Saturday, 25 October 2014

Then and Now: The Taxi

Last night was one of the dreaded Hallowe'en school disco. In my locality these evenings involve 3 discos, each lasting one hour, held consecutively between the hours of 6pm and 9.30pm. Imagine the logistic difficulties of having children of different ages attending different discos (while trying to relax and sink a bottle of wine on a Friday night.)


Dread the prospect of the evening. Text around neighbours to arrange lift sharing. Aim to do only the early 'to' runs to bring my responsibility to an end as early as possible.
Help get costumes ready through gritted teeth: why is it always at the last minute? Why is it always a hassle? Why is it never fun?
Feel guilty so am over generous with the spending money I dole out so they can rot their teeth with sweets and juice. Frankly, I don't really care.
Round up the other kids and bark at them all the get into the car and to Stop. Yelling. when they are sat next to each other.
Huff and puff through the parking scrum, the rain, the crowds. Worry transiently about signing the emergency contact form to be available in case of accident or injury (as it would be best to be sober I admit), before dismissing it as only a formality.
Note the other mums who are helping out at the disco. Are they are missing wine too?
Say goodbye. Become annoyed by one boy who no longer wants to go in, he is scared by some of the costumes. Phone his mum before detouring to drive him home again, taking great restraint to remain civil to both him and his mother.
Back home, rant about the trauma of it all and get the wine opened at last. Later than usual, later than planned. Drink the first glass quickly during rant.
But all too soon it is spoiled. The first lot come home, hyper and high on sugar, looking for attention and chat and in no way keen to have a quiet bath and go to bed. Despite knowing this, I try and fail to  shoo them upstairs and away from me, becoming more irritated as the time passes.


Last night I was aware I was 'behind' on football runs so offered to do more than my share of the disco runs. This offer was well received by neighbours.
Filled in permission slips confidently with my own mobile number rather than my OH's. Spent a hilarious 20 minutes in the bathroom with my make up to produce one pirate and one bunny.
Get organised and leave in plenty time to get parked easily and join the queue. Do the social thing and exchange pleasantries across the gym hall with other mums (many of whom are helping. I'm not, no change there) and agree must catch up one afternoon.
Get home and have 40 min pit stop before I have to go back to school to pick up some and drop off others. Have cup of tea, biscuit and chat with OH.
An hour later have another 40 min pit stop and reflect on how irritating this would be had I been wanting and waiting to settle down with wine. Have cup of tea and slice of toast.
Collect the 10 and 11 year old girls and amuse myself by listening to their chat in the back of the car (why Goths should never have a suntan and how 'annoying' it is when long dangly earrings bump into your neck!).
At home, spend 30 minutes gently  removing the bunny's pink bunny nose. (Note to self, do not use lipfinity for this again.) It takes patience, cotton wool and a combination of cleanser, eye make up remover, baby shampoo and soap to get it off, but we get there eventually without falling out about it.

That itself is a true 'first'!

Feel glad they enjoyed their disco. Pleased to have been more involved with them. Convinced remaining responsible in case of accident or injury was the right thing to do.

Wednesday, 22 October 2014

Update on my Sober Meeting

Last month I wrote about feeling I had moved onwards and upwards to a new 'experienced' level of sobriety when I was asked to meet with someone struggling with their drinking. It was not to 'help' them but rather to allow them to speak openly to another who would listen and identify without judgement.

I was nervous about this. It was truly a new 'First'.  I reflected back to the time when I required someone to fulfil this role for me; when I needed to talk, out loud to a real person, instead of writing and reading, surfing and blogging. I needed someone who would address the elephant in the room  head on.  I did not want to be fobbed off or fed excuses: 'You're no different to everyone else', 'Everyone gets drunk now and then', 'Stop worrying so much', 'You're not that bad'.

But I was and I almost needed someone to confirm that my bottle of wine per night was not normal and my concerns were rational and valid.

So I went along to meet this friend of a friend, reassuring myself that she would be more nervous than me while trying to articulate in my mind what, exactly, I was so worried about.

I was anxious on many levels. I was worried she would turn out to be my next door neighbour or someone I recognised (or worse, that she recognised me!). I was worried about what to say, how to start the conversation, which is weird as one thing I never am is stuck for words. I wondered how I would recognise her. Should I stake out the place early to spot her arriving? Should I arrive early and wait to be recognised and found by her? How would she recognise me? How would I recognise her? We had not got as far as carrying a rose with rolled up newspaper under an arm.

But I knew. I could spot the signs. My eyes were attracted to a woman in the queue, about my age. She looked nervous and agitated, slightly shifty. In a coffee shop queue? As she approached the seating area she caught my eye and I nodded. She looked shy and sheepish, as if I was about to berate her. She looked slightly sweaty, not in a post-exercise, red faced healthy kind of way but rather as if she was coming down with 'flu. (Though to be fair, this may indeed have been the case.) I wondered if she was hungover. I wondered if she felt lucky to have had wine the night before knowing that I had not. I wondered if she felt sorry for me, being 'unable' to drink, as I felt previously towards the sober population. (How could non drinker Andy Murray celebrate his first Grand Slam win properly without a drink? Such a shame. Surely that would take the shine off his victory? I honestly believed this.)

After a few preliminary opening remarks, I brought up the topic of alcohol in the way someone had once done for me. When I didn't know where to begin I was relieved when a stranger said 'Let me tell you my story' so I did the same and from that point on our conversation flowed. It sounds a little condescending, but truthfully I felt so happy I recognised everything she said and I had to stop myself from repeating 'I used to be like that', 'I used to do that', and to let her talk. It was good to be reminded of just how despairing those days were, and in her it showed. Her demeanour was one of despair. Her posture, her tone of voice and her turn of phrase were those of someone who felt lost in a maze, helpless and bewildered, unsure what strategy to try next, wondering if she would ever escape.

I had been there many times. My strategies had not worked and I was more than worried, I was a little scared I could not escape. During my last hangover I was scared that if it was not enough to stop me drinking, what ever would make it happen?

Failure was not an option. 

I did not allow myself the luxury of thinking through a variety of outcomes and eventualities. I had to succeed. I did succeed. And I continue to succeed. I succeed at not having any wine, today. Simple.

Friday, 17 October 2014

Holiday Time

Tomorrow is my last day of holidays. I've only had one real wistful pang for wine this time. It didn't last long and it was easy to distract myself until it passed. 

I have made things easy for myself though. I've avoided the bars and caf├ęs where drinks are served at sundown and the food service has not yet started. 

My OH has had a few beers. That is, one beer on a few nights. Watching him have one beer with his meal then make a cup of tea reminds me how I could not drink like that. I know if I ever give it an inch it will take a mile and more. 

So, one more day equals two more ice creams and two more chocolate treats before back on the dieting bandwagon on Monday. 

Hope you are all happy and sober this weekend too. 

Wednesday, 8 October 2014

Boozy Dreams

Boozy dreams does not refer to the disjointed dreams and disturbed sleep of being drunk. Instead it refers to the way in which alcohol features in my dreams. Personally I'm quite fascinated by this. I always have vivid, weird dreams and usually remember them.

THEN: (the early days of abstinence)

My head was full of 'giving up'. How many days, how was I doing, what was I next worried about, how on earth would I manage in the longer term (never referring to it as the F word)! My dreams reflected my day time thoughts and I regularly dreamed of getting drunk and awful things happening. It wasn't dreaming as in longing for drink, it was getting drunk and thinking 'oh no, I've slipped up' and I would feel that I'd let myself down. I'd be annoyed that my campaign to go AF has failed and confirmed my deepest thoughts: that I could not do it.

I would wake up in the morning, transiently feel gloomy about it until reality kicked in and I realised it was all a dream and that my sober mission remained on track to fight another day.
The strength of my in-dream and out-of-dream feelings showed me how much it meant to me but at the same time what a huge challenge it was. I realised then that I did not want to slip up and did not want to return to drinking; my dreams had played it to the end, reminding me of the ultimate outcome.

NOW: (18 months-plus a little bit! )

My head is no longer full of 'not drinking' thoughts throughout the day, even at the weekends, even on Friday nights. My longing for wine has gone and my feelings of deprivation at social events has disappeared too; I'm pleased I don't drink and happy to remain sober and confident, without bad behaviour. My last 'pang' occurred in a supermarket recently, in the home section funnily enough. I walked past some lovely crystal wine glasses and thought 'they look nice, wouldn't it be nice…' before I closed my mind to those thoughts and moved on.

My dreams are weird. More than once in a dream I have been at a lengthy social occasion. I have remained AF until the last hour when I get a bit bored and suddenly think 'I know, I'll have a glass of wine.' I know I don't drink in my dream but this seems okay. I heed the warnings that I can't and should not try to moderate but I don't feel that far down the slippery slope. I have eyes wide open and want to have A single glass, just really for something to do, that I can do on my own at the bar because I am tired of socialising, but I'm sure I will still be a non drinker. The following day I will revert to my normal AF state without a second thought to my one glass of wine. Suddenly I realise this is what normal people do and I shouldn't be making such a song and dance about everything. In the dream, it remains calm and not catastrophic. I have my glass of wine, it is slightly disappointing and doesn't taste as good as I'd expected, but that's it. No second glass. No genie out of the bottle. No calamity and no chaos. Not like me at all in fact!

 I can see how dangerous I would think this sounds if I read it on another blog but I honestly have no temptation to actually have one drink, ever. I know what will happen and I know I cannot ever drink like a normal person and accept that I will not drink at all.

My dream occurs regularly and I'm intrigued. Is it a warning? Does it reflect a secret desire to be able to do this? How does booze feature in your dreams?

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