As I’ve been reflecting on the past year and looking to the one about to start, I’ve been both taking stock and thinking about what improvements can be made. For a long, long time, the only goal I would set for myself for a coming year was to stop drinking. Over and over and over again, I would promise myself that December 31st was it, and that as of January 1st I would no longer be a person who drank. Of course, that was a pie crust promise. I broke it more easily than I made it almost every time.
The Intervention
More often than not, this was a resolution that I kept to myself; however, when my drinking reached fever pitch in late 2016 and I was no longer able to hide it from my family and friends, I was forced to acknowledge my intent to quit drinking publicly for the first time. Because I was approached about the issue just after Christmas, and because I was desperate to avoid the conversation, I told the person who had been elected to talk to me about my drinking that I had already picked January 1 as a quit date, “not as a New Year’s resolution or anything,” but because it gave me a few days to work out my plan first.
My Quit Drinking Ground Hog Day
The statement both was and wasn’t a lie. I had, as usual, been promising myself that I would quit on January 1. However, since I had been making that same promise since December 31, 2011, it would be fair to say that it was more of a habit than it was an actual plan. Still, I made a big production out of the whole affair. On December 27, I bought a six pack of Bud Light and put it in the refrigerator, right where my roommate was sure to see it. I then made sure to drink one (and one only) every single night until December 31, when I drank two. Of course, as soon as the roommate had headed out for a New Year’s Eve party, I went straight to the liquor store and bought a six pack of stronger stuff because, the way I saw it, it was my last hurrah, right? I drank them all, hid the evidence in the back of my closet, and went to bed secure in the knowledge that I had left drinking behind forever.
Off to a Good Start
The next week was, quite possibly, the longest week of my entire life. I really was trying not to drink. I was doing everything I could to keep myself busy after work. I went to the movies, took my son swimming at a local indoor pool, made dinner plans with friends outside of my immediate social circle (meaning they weren’t aware of the issue at hand), wandered around the mall….man, was it hard to fill those hours. Somehow, I made it to the end of the work week without drinking a drop. That was easily the longest sober stretch I had put together in several years.
But We’re all Just Human Right ?
As my weekend dragged on, I realized that the solution to my problem was simple. I could drink, I just couldn’t let anyone catch me drinking or drunk. My roommate was a social person with a busy schedule and was out of the house a lot. I could work with that. I figured that everything would be fine as long as I only had one beer a day. So I headed to the liquor store, bought a six pack, and stashed it in the back of my closet. Thus began the nights of “going to bed early because I’m sober now and that’s what sober people do,” aka, drinking in my bedroom with the door locked.
To be fair to myself, I did pretty well for a while. I would only drink two or three beers before I went to sleep. As we all know, though, when you can’t control your drinking, no matter how much you try, your drinking will always end up controlling you. After about three weeks of stealth boozing, I finally got caught.
But Some of us Just Need to NOT Drink
It was a Sunday, and due to the unusually warm weather, I decided to take my son to the Zoo. We enjoyed the morning looking at all the animals. Then came lunchtime. The cafeteria sold draught beer. Snidely ( the devil on my shoulder) , ever an eager helper, reminded me that, hey, it was just me and the kid. There was no one else around to see. I had been a very good girl, and had (to his way of thinking) hardly been drinking at all. I deserved to have a beer with lunch. So I had a beer.
After we ate, I couldn’t stop thinking about that beer. Man, it was good. So good, in fact, that I was thinking about having another one. But no. I had the kid with me and needed to be able to drive us home. So no more beer. Still, it was far too tempting, so I cut the afternoon short and we headed back to our side of town. I pulled into the driveway and realized that my roommate wasn’t home, and likely wouldn’t be until that evening (or maybe even Monday). I sat in the driver’s seat for a couple of minutes, then told the kiddo that I had forgotten something and we had to run an errand. I’ll bet you can guess where I went.
Having decided that the best plan was to stock up so I wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of sneaking booze into the house for the next few days, I bought two bottles of wine and a six pack of strong craft beer. Upon arriving home, one of the bottles of wine and the six pack went straight into my hiding spot at the back of the closet. The other bottle, though, was opened immediately and a glass poured. I spent the rest of the day drinking and cleaning the house, and I felt great. I mean, really great. It was a beautiful day, all the windows were open to let the fresh air in, and I was getting stuff done. Plus, I was drinking openly in my own house, which I hadn’t been able to do for a very long time. Snidely was running the show, my brain was saturated with wine, and I was feeling no pain.
The next morning, I awoke at 6am, sweaty, head pounding, and heart racing. I felt terrible. I knew there was no way I was going to make it to work. I called in sick, called my son into school, and laid back down, trying to piece together exactly what had happened the night before. Then it happened – a flash of memory – standing in the dining room having an extremely animated conversation with my roommate. But that hadn’t happened…had it? I wasn’t sure. I crept out of my bedroom to look for a sign, and there it was – my roommate’s keys on the dining room table. Shit.
Mortified, I snuck back to my bedroom. I had no idea what to do. I knew I was busted. I listened as my roommate got up and went about their morning routine. I couldn’t bring myself to come out of my room. My son wanted to go talk to them and I couldn’t stop him, so I listened to them interact. Every time my roommate came to check on me, I pretended to be asleep. Obviously that only made things look worse, but I couldn’t face them. I was so ashamed. Eventually, I had to get up to use the bathroom, and when my roommate heard me start moving around, they retreated to the basement.
Fine, I thought. I didn’t know how to approach the subject so I was happy to avoid it.
The second Intervention
Not long after that, I got a text from the elected friend group representative, letting me know my roommate had reached out to them about my behavior the previous night, and saying I hadn’t been able to get up to take care of my son. I got a lecture about drinking, reminding me I was lucky to have a roommate to take care of my child when I was so irresponsible, etc. Shame on top of shame. What could I do but apologize? So I did. I apologized to the elected representative, I apologized to my roommate, and I did my best to move on.
After that, I didn’t drink at all for a week. Then I decided everything would be fine as long as no one caught me drinking or drunk. And so the cycle began again, though I was never caught out in another situation like that. My roommate moved out a few months later and after I had the house to myself I gave up entirely on quitting drinking for a while. I just did whatever I felt like doing, and that was usually getting bombed. I was alone, spending less and less time with my friends, and working hard to push them all out of my life.
When Enough Is Enough You Just Know
When I finally quit drinking, over three years after that incident, it was just an ordinary day in August. I hadn’t planned to quit drinking that day. I didn’t make any proclamations, promises to myself, or put on any shows leading up to it. I was just plain fed up. I was tired of booze. I was tired of what it was doing to my life. After years of trying, I had finally managed to drink enough.
I’m not saying that you shouldn’t stop drinking on January 1st. January 1st is as good a day as any. What I am saying is, no matter what day you choose to quit, be kind to yourself. If you slip, get back up. If you feel ashamed, write it out here on BOOM. We’ve all been there at one time or another, and we understand what it’s like. No matter what, don’t give up. It took me 1,320 days to get from the terrified, ashamed woman who couldn’t bring herself to leave her bed to the exhausted, fed-up woman who poured the last of her whiskey down the drain. Today, I am over 1,200 days sober.
It is possible to get your life back, and you don’t have to do it alone. We are here to support you, whether you quit on January 1 or any other day of the year.
More by this Author
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Self Medicating With Alcohol? How to Get Off the Stress Carousel
Progress not Perfection – Finding Balance in Sobriety
The Trick To Quit Drinking is to Never Quit Quitting
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