by Lotta Dann
Bless my beautiful commenters. I can so relate to what Miriam is saying. It is like a thick layer of concrete has been lifted off me and it does feel like I’m on some sort of god-awful rollercoaster. I fucking hate rollercoasters; they scare the shit out of me. I’m the person who stands at the bottom holding the coats. Now I’m strapped in, hurtling along at breakneck speed. I’m really uncomfortable with all this goddamn emotion. ‘A healing crisis’, one of my helpful commenters said. I like that, too. It helps me to see this as a phase. Maybe it won’t last forever. I’m going through a healing crisis and I just need to take it easy right now, look after myself and move gently through the days.
Only one problem: my stepbrother’s Indian-themed wedding is tonight. Shitballs! My eyes are red-rimmed from all the crying I’ve been doing and I’m exhausted with the lack of sleep that resulted from my stupid tantrum. I feel fat and ugly and messy and wound up and not in the mood to wear a bloody sari! Instead I rush out to the mall and buy a tonne of sparkly plastic bracelets and a bindi to stick on my forehead. Then I pop over to a mate’s house and borrow a skirt that should work for an Indian-themed wedding. Alright, the skirt isn’t Indian at all; it looks more like a Thai Airways uniform. The fabric is an ornate purple and gold and it’s cut in a tight tube straight down to the floor. It’s so tight I can barely take proper steps in it but rather only small shuffling ones—what is it with me and bloody shuffling along at parties?
At least I can drive to the wedding knowing that I’m going to be sober all night. This is surprisingly incredibly satisfying. No taxi fare wasted! I’ll take this good feeling. I need all the good feelings I can get right now, because overall I’m still feeling quite grumpy. We pick up my sister and brother-in-law on the way to the venue and I’m trying to appear cheerful, turning up the music in the car as we cross the harbour bridge. But pulling into the venue carpark and seeing other wedding guests arriving in their lovely sparkly saris displaying toned midriffs and tanned shoulders is not helping. I feel uncomfortable in my unsexy airhostess uniform but force a smile onto my face for the sake of the groom and his lovely wife-to-be. Just get through, I tell myself. Just get through and don’t drink.
Lots of my family are here, my dad and two of my sisters and their husbands. Are they all aware this is my first sober wedding? Probably not. It’s highly likely I’m the only person in the room obsessed with the fact that I’m not drinking tonight.
Wrong. After the ceremony Dad quietly lets me know that he’s not going to drink tonight—‘in solidarity with you, darling’—which is bloody nice of him and really does work to make me feel better. Normally I’d be hooking into the free booze by now (like most people seem to be) but instead I nervously fetch a lemonade from the bar and try to settle myself down. Corin has been latched onto by some fans of Break fast so he’s having to chat away and be polite but I’m not in a mingling mood at all. And neither, it emerges, are my sisters and my dad—hooray! Instead we clump ourselves together in a corner and quietly chat away. I’m aware we’re being a bit antisocial but I don’t mind, it’s so nice to be surrounded by family, making jokes, rating the canapés and checking out all the beautiful saris. We do manage to tear ourselves away from our corner to approach the bride and offer our congratulations. She looks so happy and radiant I start to realise that this isn’t a day about me and not-drinking, it’s a day about them. That makes me feel a bit better.
I do still feel really odd that I’m not drinking. It sounds like nothing much, but for a hardcore boozer like me this is huge! I could so easily walk over to the bar and order a wine or a bubbles. No one is stopping me. I’m on a self-imposed sobriety mission. Am I crazy?
I stand chewing a mini pakora with raita (tasty, definitely a nine out of ten) and think back to all the past weddings I have attended. So many of them I have written myself off at. I run through them in my mind, trying to remember what I was like at each one: drunk, drunk, drunk, pregnant, drunk, drunk (vomited), drunk, pregnant, drunk, drunk, drunk (lost a shoe), drunk, drunk. Holy shit! I think every wedding I’ve attended I got drunk at unless I was up the duff. Even my own bloody wedding was an all-nighter. So this one tonight, with no baby in my belly and no booze either, it’s a huge deal.
The MC calls for everyone to make their way to their tables. ‘The speeches will start in fifteen minutes,’ he says. I shuffle up the winding staircase (I have to cling hard to the banister because my skirt is so tight) and around the mezzanine level to find where we are sitting. Then I start acting like a freak.
15
My brother-in-law and Corin have come upstairs without drinks. This is a travesty (says my twisted boozer’s mind). ‘I’ll get you one!’ I chirp.
‘Nah, don’t worry,’ they say. ‘The bar’s miles away.’
‘No, seriously, it’s fine!’ I chirp again and proceed to stand up and shuffle in my ridiculous skirt back around the mezzanine level, inch slowly down the winding staircase holding tight to the banister, and shuffle across the foyer to the bar, where I chirpily order two beers. I collect the drinks and shuffle back across the foyer to the stairs and awkwardly inch my way up them, not able to hold the banister because my hands are full of alcohol for other people! What the hell am I doing? Desperately trying to prove I’m still cool with other people drinking? Desperate for other people to get drunk because that’s what I imagine everyone wants to do at a wedding? Desperate to keep busy? Just generally desperate?
I make it to the top of the stairs and shuffle back around the mezzanine level to our table and deliver the drinks. I think everyone is a bit bemused but I am hair-flicking-ly okay. ‘No problem,’ I chirp (even my chirping is odd). Then I notice a couple of other people sitting at the table have finished their drinks so I do it again!!! Around, down, across, shuffle, inch, shuffle, across, up, around, shuffle, inch, shuffle, chirp, chirp, chirp.
Freak.
Luckily the wedding juggernaut takes over and there’s speeches to listen to and food to eat (curry—yum!), and just as the party is really about to kick off my darling nephew comes to my rescue. He’s at my sister’s house refusing to settle with his babysitter so I offer to drive my sister back to him (and continue on home myself). It’s just 9.30 p.m. as we quietly say our goodbyes (Corin elects to stay) and slip out. I hope no one minds.
It’s pouring with rain as we exit the venue so we sprint to the car laughing wildly. I’ve got my tight skirt hitched up and I’m feeling good. I did it! I may have acted like a weird alcohol-delivering freak and bailed early, but I did it. I did my first wedding sober! I feel great!
I can’t help myself (never can) and start babbling away to my sister about how amazing it feels to have stayed sober and to be driving myself home. ‘It’s such a revelation to see how I don’t just have to drink all the time,’ I burble over the flapping windscreen wipers. ‘I thought I did but I don’t. This is a whole new world to me. I’m so happy I’m figuring this out. All I used to do was drink, drink, drink. Unquestionably drink all the time. Now I’ve stopped and it’s so fascinating what I’m learning. I keep questioning why I drank so much all the time and the answers that are coming are so unexpected. It’s amazing. I mean, I’ve been really fucking emotional lately so it’s not always amazing, sometimes it’s really shitty and hard, but right now I feel amazing!’ I’m raving and a bit giddy but I can’t stop myself. I’m ecstatic that I’m driving myself home from this wedding and I’m sober. Another small victory!
My sister just sits there quietly, listening to me and watching all this emotion flow out of me, and then she says gently: ‘I don’t know why I’m thinking this right now but I feel like if you’d kept drinking, one day you would have just burst into tears without knowing why and never been able to stop.’
She doesn’t know how right she is. If I had kept boozing and my feelings had stayed squashed, maybe one day they would have burst out of me uncontrollably. I’ll never know because now I’m cracking away at the concrete myself. And, boy, are my
emotions flooding out. Right now, driving home from a wedding in the rain, I’m so happy. Last night I was breaking hooks and slamming doors. This is the new normal. I’m waking up.
But then I come crashing down, my inner addict throws a hissy-fit and I get hit with an intense longing.
Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 65)
The longing to drink first came in a moment of stillness, which is very interesting, actually. My busy weekend was very lovely and calming and I found myself on Sunday evening in a pleasant relaxed state after my week of emotional turmoil.
Then Monday afternoon, in a moment of rare and absolute stillness (sitting on a sofa in the corner of the classroom having just helped with an afternoon of art projects, waiting for the bell to ring), I had a thought about drinking, followed by a pang. A familiar pang.
‘This is a thought, not a craving,’ I told myself. And I tried to analyse why it was that the thought had appeared at that moment. I rode it out, but to be honest that sad longing about alcohol has lingered for 2 days now. I think it’s starting to drift away, finally.
And there’s absolutelynofuckingwayI’mactually goingtodrink.
Just had to make that clear (in bold italics no less).
I’m starting to think that the drinking for me was to fill the silence. I’m having to learn to be still. I’m also having to get to know sad Mrs D. She’s there and I never let her out much. Without the heavy, steady alcohol-drinking squashing down my emotions, I am having to learn to ride the waves of emotion naturally when they come. Acknowledge them, feel them, hear them, watch them go.
Is it stupid that I’m only just starting to see now that my heavy alcohol consumption was me choosing to live a life of suppressing emotions? How can you feel, really feel, clearly and simply and in a real way, if you’re always pouring booze down your throat? You can’t. So I’m having to learn that way of living I guess.
Little did I know when I decided to remove alcohol from my life I was putting myself through an intense life-studies course. Thankfully I’ve got my fellow students alongside to help with the coursework.
Comment from ‘Anonymous’
Good for you! Isn’t it amazing when that urge, pang or whatever we call it comes out of nowhere??? It happens to me too. The difference right now is I sit with it, think it through to the last drink instead of only thinking of the first, soothing one. Lord knows it won’t just be one. So far so good but it still pisses me off that I can’t just have a couple like other people . . . oh well. That’s the way it is. Stay strong. Love reading your posts.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice to hear that people are enjoying my posts. Like I’ve said before—I’ll take all the good feelings I can get right now. This really is such an intense process I’m going through. But I’ll try and do what this commenter says and stay strong. I need to—because tonight is my 40th birthday party.
I’d really rather not have to host a party, even if it is a combined one with my brother-in-law, and I feel terrible admitting this because I’ve got lots of friends and family flying in for it. Luckily my brother-in-law is a great guy and also a DJ so he’s taking the lead in most of the planning and he’s arranged for us to hold the party in a bar near where he works. All I have to do is prepare some nibbles, show up, chat and mingle, maybe dance a bit, not drink alcohol and go home.
Yeah, a fucking doddle.
I’m trying really hard to not feel completely and utterly gutted that I can’t just party full-on and have a wild and crazy time. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to bloody do at a big milestone birthday? Get pissed and talk shit and cruise around and dance and just lark it up? I want to do that! I want to be fun party girl Lotta! That girl I know so well, whose demeanour and attitude I have perfected over years and years.
But I can’t. I have to be that slightly uptight edgy sober version of myself that I don’t really know well or like much yet.
I’ve got this thing I do when I have to climb a hill where I just put my head down and charge up as fast as I can to get it over with (not a huge fan of climbing hills). I feel the same way about this party. I just want to put my head down and charge through it and get it over with. I’m not going to drink. No fucking way.
I’m nervous getting ready (I decide to wear something safe and comfortable, including old favourite boots, not taking any bloody fashion risks tonight). I’m nervous driving to the venue. I’m nervous putting out the trays of food and talking with my brother-in-law. I’m very nervous.
Then people start arriving and I find myself doing something extremely odd. I have not planned this at all. This is just what comes out of my mouth, over and over and over as I welcome friends and family into the bar.
‘Hey! Great to see you. Have I told you my big news? I’ve given up alcohol! I can’t control it anymore, so I’ve stopped completely. Welcome to my party!’
I know I’m coming across a bit weird but I can’t help myself. I can’t pretend it’s not the truth. It is the truth, and this is my party and I’ll confess if I want to. It calms me down, actually; I’m not pretending anything now. I’m just being what I am which is someone desperately trying to change their ways. Some of my guests are taken aback by my announcement (‘How bad were you?’ they ask), and I think others find it slightly odd and awkward to be confronted with such sobering news (pun intended). To be perfectly honest I don’t care what anyone thinks. I can’t afford to. I’m just doing whatever I can to get through the night and not drink.
I float around and chat and mingle but I’m not sure exactly what to do with myself without a drink in my hand (and lots in my belly). My brother-in-law and his mates are having a wild and crazy time on the dance floor, which is great, but my boots, despite being comfortable, aren’t made for dancing tonight.
Instead I smoke cigarettes outside on the balcony and try to join in with the loose talk going on out there but I’m struggling a bit to match the party mood. I feel a bit lost and I keep heading to the bar to order Red Bulls. It’s certainly not going down in history as the Best Night Ever. But it’s fine, and that’s good enough for now.
The night is drawing to a close when I find myself sitting at a table with about six good mates and it suddenly dawns on me that we are having a great conversation, a really great conversation. None of these people are boozing (Doesn’t everyone booze all the time? I’m discovering not) and we all just get chatting and I’m thinking, ‘Hell, this is a great chat.’ Not loose, raucous, smack talk but a lovely proper conversation about stuff. This conversation is probably the highlight of my night, that and the feeling I have as I drive the car home (full of slurry people singing merrily in the back). I feel incredibly satisfied and proud of myself that I did it. I made it through my 40th birthday party sober and it was fine!
Sadly, when I climb into bed at 2.30 a.m. I discover I have completely overdone it on the Red Bulls, have over-caffeinated myself and am too wired to sleep. Bugger.
While I may not be hungover the next day, and really pleased with myself for having got through the party sober, I am sleep-deprived and worried whether I did the right thing by announcing my new lifestyle the way I did.
Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 70)
I think I’m going to have to work on getting the tone right when I talk about my removing alcohol from my life.
I don’t want to come across as anti-alcohol because in many ways I feel the opposite. Like—‘don’t let the fun stop just cos I’m not drinking!’ (That feeling comes mixed with a bit of me desperately trying to prove that I am still fun without the booze.)
I also don’t want to come across holier-than-thou. Like—‘you’re all dysfunctional drinkers cos I know now that drinking heavily is all about suppressing emotion and how can you really feel when you’re pouring wine down your throat constantly, by the way how is that drink there treating you?’ Yeah, that’s not a good look.
And I want to explain to people that I wasn’t exactly vomiting and falling
over every night so to that end I’m developing some quick responses to explain what led to my sober lifestyle. ‘It was just wine but it was lots of it’ and ‘Only ever after 5 p.m. but most nights’ and ‘It wasn’t crazy binges just steady heavy drinking’ and ‘I just got sick of being a boozer’.
Still, despite worrying about how to talk about my not-drinking, I am feeling pretty bloody good about what I’m managing to do. And even if my friends and family don’t appreciate how hard it is for me to stay sober, my wonderful blog readers certainly get it.
Comment from ‘Nate’
Big deal about your 40th sober—fucking huge deal! Well done—I hope over time everyone sees you as Sober Mrs D and just gets on with it. Normalises it.
Me too, Nate, me too.
16
I’m amazed to realise it’s now been just over two months since I had my last binge. That’s a decent stint of not-drinking! A good portion of my brain is standing strong and telling me that the world has indeed shifted and my life will never be the same again—that I’m never going back to that boozy nightmare—but there’s another part of my brain that is freaking out and lurching all over the show emotionally. Me and my bloody split personality.
Unfortunately, none of my grey matter appears to be communicating with my body. I’m gutted that I don’t look any different, I’m not a glowing picture of robust health and I haven’t lost any weight. You’d think I’d have lost some bloody weight, given all the calories that are supposedly in wine, wouldn’t you?
I’m still dragging myself to the gym a couple of times a week and forcing myself to do some sort of exercise (not something that comes very easily to me). I have formed a nice new routine of stopping at the store opposite the gym on my way home to get some treat-y supplies. Sober treats. And I refuse to feel guilty about them because of the money I’m saving on wine. Sober treats = fresh flowers, magazines, scented candles, nice soaps, face packs, gourmet cheeses, olives, tasty nuts, crackers, all manner of non-alcoholic drinks and lots of varieties of tea.