Last year I quit drinking for a few months. It was great. I had intended on quitting for good, but one day the sun was shining brightly in Ireland (a rare occurrence) and I found myself drinking cans of cheap cider with friends outside. It was fun, no big deal, and I slipped back into my drinking career like I’d just been off for the weekend.
But I do remember that my life was much better during those months when I was alcohol free. I went about my life as normal, except my life was much more fulfilling. I could do whatever I wanted without consulting alcohol first. I even went out to nightclubs not drinking and enjoyed myself immensely. I realised that maybe not all people got absolutely trashed like I did. Or maybe they did and could just carry themselves well. Apparently I was pretty good at giving the impression that I was for the most part in control of myself. It scares that crap out of me that I’ve had full blown conversations where I’ve apparently come across like I’m absolutely fine, that I have absolutely no recollection of.
Anyway, so I remember one morning, about a month after I stopped drinking I had an awful nightmare. I dreamt that I drank. Nothing bad happened in the dream except for the fact that I’d been drinking. I woke up in a cold sweat, and thanked my lucky stars that I was sober.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I woke up after a big night out followed by a day drinking session. It was the worst idea ever. Nothing bad happened, but it was an utter waste of my time and money. The time had been utterly meaningless. I realised, through the fog and confusion of the day and a half that I’d basically lost, with such clarity, that this was way worse than the dream that had woken me up in a cold sweat about a year before. I felt so, so unbearably sad. That’s when I decided that I wanted out. I never wanna feel like that again.