14

Suddenly my pink cloud dissipates completely and dumps me in a steaming pile of emotional shit that I am ill-equipped to deal with.

First I learn that I have hurt a friend’s feelings by doing something thoughtless involving a kid’s party. When I hear (through a mutual friend) that she is offended, I’m utterly mortified so I rush over to her house and blurt out a teary apology on her doorstep: ‘(sob sob) I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you (sob sob) you’re so lovely I don’t want you to be upset (sob sob) I can’t believe I didn’t properly think it through (sob sob) how you would react (sniff sniff) sorry I’m crying I’m just really emotional right now (sniff sniff) it’s the not-drinking (sniff sniff) but I’m just so sorry I hurt you (sniff).’

Honestly, who the fuck is this thoughtless, emotional, dramatic woman masquerading as me?

My friend does seem a little taken aback by my outpouring of emotion but also thankful for the apology. As I drive home I feel okay about it, actually . . . if nothing else, she can’t accuse me of being unfeeling!

Then Corin heads out one evening to attend another big glitzy event but this time without me—it’s the New Zealand Music Awards. He is reluctant to go but ends up having a great night because his brother and some mates are there and they all get a bit tipsy and rock’n’roll on it. Back at home I, on the other hand, find myself getting slowly more and more wound up to the point where I am a seething mass of grumpiness. Normally when Corin goes out without me I throw myself a little party all on my own. (Logic = so I don’t miss out! See me having fun in my living room drinking bubbles all alone! Glug, glug, glug.) Well, not anymore.

So, with Corin out and me deprived of the opportunity to party alone, I slowly get more tense and angry as the evening progresses. About exactly what I’m not sure. There is a good reason floating around my brain somewhere. It probably doesn’t help that I’m watching the broadcast of the awards on TV and following along on Twitter so I’m really aware of the fun party that is going on without me and how goddamn sober I am. I can’t bear the thought that this is my reality forevermore.

By the time poor Corin rolls in around 1 a.m. I’ve worked myself into a complete state. He comes into the bedroom, tired and wobbly, telling me about his night. ‘At the start there was a VIP entrance with fans and media and stuff and because I’m on tele I got pushed towards it even though I just wanted to slip in quietly. It was so weird, like an actual red carpet.’ He’s giggling now as he tells me the story. ‘I really didn’t feel comfortable acting like a star, talking to fans and being interviewed and stuff so I ran down it instead! I just up and ran!’ This is actually quite funny but in my state of grumpy woe-is-me-itis I am in no mood to laugh and instead I explode.

I throw a complete hissy-fit about everything that is wrong with this picture and the part he’s playing in it. I’m emoting like a crazy harridan who has been in a coma for twenty years. All of this anger comes out my mouth and tears are pouring from my eyes and I rip back the bedcovers and storm across the room in a rage. Poor Corin, I don’t think he quite knows what’s going on. I pause briefly to tear my dressing gown off the back of the door but do it so violently that the metal hook holding the gown snaps in half. This kind of ruins the moment because I have to stop and pick up the broken bit. I’m gutted the hook is broken but I don’t want to ruin my dramatic exit so I continue to storm out of the bedroom and into the living room where—fuming—I lie on the couch as if I’m going to sleep there.

Who the fuck am I?

So now I’m kind of huddled on the sofa in my dressing gown with a broken hook in my hand and it’s cold and dark in the living room (I didn’t think to get a blanket) and I’m a bit stuck on what to do next. And I’m a bit confused as to what’s actually going on. I’m mad as all hell, but what at? Is it something Corin’s done? Or is it at myself for making this stupid goddamn decision not to drink and now having to live with the difficult consequences of that decision? Consequences like sitting at home alone with no wine to fill the space. Why can’t I cope with empty space?

Luckily for me a tired and bemused Corin appears in the living room after a short while and says simply, ‘Sweetie, come to bed,’ and because I’m cold I do and eventually we fall asleep.

Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 60)

I am a different woman. I seriously am. I cry all the time. My self-image has been rocked to its core. I feel shaky. Before giving up the sauce I thought I was fine, but lately I’ve been feeling like a boring loser, stuck at home with a wobbly tummy and no value.

Is all this drama the new normal? Is this how I’m always going to live from now on? I didn’t sign up to this.

Comment from ‘Anonymous’

Dear Mrs D, don’t worry, this is normal (for an alcoholic :-) ) It will pass as long as you don’t drink. Think of it as a healing crisis.

This is the stuff the alcohol was suppressing. Alcoholism is not just a physical addiction, it is a mental, emotional and spiritual illness. The drink is just a symptom. Stay strong!

Comment from ‘Anonymous’

The commenter above is right! This IS normal and you will eventually feel better. You’ve been drowning your emotions for a while and you need time for them to even out.

The last thing you need is to stifle them again. I like the comment ‘Think of it as a healing crisis’. How true!!

Comment from ‘Anonymous’

Oh, Mrs D you sound like you’re right on track! Sorry, don’t mean to make light of your difficult time. Hey, go easy on yourself. You are experiencing a massive shift in how you live your life—there’s bound to be some bumps and drama involved.

Comment from ‘Miriam’

Sympathy to you—while I was drinking I had no idea why I drank, had many theories but no definite idea. Then I sobered up and began finding out how I really felt and how much I had relied on drinking as a buffer and pick-me-up and crude anaesthetic. I drank to find out how I was feeling, I drank to escape feeling, I drank to shift the feelings. Sober I discovered that years of alcohol abuse had flattened all my emotions like a thick layer of concrete—they came back like a rollercoaster before settling down.

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.