I am (trying) to give up alcohol. I don’t go well with it; my common sense is reduced to rubble and I am a different person when I’m drinking.
According to my Coach.Me app – today is 92 days of sobriety. I have done more – I managed over 100 days prior to Christmas 2015, but decided ‘it was the holidays’, ‘everyone drinks at Christmas’, yada yada.
Cut to me, halfway through a bottle of whisky and a day into the Christmas alcohol cupboard… Not good. Granted, staying up late watching the Matrix trilogy on TV and playing ps3 games was as ‘out of control’ as it got, I was still sleeping in until midday and waking up feeling like there were empty cans rolling around my cranium. It’s true what they say, hangovers get worse as you get older!
So midway through January (after I’d drank my way through the rest of the Christmas cupboard) I decided to stop again. For good this time. No excuses for celebrations, or special occasions, and no exceptions.
Overall, apart from the first few days longing for the feeling of the first satisfying sip of wine in the evening, it’s gone pretty well. I knew I could physically do it – I mean I’d done it before, so no problem right? I’m also fitter than I was at the start of the year – I’ve followed the Guardian workout from Louise Hazel and I’m 51 days into working out and hitting my Fitbit step target everyday. I’m pumped about working out, I’m happier than I’ve felt in ages. But the temptation to drink is just there, lingering behind me whispering that ‘what could happen?’, ‘you’re a strong person now, one will do’, ‘one is enough’.
I’ve spoken to a friend of mine who said – sensibly, as people on diets often think this way – isn’t one okay? You will end up driving yourself mad if you deny cravings. But it just doesn’t work that way. The lack of common sense coupled with the comfort of the serpent in my ear persuading me that I deserve it, is too much when my defenses have been lowered by one. One never is enough.
One is never ever enough. There’s no certain way to feel nothing at all; it’s probably not healthy and it might be at the bottom of one drink or one bottle. And the roll of the dice feels oh so worth it to me when I’m weakened by one. It’s the sense of contentment and warmth, the lack of restraint, the ease of feeling empty that just satisfies me. It’s the beginning, and there is no stopping point. The next day arrives with the sore head that can be cured by more. One is never enough.
So I’m sitting here writing, instead of pining. It’s pathetic I know, a sort of love letter to alcohol. But it’s also a breakup letter, and one I mean every word of. I intend to stay sober and I know I will wake up tomorrow with new thoughts and continue on as before. Giving up is not worth it to me, the sense of achievement and happiness is a better feeling than the numbness. It’s just four little words but it just encapsulates everything about me sometimes: one is never enough.