I took my last alcoholic drink four years, one month and sixteen days ago. I remember the moment, because I had got to the stage where I was swigging gin straight out of the bottle. It was 10am and I was on my way to set up for a zoom business meeting. Normally, I would have poured the gin into my coffee cup so I could pretend to be drinking coffee through the meeting, but that morning I didn’t wait to pour it – I just put the bottle to my lips and drank.

It was one of those turning points. Until then, I had been in denial – knowing that I drank way too much but convinced I didn’t really have a problem. In that moment I realised I was an alcoholic and that I had a choice. I could carry on as I was, I could go to Alcoholics Anonymous, or I could just stop. I chose the last option and it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t drink at all now. I don’t even take wine at communion in church. My vicar knows why because I talked to him about it. He’s the kind of man you can talk to – as he should be, I suppose.

These days, I drink lime and soda when we’re out There’s little pleasure in going out anymore however and it makes me realise just how much going out depended on my drinking.

It’s still hard. When I’ve had a bad day, I still crave that lovely pink glow that comes over everything when you’ve had just enough to drink and no more. Except that phase would pass too soon as I would be unable to stop at just a couple of drinks. I want to drink not for the social side – that doesn’t bother me too much – but because I want to blot out the world. It’s that desire that reminds me that I’m still an alcoholic – just an alcoholic who doesn’t drink anymore.

I don’t like the phrase “recovering alcoholic,” because I don’t think it’s something you can recover from. All the books I’ve read – and I’ve read quite a few – say that you can’t ever go back to social drinking. At first, you may be able to just take one or two glasses of wine, but inevitably, you will start to slide down that slippery slope. And it’s harder to give up a second time.

I can’t say if I’m proud of myself for stopping drinking. Mostly, I’m just relieved. I’m also kicking myself for allowing myself to become an alcoholic in the first place. I also ask myself why. I know that alcoholism runs in the family, but I don’t see that as an excuse. I have forgiven myself, but that was hard too.

What do you think? Should one be proud of recovering from a dangerous situation, or angry for having got there in the first place? Are you proud of anything like that?

Mary

A Moodscope member