Some friends distance themselves from me. It hurts, but there’s nothing I can do about it – The Irish Times

I am approaching the second anniversary of two years of sobriety. I can’t believe it. How did I do it?

But more important is how I can still desire alcohol? In two years? It doesn’t seem fair, but then it’s not a diagnosis either cancer or Parkinson’s diseaseor any other debilitating chronic disease that doctors have the sad task of passing on to some of their patients.

I can’t drink a glass wine. Is it that bad?

People still sometimes say, “Oh, you’re great. I admire anyone who can fight addiction. It must be so difficult?” I accept the third sentence, but not the first two. why is it Because it is shameful to let alcohol take control, even though it is a psychoactive substance with addictive properties. Drinking is good, even encouraged, but being drunk is frowned upon. When you think about it, seeing a drunk person who is slurring their speech, unsteady on their feet, and a little gross is when all of our instinctive judgmental minds kick in. Observers here and there disapprovingly in unison.

Very few of us see a vulnerable, lonely person who needs help, not condemnation.

So I guess that’s why I’m not proud of being sober. For me, if I drink, I am that person. I feel virtuous if I spend a couple of hours in the garden (weeding, not reading), or cooking a nice dinner, or even mopping the floor, when the stale breadcrumbs crunching under my feet can no longer be ignored – but not drinking?

No, I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to be proud of.

This is not written to discourage others from wanting to quit drinking. But it would be wrong to pretend that I have no desire to drink alcohol. i do And this admission should not prevent any reader who is concerned about his drinking and has decided to do something about it, to apologize and say, “What’s the point?”

There are many and various points:

• You will feel better when you are no longer controlled by alcohol.
• There is no need to constantly know that there is a bottle somewhere.
• When you can safely answer the call after 6:00 p.m.
• When you can accept an invitation to an evening event where alcohol is not served.
• Better sleep.
• Weight loss.
• Fewer alcohol-related conditions such as indigestion, heartburn, headaches, stomach upsets.
• For me, the best thing is to wake up in the morning and not hate myself.

Frankly, I could go on and on, but we all know that alcohol is not good for us. For some of us who can pick up a glass of wine and drink it for a few hours, alcohol isn’t a problem, but those people are lucky and I’m not one of them.

And if worldly events sometimes give me a bit of a hard time, that’s something I have to deal with, not complain about. And, in addition to the above, there are other positive aspects. Being able to drive to the venue and not worry about getting a taxi home, especially when it’s raining and getting scarce.

Sometimes I get asked to drive because my friends want a drink, and sometimes overheard conversations can be interesting. My passengers talk to each other on completely different topics, but apparently hear and understand each other. I find it strange because I’m the only sober person and can’t understand a word they’re saying.

I was patiently waiting for a parking spot when a car flew into my spot. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for this place.” He barely glanced at me and then said gruffly, “I got there first.”

It so happened that we were both going to the National Concert Hall for a dinner concert. How do I know that? Because I could see him sitting smugly in his seat, and my enjoyment was somewhat marred by my worry that my car might be clamped when I got back to it (I had to park on double yellow lines). But I couldn’t enjoy the concert if I stole someone’s car. I wonder if he

This summer has been amazing. Between one day and the next, the weather can change dramatically. Every time I’ve hosted (or been hosted by) an outdoor event, it’s been summer and the constant patter of raindrops on the windowpanes the next morning has woken me up feeling grateful that today wasn’t a day of outdoor stalking.

One of the events was a coffee morning. There is no temptation. No reason to put on armor or become selectively deaf to Dolores’ voice. At least I thought so. Knowing that many people will bring cake, buns or other goodies from the bakery, and our hostess will be overwhelmed with confectionery, I brought a bouquet of flowers. Another visitor thought the same. She brought a bottle of prosecco.

A lot more people know who writes these articles and I have mixed feelings about it. As long as I stay sober, I’m fine with people knowing I can’t drink, but the fear that one day I might give in is real and the shame will be incredible. No one likes a drunk, and all the high praise that I’m a “wonderful person and in control of my demons” would disappear like a magician’s rabbit, and I’d be red and embarrassed.

Next is the authenticity of the articles. Every word I write is true, even the bad – especially the bad – and now everyone knows. One relative was concerned that now that he knew, it might stop me from writing, keeping me from being honest. This is not so. I write what I feel and I write from my heart. I could not write otherwise. As he pointed out, we all have demons, so I’m no different. It’s just that someone reads about me. But maybe it will help others to know that they are not alone.

I hope so.

I don’t consider myself better or worse than anyone else – I’m just me, with all the flaws of a person. I don’t compare myself to others. Whenever thoughts of comparison cross my mind, I tell them to take a leap, a leap, a leap.

We all, every single one of us, wear masks when we leave the house. Sometimes we might forget our keys, phone or wallet (tell me about that), but we never forget our masks. They are an integral part of our being. This does not mean that we are not true to ourselves, but in order to function in society, we must play a role. It would be wrong to go into a tirade of complaints when we meet someone who politely asks, “How are you?” They don’t really mean what they want to hear about the plumber who cut a pipe that then flooded your upstairs bathroom, seeping up to the kitchen ceiling and ruining your freshly laid hardwood floors. No, in that case you just say, “Okay, thanks, how about you?”

If we were to complain about our troubles to everyone we meet, it wouldn’t make for meaningful conversations and it wouldn’t improve our situation. That’s why we have activities that distract us from our problems, at least for the time being. When we have absorbed something else, the problem does not always have the same meaning as it did when we were thinking.

Of course, talking about a problem with a friend can be helpful, but not with every Tom, Dick, and Harry. Because Tom, Dick, and Harry will give you advice on what to do, and it will be bad advice. It will be from their point of view, not yours.

Sometimes we just need to sit with a problem, and the solution can appear by itself. Interestingly, I feel like I’ve had more problems since I quit drinking than I did in the previous decade. Some challenges involve friends who distance themselves from me without any conflict. It hurts, but there’s nothing I can do about it but accept it. I have no answer as to why this is so.

Is my new sense of consciousness related to this?

I know that recently swimming in the sea has become a popular pastime, with more and more people joining the dawn chorus (often in the early morning) and, although tempted by the testimony of swimmers, that it is not as cold as you think (it is) , and the benefits far outweigh any discomfort, I didn’t do more than think about it until I went to visit a friend in Wexford who swims every day and told me to get my bathing suit. She said, “I don’t want to pressure you, but I will be very disappointed if you don’t go.”

Hmm, no pressure.

We sat on the beach for an hour waiting for another friend to join us. At this time I was looking at the water, which on this beautiful day looked almost inviting. Then there was no delay. I wanted to enter. I purposefully walked to the water’s edge, but when my feet touched the water, I recoiled like a mouse from a cat, only to have my friends encourage me to just go in. So I did. The next obstacle was to descend. How I was supposed to do it, I had no idea. The thought of deliberately torturing myself seemed like a bad idea. However, the shouts about how much warmer I would be underwater were more than encouraging. And now I can say that I am a sea swimmer. If earlier I exaggerated, calling myself a sea swimmer after only one swim, what about after two? Yes, I’m back in the water. I was in west Cork visiting some friends (some of whom are swimmers) and took the plunge again. As last time, the day was warm and sunny, and the idea of ​​getting into the water seemed good. We found a small bay where the sun seemed to shine just for us.

Life is hard, and when we accept that reality, we can try to make the best of it. I try to do this through self-care by writing these words, which, as I mentioned before, help me push negative thoughts away. When I realize I’m overthinking, I stop. It’s hard, but like I said, life is hard.

Whenever I catch myself comparing myself to others, I know I’m on the slippery slope of melancholy. Why should I do this? If you want to be a masochist, swim in the sea, because going into this cold water seems like torture, but you will reap the rewards.

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