The moment I decided to stop drinking seven months ago was the exact moment I started to fully examine the extent of my suffering.
This, I know, sounds ick. Why would anyone want to experience and dig into uneasy feelings? Why relive heartbreak, grief, embarrassment, and shame? I drank copious amounts of wine in order to RELIEVE MYSELF of these unbearable feelings. And that worked. But only temporarily. Drinking away my pain was a relief that plateaued at two glasses of wine. But once I had had two, I was guaranteed to drink a third. By the time I was done with the third glass, I would sloppily glance over to notice that there was only one glass left in the bottle - so it seemed pertinent that I finish that off as well. Polishing off a full bottle of wine became a given every day. Monday through Sunday, I would drink a $20 bottle of natural wine. A natty wine seemed cleaner to me. There are no added sulfites! I’m not an alcoholic! Being a wino is a passion. A lifestyle. I don’t have a problem, I’d reason with myself.
But I wasn’t sleeping. My anxiety kept me awake. Intrusive thoughts kept building and haunting me. Drunken slumber wasn’t peaceful and I didn’t dream. My body woke me up before my hungover self was ready - head pounding and muscles aching from dehydration. For years, I spent most days in a perpetual state of torment: I woke up hungover; I drank to ease my physical and mental anguish; and then I fell asleep in a drunken stupor.
Of course, there were days that I didn’t drink. Days that I let myself believe that I was in control. Days that I let my mind and body recover. But the need for alcohol always crept under the surface. I didn’t want to face my suffering, so breaks from habitual drinking didn’t last very long.
COVID COCKTAILS
When the shutdown hit, what was considered normal and healthy drinking was thrown out the window. “Taking the edge off” became almost necessary in dealing with all the added grief and anxiety brought on by the pandemic. After I lost my job bartending due to restaurants shutting down, I began opening and chugging bottles of wine at 11AM because what else was I to do? The world was in utter chaos and no one knew when things would “return to normal”. I would pull a bottle of sauvignon blanc out of the fridge at 10:59AM and offer some of it to my roommate as we binged every season of the survival show “Alone” in our sweats on the couch in the living room.
I was giving alcohol too big of a job. I was asking it to stave off feelings of grief and insecurity from before the pandemic hit as well as now numb the grueling isolation and uncertainty brought on by a mysterious virus.
Alcohol, funnily enough, wasn’t helping me feel any better. In fact, it was only exasperating the issue. Wine, which I always thought of in a romantic, dreamy kind of way, no longer gave me butterflies. It was instead giving me painful jabbing headaches, body aches, and triggering nightmares. I had convinced myself that I was a frightfully anxious person and that being a content human wasn’t in the cards for me, but I was beginning to understand that things might be a little easier for me if I put the wine bottle down.
When things fall apart, a natural response is to find something - anything - to act as a conduit to bring us out of our suffering. But once I decided that alcohol was doing more harm than good, I discovered that leaning toward uncomfortable feelings with curiosity and kindness did me far more good than a wine bottle ever could. Sitting with my discomfort - my heartbreak, grief, embarrassment, and shame - ended up not being as horrific as I thought it would be. The bad feelings no longer lingered the way they would when I drank. I moved in and out of emotions that were good, bad, and neutral in a rhythmic flow that I previously hadn’t known possible.
The pandemic introduced me to the possibility that a life sober could be more dream-like and fulfilling than a life drenched in wine ever could.
A great reflection on this past year. Love to see you dipped in honey vs drenched in wine. Love you.