It’s day 35 since I stopped drinking, here in the Red Household. Since I stopped cracking a bottle of wine at an ever-earlier hour on a Sunday, with the excuse “hey, it’s Sunday! Everyone starts drinking at lunch! This is fine…”. Then there would be the second bottle. And then Monday. Waking with a banging head, a sickly stomach, the creeping dread, the chest-crush of anxiety. Dragging myself through the day, trying not to get too close to anyone in case I smelt of alcohol, counting down the minutes until the evening, when I could open another bottle. To bring me back up from the pits, to just feeling ok.
It’s amazing how quickly that cycle would degenerate for me. I used to try not to drink the on the nights before work. I didn’t always succeed, but as a rule by Friday I would have two nights AF under my belt, be feeling more human, and so my first post-work Friday night drink would give me a big buzz. A few days later, I’d be drinking to bring me back up to the baseline.
This little dude perfectly illustrates how the cycle worked for me.
Over the last year, I’ve tried to stop drinking a few times. I even made it to over a month earlier in the year. Since then I’ve mostly caved in at about 2 weeks, max. I feel a bit different this time.. more relaxed about it. More accepting of the fact that booze and I just don’t mix. More revulsed by the idea of drinking than I’ve ever been. Missing “it” a hell of a lot less. I’m not counting my chickens, I dare not. But it feels good so far.
It’s my “turn” for a lie-in this morning. Although, by the time Mr Red had roused himself to take the incredibly bouncy, Advent-crazed Redlets downstairs, I’d been thoroughly woken up and had already been downstairs to make myself a cuppa in a grump of despair. They’re all finally downstairs now though, and I’m luxuriating in bed, with tea and biscuits. There’s a worrying amount of kerfuffle coming from down there – it does remind me slightly of the time in Dusseldorf when we accidentally stayed in a hotel room which turned out to be above a busy nightclub. But hey – I don’t have to do anything for an hour. And without a hangover. For that, I am immensely grateful.
So through the gently thudding bass-line and the occasional giddy scream (is it joy? Is it sheer rage? Will there be much blood?) I bid you a Happy Sunday, people!