I started drinking when I was about 17. My friends were drinking and I wanted to fit in. It was an easy choice. I never felt as cool, or as interesting, or as good at conversation as my friends. I was sure people were looking at me and finding me lacking. And alcohol fixed that. It helped me loosen up. Made talking to people easier. Made being in a crowd bearable. Fun, even!
Looking back that was probably when I first started managing my monster, the one who lived in my gut and whispered to me in the night. The monster I should have kicked out the first time it replayed a conversation for me with all the stuff I SHOULD HAVE said. The monster who told me I could have said it so much better IF ONLY I’d used these words! But it’s a rare 17 year old who knows how to evict a monster who is already part of her.
For the next 33 years I drank off and on. Sometimes to excess, but rarely. And I never drank with any frequency, just here and there, usually at a party. All in all I probably averaged one drink a month, if that. So my drinking did not cause me problems. But after Jesse’s accident I started looking more closely at WHY I drank.
I realized that at 50 I was still worried about what people thought. To the point of ordering an alcoholic drink instead of water with my dinner so the waitress didn’t think I was a prude. I was 50 fucking years old and I was worrying about a twenty-something year old waitress who couldn’t have cared less!
There are things I love about alcohol. Summertime Gin and Tonics. With really good gin and just the right amount of crushed ice. Wintertime Hot Apple Pies with whipped cream and nutmeg. They might almost be better than real apple pie. The lovely tingle in the back of my neck as the alcohol hits my bloodstream and the subsequent loosening of body and mind.
But most of all I love how it releases me from myself. Especially in a social situation. Conversation is no longer work. I’m funny. And cool. And never, ever boring. Every word is the right one.
There are things I hate about alcohol. I’m a light weight. One drink will earn me a headache the next day. More than one and I feel like I have the flu. Having kids really cut down on my drinking. Hell could accurately be described as having to take care of a crying child, early in the morning, with a hangover.
Mostly what I hate about alcohol is how badly my son has been hurt by it. And part of me wishes Jesse, as an alcoholic, didn’t have to live in a society that worships booze. But that is his journey and whatever direction he chooses to travel will be just that: his choice, not one society makes for him.
Not drinking in our society is not easy. It takes strength to say no, when everyone around you is saying yes. We have forgotten to look up to the person saying no and honor their strength. Instead, we call them pussies. And when I say we, I include myself, because when I started looking at the reasons I drank, I was embarrassed to discover I thought this way, too.
I don’t know if it means anything or not but I chose to quit drinking after Jesse’s accident. For support, in a way. To see how hard it is to be dry in a wet world. To find out how difficult it is to tell people, “No, thanks. I don’t drink.”
And to see what the options are. Are there fun and exciting things to drink other than alcohol? Because water gets boring and soda pop is just too sweet.
But mostly I quit drinking because I needed to prove to myself that I am funny and cool and enjoyable to be around without the aid of alcohol.
There are a lot of people who drink. I drank for the wrong reasons. I used it as a crutch. I used it because it was easier than facing the monster inside. I used alcohol to silence the monster, and instead I only silenced my hearing for awhile. The monster always continued the conversation as soon as the alcohol wore off.
I started drinking young. It was what we did. Jesse started drinking young. It was what he did. I don’t know the answers to what starts underage drinking and how to end alcohol abuse. I don’t even know the questions. But I really want to stop being afraid to be me. And alcohol was something I needed to give up to do that.
So I’ve quit drinking. Because it had become a form of hiding. From reality. From life. From myself. Like all unnecessary crutches, when you finally lay them down it feels wonderful to walk freely again.
Sometimes I miss the taste of my favorite drinks. Sometimes I crave the dulling, especially when anxiety is dragging its fingernails across my chalk board. But in social situations? I’m doing just fine.
Go figure.
(And I really, really don’t miss the headaches.)
Love,
Chris
Looking back that was probably when I first started managing my monster, the one who lived in my gut and whispered to me in the night. The monster I should have kicked out the first time it replayed a conversation for me with all the stuff I SHOULD HAVE said. The monster who told me I could have said it so much better IF ONLY I’d used these words! But it’s a rare 17 year old who knows how to evict a monster who is already part of her.
For the next 33 years I drank off and on. Sometimes to excess, but rarely. And I never drank with any frequency, just here and there, usually at a party. All in all I probably averaged one drink a month, if that. So my drinking did not cause me problems. But after Jesse’s accident I started looking more closely at WHY I drank.
I realized that at 50 I was still worried about what people thought. To the point of ordering an alcoholic drink instead of water with my dinner so the waitress didn’t think I was a prude. I was 50 fucking years old and I was worrying about a twenty-something year old waitress who couldn’t have cared less!
There are things I love about alcohol. Summertime Gin and Tonics. With really good gin and just the right amount of crushed ice. Wintertime Hot Apple Pies with whipped cream and nutmeg. They might almost be better than real apple pie. The lovely tingle in the back of my neck as the alcohol hits my bloodstream and the subsequent loosening of body and mind.
But most of all I love how it releases me from myself. Especially in a social situation. Conversation is no longer work. I’m funny. And cool. And never, ever boring. Every word is the right one.
There are things I hate about alcohol. I’m a light weight. One drink will earn me a headache the next day. More than one and I feel like I have the flu. Having kids really cut down on my drinking. Hell could accurately be described as having to take care of a crying child, early in the morning, with a hangover.
Mostly what I hate about alcohol is how badly my son has been hurt by it. And part of me wishes Jesse, as an alcoholic, didn’t have to live in a society that worships booze. But that is his journey and whatever direction he chooses to travel will be just that: his choice, not one society makes for him.
Not drinking in our society is not easy. It takes strength to say no, when everyone around you is saying yes. We have forgotten to look up to the person saying no and honor their strength. Instead, we call them pussies. And when I say we, I include myself, because when I started looking at the reasons I drank, I was embarrassed to discover I thought this way, too.
I don’t know if it means anything or not but I chose to quit drinking after Jesse’s accident. For support, in a way. To see how hard it is to be dry in a wet world. To find out how difficult it is to tell people, “No, thanks. I don’t drink.”
And to see what the options are. Are there fun and exciting things to drink other than alcohol? Because water gets boring and soda pop is just too sweet.
But mostly I quit drinking because I needed to prove to myself that I am funny and cool and enjoyable to be around without the aid of alcohol.
There are a lot of people who drink. I drank for the wrong reasons. I used it as a crutch. I used it because it was easier than facing the monster inside. I used alcohol to silence the monster, and instead I only silenced my hearing for awhile. The monster always continued the conversation as soon as the alcohol wore off.
I started drinking young. It was what we did. Jesse started drinking young. It was what he did. I don’t know the answers to what starts underage drinking and how to end alcohol abuse. I don’t even know the questions. But I really want to stop being afraid to be me. And alcohol was something I needed to give up to do that.
So I’ve quit drinking. Because it had become a form of hiding. From reality. From life. From myself. Like all unnecessary crutches, when you finally lay them down it feels wonderful to walk freely again.
Sometimes I miss the taste of my favorite drinks. Sometimes I crave the dulling, especially when anxiety is dragging its fingernails across my chalk board. But in social situations? I’m doing just fine.
Go figure.
(And I really, really don’t miss the headaches.)
Love,
Chris