by Dodie Clark
Well, I read that and then immediately ran to the toilet, where I remained for most of the day.
If you’re particularly bad and you have truly ruined your insides, then she was right – it’s best to get it all out. It’s only going to sit in your stomach otherwise, and if your body’s trying to tell you something then you should probably go along with it.
Water might make your tummy feel terrible, but you are most likely incredibly dehydrated. Take little sips if you can’t deal with big gulps, and suck on ice cubes or frozen lollies. Nibble bits of toast, try a banana, and, honestly, you’ll just have to ride it out. If you have a kind friend who is willing to rub your back and make you laugh at your moans and groans, call them up and get them to bring round fizzy lemonade and playing cards for distraction.
Once you’ve dealt with your body, it’s time to deal with your brain and the mess of your life after a night of mistake making and carelessness.
I was lucky in that, instead of being angry, my parents pitied me and laughed at my mistakes, which certainly helped with the healing and learning process. They, however, didn’t hold back from letting me know that the whole situation was absolutely entirely my fault. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes there are valid reasons behind it all; whether that’s first learning how to drink, or being incredibly sad to start with and losing any sight of self-care. But mostly that lack of care is just laziness, and regardless of whether there’s a trigger or not, who was the one who decided on another cocktail? It was you!
So, if you fucked up last night, take responsibility for your actions. ‘I’m so sorry, I was very drunk!’ is not a good enough apology. ‘Hey, there was a reason why I got so drunk, but that doesn’t excuse the way I treated you last night. I’d like to apologise for . . .’ is better. Like I said before, though, if you notice this behaviour is becoming a pattern, and you change completely when you drink, rather than just being a little careless, make sure you look into that. This advice is for the mistake makers, not the seriously struggling.
Now it’s time to put down your sick bowl and pick up your thinking cap. What went wrong from this terrible, terrible experience, and how can we learn?
My first lessons went along the lines of this:
* Never, EVER drink on an empty stomach. NO exceptions.
* Don’t mix your drinks. Also, never red wine again.
* Always take a charger for your phone.
Once I’d got the hang of what I was putting into my body, it then became a matter of how much:
* Check in with yourself when everyone is getting another drink and you feel the pull for more. If you’re happily intoxicated, choose water. Drinking more will not maintain this feeling, it will worsen it.
* Three wines is always too much. One bottle between two people will end badly.
And very recently:
* Vodka jelly shots are VERY deceiving.
Then it was dealing with being drunk:
* Never ever use social media. You lose your apprehension for risky actions and that feeling is there for good reason.
* Don’t send that long text. Type it out in your notes app and save it for tomorrow.
* Don’t do the sex. Just don’t.
Even after all of this, I won’t be surprised if I end up there again, but if I do, I won’t feel too bad about it. Everyone makes mistakes now and again, and, despite my writing a chapter in a BOOK sharing all of what I have learned so far about drinking, I am still just a human being, and so are you.
But the next time my eyes dart to another glass of Sauvignon blanc, I might just give the beginning of this chapter a re-read.
AN EXPERIMENT
TAKE ONE
DRINK ONE – a single whisky and Coke
It’s 3.47 p.m. and I’m sitting in a business class lounge in South Korea. I’ve stuffed myself on sweet pumpkin sandwiches and shrimp fried rice, gulped bottled water all throughout the day, and for some reason, despite the early rise this morning, I’m in such a wonderful mood. Yesterday I stomped around Tokyo with my lip pouted, a crumpled frown on my face and a grey cloud over my head, but today there’s a giggle in my throat and honey in my blood. I have about an hour until we’re ready to board our flight, and there’s a rack stacked with bottles of vodka, whisky, sake and champagne. There’s also an open bar on the flight, and I’ve got nothing to do for the next fifteen hours but write.
So, I thought I’d combine the two. I’ve poured myself a syrupy sweet glass of whisky and Coke, and I’m taking little sips through a yellow straw I plucked from a thoughtfully placed glass. I’m going to document the thoughts and feelings that flow through my brain as booze flows through my blood. I guess I’m expecting these posts to become less coherent and the writing to probably worsen as I become more intoxicated. We will see!
The first drink is always the nicest. Since my break from alcohol in February, I’ve enjoyed the newly found ability to stop here. My smile widens, my head tingles and my mood eases. (I just tried to type ‘easens’ as a word. I’m clearly getting slightly more buzzed as I’m typing.) My demeanour warms and softens, and there’s a little something that gives my curiosity a slight push. I tell someone I like their jacket; I take a picture of myself and say I like it; and I hold someone’s hand without the nervous barrier in my head.
I asked my friend Evan to take a picture of me just now and I told him what I was doing. He smirked and told me he’d love to help out, and has just returned with two (much stronger than my original, might I add) drinks. I’ve noticed that there’s an incredibly encouraging culture when it comes to alcohol, which is odd, when you think about alcohol as technically a poison. Luckily my friends are mostly not the pushy type, and I don’t struggle with saying ‘no, thank you’ when I know I don’t want something. But throughout my five years of drinking I’ve definitely found that people put a lot of shame on someone refusing another drink. I guess people want to glorify consumption so that drinking more makes you a hero, rather than an addict.
There is absolutely an urge for another drink.
* * *
(Okay, ironically I couldn’t continue my experiment on that day. Alcohol causes deep-rooted emotions to rise to the surface, and so Evan and I ended up talking for hours and crying about our lives. We then both zonked out completely on the plane. Ha, bless me for having a constructed plan, adding alcohol and thinking it would work. I’ll try again in a couple of days.)
* * *
TAKE TWO
I’m home, and my gal pal Lucy is coming over in about thirty minutes for wine, chats and good pasta. Let’s see how this goes. What I’m immediately noticing is how excited I am to drink. I love alcohol.
* * *
(AGAIN. This didn’t work out. We had wine, chats and good pasta, and I didn’t want to write at all. If we’re looking at lessons to learn from this, it’s that booze can mess up your plans.)
* * *
TAKE THREE
ALRIGHT, THIRD TIME LUCKY. I’m yet again on another plane, the alcohol is free, and I have nothing else to do except sit in my seat for the next eight hours. I’m with Evan again, but we’re both in a great mood, and I’m ready to drink and write. Here we go!
So I’m on drink one. I’ve accidentally spilled whisky and Diet Coke all down my seat and so I’m sitting on top of a wad of napkins; I’ve also only had five hours’ sleep, and yet I’m so happy. Evan and I are babbling away about the videos we’ve filmed together and honestly it hasn’t been this easy to laugh in SO long. There’s a constant lightness in my chest that rises up to my throat and stretches across my cheeks and I’m just so HAPPY, and full of love. Everything is possible – I’m excited for the future! I’m suddenly thinking about where I’m going to live in the next few years. I could go anywhere I wanted; my life could be so different. I have friends; such wonderful, beautiful, incredible friends, and I’m so lucky to know them. I want to write a letter to myself, a reminder for when I’m sad and I don’t feel like this; this is your norm. This is
what you’re meant to feel, because life is wonderful. It’s exciting, it’s fun, and depression lies to you! There is no truth in sadness, and there is no deep, dark hole in your brain that will forever be the base of your being. You are not treading water for happiness; you could be on a lilo, if you only chose your truth that life is happy.
* * *
DRINK TWO
Now, alcohol can heighten your emotions. I’ve noticed that when I’m depressed and I drink, I indulge those negative thoughts even more, and suddenly that is my truth. I’m always writing little messages and notes in my phone, determined to let my sober self understand this new revelation that is apparently ‘the truth’. The real truth is the brain is bizarre, and we choose what the truth is. We are the only ones who can hurt our feelings, or our brain and body – your thoughts turn into emotions, which can either hurt or pleasure you. ANYWAY, I’m on my second drink, and my deep thinking is kicking in. My bladder is starting to feel full, my head is extremely heavy (perhaps I’m a lightweight), but I feel wonderful. This is absolutely the peak of my drinking, and my body and brain tells me that I must have MORE to maintain this beautiful feeling. My eyes have difficulty focusing, my mouth, teeth, tips of my fingers and toes feel numb, and there’s still that flutter in my chest. I just don’t care any more. It’s interesting to recognise why making bad decisions is so common when you’re intoxicated; it’s because nothing matters. When you’re sober, there are walls that you have to get through when you have a thought. Is this a good idea? What are the consequences? Can you deal with them? Do you really want this? When you have alcohol in your blood, those walls drop, and all you can see is the question and how much you want to answer it. You wave the walls away with a ‘I can deal with all of that later’ and a ‘oh, I’ll forgive myself’. I’ll message someone I’ve been thinking of a lot, I’ll post a sassy tweet because I think it’s funny, I’ll have another shot of tequila because, fuck it, I’m having fun. It’s time to have a massive drink of water.
* * *
DRINK THREE
Luckily, over my years of drinking, I’ve managed to recognise the urge to ‘just fuck it’ and check in with myself. It’s usually now that it’s make or break for this sort of thing. The heaviness in my head moves to my eyes, and it’s time to put down whatever drink I’m on and pick up water instead. I used to have to actively pull away from the attraction of more alcohol, but now I know that it’s time to stop, and I’ve learned that I’ll thank myself in the morning if I ask for a tap water now rather than another gin and tonic. To be honest, I don’t like drink three, and I never have. For this experiment I took it, and I would when I was younger, but now I know that the fun is over and I’ll only feel worse. I used to experience a lot of shame around not having another drink – people would spot me sipping water and moan, offer me another one for free, dance around me until I gave in, but . . . I think I said this earlier on? (Gosh, I’m drunk. I have no idea if these sentences mean anything.) I’m better at knowing and looking after myself. On drink three time is blurred, and suddenly I’m not thinking about the future any more. Or the past. Or even the present. I’m so out of it that experiences and feelings and senses are washing over me, and I’m floating through time. This is why I compare DPD to feeling drunk – being drunk is just that to an extreme.
Alcohol is still exciting to me, because it stretches your brain and allows you to indulge in the thoughts you forget or try not to think about. It weakens guards, it encourages, it pumps through. But it should be treated like chocolate, or Christmas. It should be a treat, because you’re actually poisoning your body to feel like this. It is so normalised in British culture; I used to drink every day, convinced that it was completely natural to do so. But I don’t want to be like that! I don’t want to feel this three-drinks-in slump every day. I want to practise happiness without the fuel of booze, and I want to be healthy, well rested and hydrated.
It’s been around four hours since I started to drink, and I’m tired. I want to sleep, and I feel stupid. I’m worried about how I’ll feel when I wake up. Did I say anything stupid? Luckily this time I haven’t been online as I’ve been on a plane, but in the past my ‘fuck it’ attitude would have inspired me to post something I didn’t really mean online. If I’m home, I’ll down as much water as I can, scrub my face haphazardly with soap, and clamber into bed, falling asleep instantly.
Evan is currently zonked out from his red wine; his head is tilting back, his mouth is hanging open, and his chest is rising and falling slowly.
I’m still happy. I’m going to ask for some more water and sleep too. I’ll update you in a few hours. :)
* * *
AFTER A NAP
I usually have difficulty sleeping on a plane, but as I was drugged and sleepy from the whisky it wasn’t too hard to pass out. I definitely went over the amount I usually want to consume, because whenever I closed my eyes, my brain spun around in my skull and my stomach lurched as if I was being thrown around on a rollercoaster. But luckily that didn’t last too long, and I think I slept for about two hours. Although I feel a little queasy, I’m luckily still in high spirits (as in joyful – I’m pretty sure I’ve sobered up).
Alright! What have we learned here?
I had some rather surprisingly coherent thoughts, despite being on drink three, that pretty much summed up the way I feel about alcohol. Drinking is incredibly normalised where I grew up, and in a lot of other places in the world, and although I would argue that if it is treated responsibly it is mostly harmless, it doesn’t hurt to check in and question what it is to you. I am now at a place where alcohol is a good, but little, thing in my life.
My flatmate pours me a glass of wine some evenings and we sit on the sofa and sip and natter. I sit cross-legged on hot dry grass and enjoy a strawberry cider in the summer sun. And every few months or so, I’ll have two gin and tonics and a spontaneous tequila shot, which I’ll regret when I crawl into bed after downing a full glass of water and licking leftover salt off the back of my hand, head and stomach spinning. I have mostly learned not to reach for drink three if I am consuming alcohol, thanks to a few terrible life lessons, and I’m interested to know how my relationship with alcohol will change as I get older too.
It’s definitely interesting to read back my intoxicated thoughts. I feel inspired by my tipsy brain. If my brain has the potential to be that excited, then it can absolutely do it without the need for alcohol. There are clearly walls put up against spontaneous ideas for a reason – let’s message my ex! Yes, I WILL miss the last train home, sleep on your floor and wake up extra early tomorrow! – but there’s a middle ground to be found. Sometimes on my tipsy adventures I have reached out to old friends and then gone for a coffee a few days later for a well overdue catch-up and a reminder that they are an important person in my life. Other times I have written lyrics about topics I haven’t dared to address in my mind, and then found them months later while scrolling down voice memos and used them for inspiration.
I’m starting to get a headache. Time for more water.
Tomorrow, after I have landed, slept and readjusted to UK time, I will start to ask, without the use of alcohol, ‘WWTDD?’ What Would Tipsy Dodie Do?
Hopefully it’ll result in a random phone call with my grandma, or a walk to town to get a cheese toastie, or a realisation that the future is actually exciting. There is a me who can appreciate her life to the fullest – and she doesn’t need any whisky for it.
PAINT
When I was in year eleven, I wrote my English-speaking essay on why anyone should be allowed to wear make-up and not get criticised for it. I was angry at the hypocrisy of society; in school, make-up was banished, but in adulthood and work it was expected and professional. I was dealing with deep insecurities around my face and skin (which you can probably see shine through the lyrics) and I felt passionate about the idea that I should have been allowed to help myself feel better through expression. If we were taught that make-up wasn’t a mask, and
that it was neither needed nor shameful, perhaps we would all have felt a lot better about ourselves a lot sooner.
PAINT
Am I hiding, or is this just me?
Am I not allowed to be who I want to be?
It makes me feel better, cause pretty I ain’t!
What’s wrong with a little bit of paint?
Am I being looked down upon again
cause I’m wearing this lipstick in shade number ten?
‘You look like a panda, with that black around your eyes!’
Oh yes, you’re completely right; it’s all part of my disguise . . .
You wouldn’t put down a boy with scars
from an operation that he had in the past.
He wears baggy jumpers to cover them up;
he’s not too happy in his skin. Just like us!
I can’t draw a thing but you could call this art;
applying blusher doesn’t make me a tart.
Don’t call her an orange, cause I think that’s unkind,
and if you don’t like Lady Gaga, that’s your problem, not mine.
And I’m not saying every face is a canvas,
I’m just saying if you’re feeling anxious
you should be able to wear whatever you choose,
and if you think that I’m wrong, well – I refuse!
SKIN
People are kind, and sometimes they draw me. I am used to seeing my face sketched in different ways: some naturalistic, some cartoon-like. Mostly I am drawn a little skinnier than I actually am, with a teeny nose and big eyes. They might add in freckles, but I am always drawn with clear, soft skin and a healthy complexion.