Double Vodka and Coke Please

This time last year, I was midway through doing Sober October for Macmillan Cancer Support. This year, I'm not. My decision to commit to a month without alcohol came in part from a wish to raise money for a worthy cause, but mostly from a desire to teach myself that alcohol wasn't necessary, and to punish myself for my last few drunken episodes. A few times a year at least, I face the fact that I don't like who I am when I'm drunk. And every time I do this, I consider giving it up completely. But although Sober October taught me I didn't need alcohol, it also showed me that I really struggle without it. 

I'm a loud chatty sociable person. But I'm also someone who stresses intensely about social situations, and who feels intensely responsible for other peoples enjoyment of events. I'm not in denial about the fact that I rely on alcohol to get rid of these nerves for me. A few drinks in and I'm not panicking about whether everyone's having a good time, I trust that they are. A few drinks in and my brain's no longer whirring away thinking of what to say next, I trust that the conversation will flow. Going sober for October was tough because I hadn't realised how much stress alcohol relieves for me. I struggled to enjoy myself on a night out because I was sure I wasn't fun enough without alcohol. 

Now, once again, I'm examining my need to drink, and coming to the same conclusion. Drunk me is fab sometimes. She gives advice to heartbroken girls in nightclub toilets, she runs home with someone else's coat fashioned as a cape, she cartwheels into bushes, and she watches WWE til 5am. But sometimes, I don't like drunk me. I hate spending the next day with no memory of the night to assure myself that I wasn't annoying, mean or dismissive. I hate not being sure if I treated people how sober me wants to treat them. The day after I've drank a lot my anxiety levels go through the roof, and I spend much of the day feeling so nervous I get nauseous. My stomach is tight and hollow, and my brain makes everything 10 times bigger and weightier than it actually is. There's been days where I've gone to do some reading for a lecture, and my hungover brain has convinced me I can't do it and I need to drop out of university. My problem isn't that drunk me is sick or falling over or violent. It's that my convictions and my opinions are so entirely different to what I actually believe and think. And it's that somehow, no matter how much I've drank, I'm convinced that I'm sober.

This blog post isn't going to have a nice tight ending with a statement about how I've learnt my lesson and it's time for me to bin the bottle. This isn't the story of why I eventually decided to stop drinking. Because even though I might not like drunk me some times, I don't like sober me more. At a party, sober me doesn't think what she's just said is funny enough, thinks she's making the night less fun, and goes home to overthink every word she said. So no, the short answer is, I can't give up drinking. And that 'can't' is probably pretty dangerous. But until I've worked on relaxing in big social situations and liking myself without alcohol, I'm not going to force myself to go cold turkey. I'm willing to put up with the negatives to allow myself to enjoy a night using alcohol to erase my worries. It's not as sad as it seems to sound as I read my own words back to myself. I love a drink, but I just think Sober October did make me realise that I can't do quite a few situations happily without alcohol. And I just want to be at a place where I could consider not drinking for a nerve-wracking social situation. So hopefully, there'll be a follow up to this post soon, with advice on how to cut down on your drink, and how to be okay with socialising sober. Until then, I'll see you at the bar, and I'll just be crossing my fingers that you won't judge me too harshly.

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