third time that I got a glass of sparkling water. But the best part of this story is when I was presented with a bill. I asked why and was told only the prosecco was free, but the water was €7.

I suspect the reason I am now more open with people – aside from my three years of sobriety – is the same one why people take out an insurance policy. If I reveal that I have no control over my drinking, then it would be an awfully stupid person to take a drink and I certainly don’t want to be seen as a stupid person.

I have wondered about if I were to start drinking again: would I hide it?

That might work for a short time. I don’t even like having thoughts like these. It’s as if I am preparing a strategy for something that might happen. And it can’t. Someone recently said to me I should have tried to cut back and then I wouldn’t have to miss out on not being able to enjoy a glass of wine or two. Really? Why didn’t I think of that? I drank every day for over 30 years, never taking a holiday from it even when prescribed strong antibiotics. On the three occasions I stopped – the first time for eight days, the second for two weeks and the third, the longest, for almost three months – I knew I could play that game forever but the temptation would be too great at some future stage and I would just crumble.

I wasn’t hospitalised on account of my drinking, nor was I ever arrested, two requirements necessary before seeking help, or so I thought

One of the reasons I avoided rehab for so long was that I felt I wasn’t “bad” enough to waste professionals’ time on me. I didn’t feel I belonged there even when some of my choices taken while drunk were, if not dangerous, then definitely not for my own good. In fact, some years before I went into rehab, I was given a bed in a different place to the one I eventually ended up in and I turned it down. Why? Because someone told me that I wasn’t bad enough to go to rehab and that I was taking the place of someone who needed it more.

I wasn’t hospitalised on account of my drinking, nor was I ever arrested, two requirements necessary before seeking help, or so I thought. Thankfully my GP thought otherwise.

Sometimes I find it extraordinary that I live a life comfortably without alcohol. Yes, there are occasions when it is difficult but so is life. There was a time when the thought of doing so would have been unthinkable.

Not just the abstinence but what would you do if you didn’t drink?

Where would you go?

How would you laugh? Or cry?

It didn’t seem to me to be possible to live without alcohol.

I’ve proven myself wrong and for this I am grateful.