I may not get a round of applause on my 90th sober day but I get lots of virtual claps and hugs in the form of comments on my blog and that is more than enough for me. It’s totally fun celebrating a sober milestone but it does get me thinking about what I’m doing and how I’m labelling myself.
Here I am, embracing a traditional milestone marked in fellowship ceremonies all over the world, accepting fully that I have a problem with alcohol and can never touch it again, yet I am still steadfastly refusing to call myself the ‘A’ word. I’m not hiding my problem, I’m telling people left, right and centre that I’ve stopped drinking because I can’t control it, but I have never, ever called myself an alcoholic. I don’t consider myself an alcoholic. I am not an alcoholic.
Mrs D Is Going Without (Day 92)
Hi, my name is Mrs D and I am a . . . *coughs* . . . um . . . hi. I’m Mrs D and . . . um . . . huh . . . *clears throat* . . . sorry, let’s try that again. Hi. I’m Mrs D. And I. Am. A . . . . . . . . . dysfunctional drinker.
I like to call myself a dysfunctional drinker. A boozer. An enthusiastic wine-drinker. But alcoholic, no. Semantics? Probably. But still. I don’t want to call myself an alcoholic. For one thing I think it provides too blunt a label, or at least one that I’m not comfortable with. But also . . . well . . . I dunno . . . I’m embarrassed to say that I am one. It conjures up images of derelict losers and I’m not one of ‘them’. You know the type. Those winos in the gutter. Those smelly ladies with filthy clothes and unkempt hair I see in my supermarket with trolleys filled with big casks of wine.
I mean, I never drank cask wine! Admittedly my bottles were only worth about $10 but, you know, there was glass involved. No cardboard round here. And I wasn’t a stumbling drunk out on the streets creating a scene. Okay, so there was that one time I sort of stumbled in front of my in-laws while holding our 6-year-old and sort of dropped him a bit . . . but I don’t think they all knew how much wine I’d poured into myself that evening. Oh and there’s those favourite earrings that I lost during almighty binges (still think they might have gone down the drain, there was vomiting involved). So that’s all pretty sloppy behaviour. Me as a derelict loser, yeah.
Allen Carr says the definition of an alcoholic is someone who has lost control over their intake. Well, I had definitely lost control over my intake. I think I lost it back in the late 1980s actually. But, sorry Allen, I’m not ready to own that label yet.
My sober buddies online don’t like this, and make their feelings clear with their comments on my blog.
Comment from ‘Nate’
Be an alcoholic, that’s just what we are, it’s a badge of honour to say you do things ‘thoroughly and to exhaustion’ in a way.
It’s sort of revolting to accept you have a label that you have always reviled, but we are much more than just one label.
Comment from ‘Recovery Jane’
Labels only hold the weight you allow them to. In the beginning I couldn’t handle the alcoholic label but once I was defeated I could. Simply because I began to see how it fit. Don’t label yourself if you don’t want to but don’t allow the lack of a label to grey that line in the sand you’ve drawn.
Comment from ‘Anonymous’
Until I really admitted to myself that I was/am an alcoholic I couldn’t give up. And if I had managed to give up without that admission I could have remained in denial, secretly convincing myself that I wasn’t really. Just had to cut down a bit . . . etc., etc. Really just setting myself up for a relapse.
I’m not exactly feeling the online sober love on this one. Whatever. Don’t care. I am not an alcoholic. I am a dysfunctional drinker who couldn’t control it and had to take it away and is now learning how to live without it. I’m not going to label myself an alcoholic and I’m not going to let that lack of a label stop me from forging ahead with my goal of learning how to live happily without alcohol.
Live happily without alcohol. It has to be happily. I can’t bear the thought of being a miserable sober git for the rest of my life. I have to be able to go out and genuinely enjoy myself, not feel like I’m missing out and pretending to have a good time. So far my sober social forays haven’t been entirely successful on this front. I’ve struggled a bit, forced smiles onto my face and done weird things like fetching alcohol for others or overindulging on energy drinks. Fashion failures haven’t helped, either. I’m determined there will be no more inside-out clothing, shoes that don’t fit or skirts that restrict movement. And I am determined that I won’t feel edgy and wound-up all the time.
Lucky me, I’ve got plenty of opportunities ahead to practise my new sober socialising techniques (just a little bit of sarcasm there). The silly season is upon us, and not only do we have a bunch of Christmas parties to attend, but we’re also hosting a big family group at our house for four days. Excellent.
I gird my sober loins and plunge headfirst into a busy weekend of parties. Friday afternoon we take the kids along to a Break fast team barbecue at Corin’s colleagues’ house. I’ve met most of his workmates already but I do feel nervous as we pull up to the house, which is annoying. I’m not usually shy. But then again I’d usually be gratefully accepting a nice big glass of wine pretty soon after walking in the door. Not being able to do that has got me off-kilter (to say the least).
I feel like I’ve totally flipped my world upside-down, to be brutally honest.
Walking down the long driveway toward the house, I try to work my brain with my new techniques. ‘What does this social event offer?’ I ask myself. ‘This is about Corin’s team celebrating the end of a busy year, summer arriving and Christmas being around the corner. This barbecue is about congratulating a colleague who has a wedding coming up, the kids having a fun time with the pool and lots of yummy food. This is not about me and whether I’m drinking or not.’
I feel like bursting in the door, shouting ‘Here comes a whole new me!’, but I don’t, of course. Instead I slope in nervously, smile and say hi to people, dart my eyes around to see what drinks are out, and try to chat without sounding unnatural.
The hostess asks me what I’d like to drink and when I answer my voice comes out a bit shaky. What the fuck? I almost want to slap myself. This isn’t normal. But then what is normal for me nowadays? My old normal response would have been a chirpy ‘Oohh . . . a wine thanks!’ but my new normal is a wobbly ‘Lemonade please’. She doesn’t know me at all so doesn’t bat an eye. Maybe she thinks I’m not really much of a drinker. Ha! If only she knew the truth.
Time passes. I chat a bit. (‘I’m working on my Master’s thesis.’) Admire the new house. (‘Fabulous walk-in wardrobe.’) Help the kids into their togs. (‘Don’t worry, it’s not that deep.’) Calm the kids down when they freak out about how deep it is. (‘Just sit here with me for a while.’) Admire the whole baked fish and the chocolate fountain. (‘Gourmet delights!’) And there comes a point where I realise I’m relaxed. No one else gives a shit that I’m not drinking alcohol and even I begin to feel like I don’t give a shit. Just before the meal is served I’m standing on the deck talking to a new workmate of Corin’s and we’re having a laugh and I have this shocking little realisation that I’m not bothered that the glass I’m holding has lemonade in it. When we all sit down for lunch and speeches are being made for the groom-to-be, I’m stoked for him but mostly I’m just so stoked for myself that I’m actually doing this barbecue sober and it’s fine!
I’m ridiculously happy driving home and getting into bed later on.
Saturday morning I wake up feeling bright and oh-so-proud of myself. Most of the day is spent taking the kids to a Christmas party that TVNZ throws for the children of all staff. I’m happy amid the noisy madness, moving around fetching food, clutching balloon creations and helping the kids on and off the bouncy castle. Last year I was at this same party with a raging hangover after writing myself off completely at a concert the night before (this was the night I fell over backwards for no reason other than that booze had taken my balance away). It’s such a blessed relief not to be dealing with this chaos with a pounding head this year.
We’re knackered driving home but there’s no let-up in this weekend of Christmas party madness. Corin and I now have to get ready to go to yet another TVNZ Christmas function. This one is the big one. The entire News and Current Affairs department is descending on a hip downtown bar for a night of revelry. All the famous on-camera faces will be there, along with all the behind-the-scenes workers, and all their partners.
I wear something safe and black, my sister comes over to babysit, and Corin and I go out for dinner together before hitting the bar. I feel a little edgy but get busy thinking my new sober thoughts, concentrating on what the night ahead has to offer: ‘Tonight is about us being out together without kids, about finally eating at the Malaysian restaurant we’ve been hearing so much about, about checking out a bar that I’ve heard is super-cool and watching his entire workplace celebrate the end of a busy year. Tonight is not about me and alcohol.’
The Malaysian food is as delicious as all the reviews indicated it would be and, driving to the bar afterwards, again I work my brain to focus on the event ahead and make myself remember the awful sloppy drunk me that’s been emerging at parties recently.
We manage to find a carpark a couple of blocks away from the bar. As we walk towards it I can see that it’s heaving. My heart starts beating so I cling to Corin’s arm and place a smile on my face for our entry.
It’s hardly necessary—as soon as we step inside the door we get sucked in and swept up in the party. It’s dark and noisy and crowded and immediately I bump into someone I know.
‘Lotta!’ she cries. ‘Long time no see!’ She lunges towards me. ‘How are you? What are you up to nowadays?’ she asks with boozy breath.
‘Hey!’ I reply. ‘Well, actually, funny you should ask.’ I take a deep breath and then launch in. ‘If you really want to know I’ve recently made a big decision that I have to stop drinking because I can’t control alcohol so I’m learning all these new techniques to help me so that I don’t feel like I’m missing out. It’s fascinating to start looking at alcohol in a different light and to realise what a fallacy it is and how we’re all brainwashed into thinking it makes everything better when it doesn’t . . .’