Since I quit booze seventy-one days ago (not that I’m counting) I’ve found one of the hardest things is telling people.
I mean do I go dark and say…
I quit booze because I was once so drunk at a party I threw up all over myself, took myself off, stripped naked, got into bed and fell asleep. A little while later, whilst unconscious a guy crawled into bed beside me and sexually assault me.
I once decided to drive, without a seatbelt after a twelve hour drinking binge and crashed my car into a ditch, totally smashing my face up and ending up in A & E.
I could say…
My abusive father had a drink problem to the point he would put drink before anyone and anything including his wife and family, which was the main reason my mother left him and raised us as a single mum.
Maybe I could tell you about…
The strong history of addiction in my family – including my grandmother who was addicted to prescription drugs. When she died and we cleared her house we filled six black bin bags full of various tablets we found stuffed in pillowcases, sock drawers and tea pots.
Or perhaps I should start discussing…
My mental health and the fact that whilst I was pouring a steady trickle of the potent drug – ethanol, into my body, I was waking up with such dark feelings of despair and sadness. And that all I could focus on, day-to-day, was the big ball of crippling anxiety that filled my chest.
But nobody wants to hear that shit right?
I mean I’m not a total feckin buzzkill. It’s going to be hard enough getting a party invite now that people think I’m a boring, sober, social pariah without killing the vibe with any of that doom and gloom.
Because let’s not forget what a total laugh booze can be. And let’s not demonise it too much here. Ok so my relationship with booze has not worked out, and yes, we have had to split up. But I will not be burning all the photo albums and erasing all the memories. Even though we’ve had bad times I’ve also had some of the best nights of my life when drunk, and let’s face it, booze has given me some of my funniest stories to date.
So when people ask me why I quit booze, I’ll give a cheeky smile and tell them about…
- The time my mates dressed me as Miss Piggy for my hen do and I threw up in my snout. They then stripped me and put me in the shower to clean me up, after which I chased them all around the apartment thrusting my fanny at them like a lunatic naturist. That scarred my gay male friends for life let me tell ya.
- I once got so wasted I shat myself outside a club in a pair of white skinny jeans. That taxi ride home was kinda awkward.
- One time when a little tipsy (ahem) I kissed and actual tramp on the lips. I just felt like he needed affection, you know?
- Once when I was pissed I flashed my bum at a taxi after being dropped off. The taxi was full of friends including a boy I fancied. The next day he told me I’d bent over too far and that my undercarriage had resembled a – ‘hedgehog that’d been run over’. Needles to say things never developed with him after that. He was actually a vegetarian.
- I once lived with a guy who was a writer who wrote short stories, which he kept stacked up on an ottoman at the foot of his bed. One night I wandered into his room thinking it was the bathroom, sat on the ottoman and pissed all over said stories. He had to hang them out to dry the next morning. Oopsy doopsy.
- I once tried to snog my gay best friend on the dance floor at his sister’s wedding, in full view of all the guests. I was like zombie, sucker fish lunging for his lips whilst he beat me off and screeched like a shrill, ball of terror. Never quite lived that one down.
- I once spent a whole night licking a bald man’s head because I thought it was hilarious. My lips didn’t half taste salty the next morning let me tell you.
- When drunk at parties I always thought it was extremely funny to pretend to be a dog and go around humping peoples legs. I have now come to the conclusion that is was actually quite annoying. Who knew?
- I went missing in Glasto once whilst drunk/on mushrooms, and ended up being befriended by a tent full of Christians. They sat me down and gave me tea. They all put their hands on my head and ‘prayed for me’, then I said my goodbyes and stomped off into the night. (I thought it’d been a dream until I got my Boots disposable camera developed weeks later and found loads of photo evidence of this rather trippy experience). The following morning I woke up in a tent next to two strangers and accused them of being in my tent. I was actually in theirs. It was identical to mine to be fair, but it was about three fields away from our camp. I apologised profusely, thanked them for their hospitality and was on my way.
- Very recently I refused to pay a taxi driver because I thought he was an Uber. I marched off shouting – ‘You’re an Uber!’ over my shoulder, then slammed my front door in his face. The next day when I contacted the control desk to say sorry and pay my debt, they told me there was a note to say – ‘blacklisted for doing a runner.’ I actually walked, but still.
So there we have it. All the mega LOLZ right there! No need to be all down in the mouth about it surely? I didn’t kill anyone did I? Just acted like a bit of a tit. I can definitely look back at these times and laugh. Because sober doesn’t have to be serious. Booze free doesn’t have to be buzz free. Dry doesn’t have to be… well, dry.
So if you see me out clutching my Becks Blue, and you ask me why I’ve quit booze, get ready for one of these answers. And do me a solid will you? Laugh like it’s the first time you’ve heard it. (winks)
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