Mrs D is Going Without

by Lotta Dann

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 31)

  I just feel so scared. I’ve been pouring red wine down my throat like it’s going out of fashion for years. For ages I’ve had an internal clock chiming a call to DRINK! At 5 p.m. I’ve got a brain that has spent hours and hours and hours affected by alcohol. Drinking it, recovering from it, feeling guilty about it, obtaining it, looking forward to it, drinking it, and so on and so on.

  So why is my brain now just happily accepting my final decision to cut it out altogether? I’m fearful it’s tricking me, lulling me into a false sense of security. I like to think I’m strong-minded and clear-headed and have never kidded myself about my dysfunctional unhealthy relationship with alcohol. But to have this decision to live sober be so easy . . . well, I’m scared.

  Must remember, must remember, must remember.

  My mood doesn’t lighten as the week progresses and I stare down yet another non-drinking Friday night. My pimple is still there and I feel fat and unhealthy and miserable. On Friday morning I drag myself to the gym and sit on a bike for about 30 minutes doing what could best be described as a lacklustre workout. I’m so pissed off that I’m feeling so awful. Shouldn’t I be riding a great wave of hangover-free joy? En route home I stop at the store and attempt to cheer myself up by buying a bunch of flowers and some yummy nibbles for the evening ahead—I figure that since I’m not bloody spending a hundred bucks (or more) on booze each week, I should treat myself a little. I get pistachio nuts and hummus and corn chips and some nice cheese. At the last minute I decide to be kind and buy Corin an expensive bottle of red wine. I’m not drinking, but why shouldn’t he? It clinks in the bag as I put it in the car.

  Was I really that bad?

  When I get home I head to the computer to see if any new emails have come in. There’s one. It’s from Blogger. Why are they emailing me? Then I look closer and see that the subject line reads: ‘You have a new comment.’

  10

  I get ridiculously excited. A comment! A comment for me! My heart is beating really fast as I click through to my blog. The comment has been left on the post I wrote almost a week ago about the heated discussion Corin and I had.

  Comment from ‘She’

  Our husbands sound similar. They don’t mean harm. Mine doesn’t really know what it feels like to have a drink at 8 in the morning because you just can’t not drink. It took him a while to get that his wife was a raging, shaking alky.

  Keep going, we can do this for ourselves.

  Whoa. This is so cool on so many levels. First of all, I’m just so chuffed that someone has written a comment to me. I read and re-read it about five times. It feels like this ‘She’ has reached from far away through the internet into my living room and given me a big hug—it is that tangible, the warmth I feel at reading what she wrote to me.

  I dig the fact that She’s in the same boat as me with a nasty drinking problem. I dig the fact that She, like me, has a husband that doesn’t fully understand what it’s like for us problem-drinkers. I dig the fact that She is being kind to me and I totally dig that She is buoying me along with her ‘keep going, we can do this for ourselves’. I have support!

  I click on the link attached to the ‘She’ name and it takes me through to a blog that She writes—and what do you know? It’s an anonymous blog about trying to stop drinking! I read her latest post and write a comment in return—something encouraging and kind. Man, it feels good.

  This online interaction totally transforms my day. I move through the rest of Friday feeling so much lighter and don’t mind at all not having a glass of the expensive red I bought with Corin in the evening. I think about ‘She’, my commenter, and for the first time since I embarked on my new lifestyle I don’t feel quite so alone.

  Saturday morning dawns and I hop online as soon as I can to write a new post. My private blog now seems even more treat-y and special and I feel a surge of strength and determination. I write about ‘She’:

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 33)

  She is somewhere in America, trying, trying, trying, to become sober. She is a mother, a wife, a daughter and a drinker. I have posted comments to her blog, wishing her all the best, willing her to stay strong, willing her to victory over this nasty sly addiction. How crazy is it that this drug is so socially acceptable even though so many people struggle with it and it ruins their lives? I am determined to be one of those really cool, strong people who in years to come will say casually, ‘Yeah, I gave up alcohol a while ago, it just wasn’t agreeing with me anymore. I’m much happier without it in my life.’

  That will be me.

  That will be She.

  I feel so great after writing this, because now I’m not only supported but supportive. It’s a double whammy of support! For the first time since I hit my rock bottom (hiding the bottle) and decided to try and never drink again, I’m looking outward and not in. My viewpoint has momentarily shifted away from my own issues—nerves, grumpiness, pimples—to other people. It’s so nice to be taken out of myself for a bit. I feel like I’m beating a little drum in my little corner of the world and it’s faintly being heard elsewhere. Boy, does that make me feel good. I’m floating through Saturday when—can you believe it?!—I get more emails from Blogger, not one but two more comments arrive!

  Comment from ‘Anonymous’

  Hello Mrs D. I had 5 months sober and loved it but recently I’ve slipped back into my old habits. I’ve read all of your posts and can see so much of my own story in your story. I’ll be popping in to read your updates and wish you all the best. I want to be where you are now again. I felt so good when I didn’t drink. I need to get that feeling back. Take care.

  Comment from ‘Nan’

  Hi Mrs D, I just read your whole entire blog! So you see someone is reading! I find what you write about so honest and real. I’ve enjoyed reading and I’ll be back!

  They’re talking to me. Talking. To. Me. Saying hello Mrs D, take care Mrs D. Wow! It’s crazy just how much these comments mean to me. Two more big internet hugs. I’m even more buoyed along. I can feel a big resurgence of determination inside me. I can do this!

  Another non-drinking Saturday night passes okay—I pour myself a ginger beer at 5 o’clock and push my thinking forward to bedtime to get myself through the witching hours without drinking. I know that I need to capitalise on this positive feeling. I know I’ve still got a lot of brain retraining to do. Sunday morning I wake up and can’t wait to jump online and write a new post.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 34)

  Okay, so now I’m thinking of some more of these casual statements that I’ll trot out at social occasions in the years to come. This is a technique! Visualising myself sober. Projecting forth into the future a vision of a smart, cool and together Mrs D. Not the sloppy, lush-like ageing party girl that I had become.

  So here goes.

  At a wedding: ‘Oh no, just a juice for me, thanks. Why? Oh, I just don’t bother with the booze anymore, it was running away with me (tosses hair), but I’m no less fun, am I?’ (Laughs gaily and spends the rest of the night cutting it up stylishly on the dance floor before driving all the drunk people home.)

  At a work function: ‘This? (points to glass) Oh, it’s just tonic water, I’m not bothering with the hard stuff anymore. Trust me, I’m way better without it.’ (Proceeds to spend the night talking wittily and intelligently with management, taking care of the new girl who overdoes it on chardonnay; drives home and reads two chapters of great novel before sleeping soundly all night.)

  On a group holiday: ‘No, really, I’m just having a Red Bull. It’s okay, really. No, it’s not that hard (lies), I just don’t want the alcohol in my life anymore. No, I’m not judging any of you guys, honestly, you just go for it.’ (Retreats to bedroom to re-read letter written to self on first day of sobriety to remember, remember, remember why this must be done.)

  It’s fun writing this post and trying to make myself appear happy in th
ese visions, but in reality I don’t feel happy about it at all. In fact, I feel utterly glum. Can anything ever be fun again? I’d like to think I could be that hair-flicking, totally-fine-with-it, sparkly non-drinker but I just can’t imagine it happening. Being clever, online Mrs D is great, but I know that I have to keep walking away from my computer and be sober Lotta dealing with reality. I have to actually go to actual real events in person and actually not-drink. Ever. Frankly, it’s still bloody awful to contemplate. Boring, sad, sober and just not fun at all. I’m missing my old self, the fun up-for-it party girl.

  I feel really depressed about it, actually. I’ve still got so much to get through. I’m kind of getting used to doing ordinary evenings at home without my beloved wine, but outside of home I’ve hardly had any tests. Just a couple of quiet meals with a few friends without much boozing going on by anyone involved. I haven’t been to a rowdy dinner party or noisy bar. I haven’t sat in the sun at a lush afternoon barbecue or gathered in a pub to celebrate something with mates. I haven’t been to a glitzy function or indulged in a long lunch. I haven’t been to a party, or a wedding.

  Weddings. Don’t talk to me about bloody weddings; we’ve got three coming up—three! And the first is just a couple of weeks away. It seems silly but I’m really nervous about having to go to these sober. What is a wedding if it’s not a chance to partake of all the free booze? Okay, so there’s also witnessing beautiful love, soaking up the lovely atmosphere and decorations, pigging out on yummy food and boogieing the night away to cheesy tunes. But I, for one, can’t imagine enjoying any of that without loads of bubbles in me (no surprises there). Who goes to a wedding and doesn’t drink heaps?

  Comment from ‘Nate’

  I am going to a wedding in February and they have invited me despite knowing I am a wobbling drunk towards the beginning of the night. Will be refreshing to be there without drinking a single drop and being the driver.

  First time for everything.

  Ah, of course. Other reformed boozers don’t drink at weddings. This chap (I check his login and, sure enough, another anonymous sober blogger!) offers me some comfort. I’ll think of him at the upcoming weddings. But first I’ve got a different bloody hurdle to get through—my 40th.

  Turning 40 feels monumental, like I’m heading into a new phase in my life. It’s probably no coincidence that I’ve chosen this time to undergo a monumental lifestyle change. On the night of my actual birthday Corin and I are going out for a fancy meal, and then a week or so later I’ve got the combined party with my brother-in-law. And in between those events I’ve got my stepbrother’s wedding to go to and a big black-tie dinner to attend. It’s awful to say but the whole lot feels like a giant ordeal because I have to not-drink through all of it. There’s a big part of me that just wants to click my fingers and pop forward into the future to when it’s all done and dusted.

  But I can’t do that. I have to step one sober foot in front of the other and get through everything. I have to do the lush birthday dinner not-drinking, go to the wedding not-drinking, then co-host a big party not-drinking. Fuck, what am I doing to myself? I’m feeling a huge weight of social pressure bearing down on me. I keep going back over my blog re-reading all the reasons I’ve typed out as to why I’ve stopped drinking. I’m forcing myself to remember very clearly that horrible boozy hell that I was living. I keep telling myself that this can be done. I can do it. I can. Can I?

  The pressure does nearly undo me, but it’s not during any of the social events, but rather a random night at home in the midst of them all.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 41)

  Had my 40th dinner out, a lovely long posh meal at a very expensive restaurant (will never do that again but it was a real treat) with Mr D. Started with tasty fruit cocktail and then sipped sparkling soda water for the rest of the meal. Mr D had 3 glasses of expensive wine, I even sniffed each one to get a sense of their beauty. Oh get me . . . drinking problem? What drinking problem?!

  That was Thursday night. Friday afternoon at the mall little thoughts started creeping in: ‘Nothing to look forward to tonight *sigh*’ and ‘Boring, flat night ahead’ and ‘Why can’t I have a bloody glass of wine’.

  Pushed them aside, squashed them down, got through and went to bed at 8.30 p.m.

  Then yesterday, Saturday, even stronger, jumbled together, a wave of thoughts: ‘I would love a glass of wine it’s not fair why can’t I drink one it’s Saturday night I should be able to have a drink everyone else is having a drink and having fun am I really not going to have a drink again ever my whole life why am I doing this again I should be able to have a drink what harm would it do the whole world drinks alcohol was I ever really that bad I could probably moderate I’m sure I’ll be able to moderate now it’s only wine it’s not heroin I was never that bad no drunk-driving close relationships all functional didn’t lose jobs or friends because of drinking so is wine really that bad it’s Saturday night for god’s sake everyone has a drink on Saturday am I the only sad sack in the world why am I doing this again I wasn’t that bad was I it’s not fair oh my god.’

  Shut the fuck up. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

  I’m screaming at myself inside my own brain. The war is on and I am screaming. This wave of thoughts is like a bloody jackhammer hammering away at my brain. Hammering away at my resolve. Hammering away at my soul. Forgive me the drama but this really is such an overwhelming intense drinking pang. It’s the pang to beat all pangs. I’m totally at war with my thoughts right now, my own brain is turning on me like a two-faced shitty friend. It would be so easy to just have a wine to shut up the voice in my head. Instead I inwardly scream.

  Shut the fuck up goddamn it!!! Piss off!!!

  Where the hell is this incessant thinking about alcohol coming from? Is it the wine talking? Is it the addicted part of my brain? Is it the naughty teenager in me that never grew up? Is it some sort of depressed person that I’ve never known was there?

  Why is my Saturday night boring without alcohol? Why do I care so much about goddamn motherfucking alcohol?

  I can’t cope with this voice inside my brain telling me to drink. It will not stop. I feel like I’m losing control. It is so hard to fight this wave of thoughts leading me in the direction of a big fat glass of wine. I don’t know what to do.

  11

  I can’t let this fucking voice win. I have to get it out, get it out of my head and into the room, so I start talking about it, out loud to Corin. ‘There’s this voice inside my head telling me to drink,’ I confess. ‘It won’t shut up. I’m obsessed. It’s telling me I deserve to drink and I should just have a drink. It’s telling me everyone else in the world is having a drink right now and I should just have one too. It’s telling me I was never that bad and that it’s not fair that I can’t drink. It won’t shut up. I want it to stop but it won’t.’

  Corin listens kindly as he always does and offers me some supportive comments, but I’m mad as hell and really wound up. I have to shut this fucking voice up. I am not going to drink!

  So I keep talking out loud, babbling even, desperately, brutally honest: ‘The thing is I don’t just want one or two wines I want eight. And if I have any I’ll sleep like crap and I’ll wake up feeling like shit. I’ll have a hangover and feel depressed that I buckled and drank again. Before I know it I’ll be back on that treadmill of wine buying, wine drinking, wine recovery. I’ll be back living that awful wine-fuelled nightmarish life.’

  The pitch of my voice is increasing as I talk and I’m speeding up. I’m bursting with crazy energy, I’m fizzing and fired up and I need to do something! Anything but drink! What’s a girl to do to get through this? How can I shut up the noise in my head and not bloody drink?

  Clean. I clean. I put my yellow rubber gloves on and for the next two hours I clean our goddamn house from top to bottom. The bathroom gets scrubbed, the floors get vacuumed, the surfaces get polished, the toys get cleared away. I am a crazy determined non-drinking clea
ning freak. There is no stopping me.

  Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 41)

  I cleaned until I sat on the sofa at 7.30 p.m. puffed out (yes, I was puffed from all this hard-out cleaning!) with a ginger beer and read recovery blogs from other people and ordered recovery books from the library catalogue online.

  It was hard, but I won.

  I won!!!!!!!

  It’s the next morning when I write up the story of my Saturday night battle with the pang-to-beat-all-pangs and click ‘publish’ to send it out into the world. I fought the cravings, beat them down with my yellow rubber gloves, survived yet another sober day and got to write all about it in a blog post. All of this feels very nice in a low-key satisfying way. But oh wow, what comes back to me from out in the world, through the internet and onto my computer screen over the next few days makes it all the more satisfying. Like the most magical fairy dust that has ever been invented, a wave of love and support arrives as comments on my blog:

  Comment from ‘Nan’

  That is awesome . . . great job. Stay strong!

  Comment from ‘Nate’

  Well done for putting that voice to bed.

  Comment from ‘WritingTheBoozeAway’

  Yea for you!!! What you did is called addictive voice recognition technique. I recall my mind whirled around stopping by the store every damn night to buy vodka for months, until, suddenly, it stopped! Non-judgemental, mindful awareness worked for me. Cheers! It’s all so worth it!

  Comment from ‘Trying to Be Normal’

  I echo what WritingTheBoozeAway wrote—one day the thoughts become less powerful, naggy and loud. Keep on keeping on—it does get easier.

  Sweet mana from the internet. I don’t know if these people leaving comments have any idea what a huge difference they are making to my life. I feel totally jazzed that they’re following along with me, helping me, teaching me.