My story of boozing.

 

So I’m an alcoholic.  Sad but true.  Please do not think this is a blog about me trying to condone my drinking or for giving a reason behind it, it’s just a frank piece about my journey through alcoholism.  I’m not a laying in the gutter singing to the stars homeless alcoholic nor a wake up in the morning and have vodka and orange juice alkie either, although I was for a while.  No I’m the responsible functioning alcoholic that gets up, goes to work, comes home and drinks type.  Not so bad you may be thinking but for the last 25 years or so there has only been two days when I didn’t drink.  That’s not good.

When I was a youth I didn’t even particularly like alcohol, couldn’t even abide a sip of Shandy Bass and that was at 0.25% abv.  When I hit 15 though I was invited to a friends party.  He was older than me and it was his 18th and was a family thing in a rented village hall.   There for the first time I got drunk, on Woodpecker cider, and I hasten to add very very sick.  My parents, great as they are, looked after me that night and then remorselessly teased me during my hangover the day after.  Having cooked me a large roast dinner they inquired innocently if I wasn’t feeling well, while I lay on the living room floor groaning due to a pounding headache.  The memory of that hangover put me off drinking for a good while but the memory of being drunk remained.  That feeling of lose optimistic fun remained so it wasn’t too long before I was sneaking drinks at home.  This was in the form of two crates of sherry which were kept in the family basement and were discovered by me as I used the cellar for my hobby, painting miniatures for table top battles.  Tentatively at first I opened one bottle and sipped some then hastily would put it back, at the rear of the bottom crate and put the full crate on top of that.  It was a guilty pleasure, a thrill that I was getting away with something literally right under my parents noses that added to the enjoyment of it all.  I made my way through those two crates in little under a couple of months and then I was stumped as no longer had easy access to booze anymore.

Several months passed without an odd occasion to drink and for a while I forgot about the heady joys until I got myself a paper round which gave me access to money and shortly after a shop that wasn’t too bothered about what age I was.  Then it was my friends and I and Thunderbirds or MD 20/20 all the way.  School ended, college began and my drinking continued at a steady pace, not on a day-to-day basis but certainly on a weekly one.  During my first year of college I made friends and then a series of calamities struck and I lost three people who were close to me and hit the bottle hard as a form of escapism from the pain.  I didn’t want to acknowledge their passing or my grief.  Shortly after I was kicked out of college for lack of attendance and not doing any work, so it goes.

Unemployed and bored but able to sign on for money combined with a few of my friends, who were also on the dole and living in a house opposite my parents led to more drinking but still at this stage, age 17, I wasn’t an everyday drinker.  That happened the following year when I went off to Butlins to work.  My neglect at dealing with my losses and failing to come to terms with my grief, the loneliness of being isolated from everyone I knew started me drinking everyday.  That and the cheap cider on offer in the staff bar and a pub that provided a pound a pint 4 days a week is what started me off drinking daily.  And with all poisons the more you take the greater the tolerance so the more I took to help me escape from the situation I was in.  Don’t get me wrong, I was still functioning, smiling, making friends but the booze was in my blood and it wasn’t going anywhere.

After a while I went home again, crashed at my parents house.  Found my old friends, started experimenting with soft drugs.  LSD, Ecstasy, dope.  Got a job window cleaning cash in hand and started drinking stronger and stronger alcohol.  At one point, for a couple of months, it was a litre bottle of cheap whiskey a night.  Not good and even I could tell.  I settled for four cans of Super Skol a night and did that for several years during which time I fell in love, moved out and had a child.  Lost my love because of drink.  I was uncommunicative, uncaring, unloving and failed to see the signs until crushingly one night she told me that she hadn’t loved me for a year and it was time to break up.  Break I did.  Moved out a month later and lived with my younger brother.  Managed to rack up two thousand pounds worth of debt on the credit card over three months in pubs and off licences.  Such a waste.  The relationship, money, time and my life at that point.

After a couple more years of moving from house to house with my brother, having one job and then another but still managing, just, to keep our heads above water we went our separate ways.  At this point I’d not managed to curb my drinking.  I was still pouring down four of the extra strong beers and ciders down my neck but now finishing off the evening with enough Stellas until I’d crash my way to bed and collapse there.  Undead until the morning when my bowels would explode and my head would pound and pound and pound all through work until I could top myself up in the evening.  Weekends were just all day events, all this while also seeing my son, having him in my home and raising him.  I cringe to think of it now but then I realised I had to slow down.  For my son.  No more strong beers, I dragged myself down to eight, then six and then four Stellas a night, with Fosters to end the night with.  Continued in this way for a good five years or so and then a decade of being on the fosters.  Four to six a night, more at weekends of course and with the odd bottle of wine and whiskey thrown in when money was good.

I went and had a liver function test.  Had lots of tests at the doctors when my occupational nurse discovered the extent and longevity of my drinking.  All tests came back fine.  So I continued, I mean why stop if you’re still enjoying it?  During the last five years I quit smoking, not an easy task but I managed it.  Still have the odd craving but ignore it.  I had kept a reasonable hold on my drinking until recently when while visiting a dear friend I made a complete arse out of myself the night before heading home.  Sorry to my friend if you are reading this and thank you for your tolerance, encouragement and forgiveness.  Since then, and what I then perceived as a unreconcilable loss of this friend, I have now started not drinking during the week.  So far so good. The odd craving but nothing like the smoking crave I still get so I ignore temptation.  It really isn’t as bad as I feared.  I know I don’t have the strength to quit out right, not yet and I’m not sure that I really want to either to be perfectly honest.  At the moment I am happy to be in control of something that has seduced and controlled me for so long.  It was my own fear that was stopping me from stopping, a fear that I would fail and therefore I did fail before I even tried.  The realisation that once you try you may fail can be a stumbling block, but as long as you are committed and want to succeed, you can pick yourself up and try again.  Failure isn’t the end of everything.  It’s just another step, another reason to get up again and keep going until you succeed.  Only your own fear will stop you and once you conquer that fear you will find that nothing can stop you.

 

 

About Me

Several years ago I was chatting with my friend about the general idea of solipsism.  If you are unaware of this particular belief, and I do believe it is a belief rather than a philosophical stand point, then basically it is the belief that you are God.  You construct the world and universe around you, everything is your creation including what you are reading here.  No thing and no one could or would exist if it wasn’t for you.

We bandied this back and forth between us for a good hour or so.  About which of us was real and who was God.  In conclusion Dan, my friend, is a cunt.  He told me to say that, and this only affirms his conclusion.  That he is God and I am nothing more than his meat puppet.

However as a construction, not solely me but all of this reality, this universe, of his there is a power which is exerted back upon him.  He needs me or else he wouldn’t have made me and so it goes for the rest of his world and this universe.  If you are indeed God and all that you perceive with all your senses was created by yourself then you need this, all of it, why else create it?  Much like Narcissus staring into the pool and at his own reflection all the while starving to death, you have created the pool and the reflection and the light that allows it and the actual sun that created that light, you made it all, of it, every last damn atom of the universe.  That’s quite a lot.  And just like Narcissus you will die staring at that, at your own creation because you cannot stop looking at your own reflection and the universe is a reflection of yourself, especially if you are observing it and definitely if you are the one that created it.

Anything we observe we only decode or understand from our standpoint, we can’t no matter how empathetic we are, see anything from any other persons point of view and this creation is an expression of the self.  We or maybe rather the universe has the power of death over God which is ourselves, or rather Me.  So Dan and I came to an impasse.  He still affirms that he is the creator of all but accepts that I can now kill him through his narcissism.  Tempting.

He obviously did not like this but had to acquiesce.  He had to accept (he didn’t accept or acquiesce that at all and still sees this as a contentious issue but tough, he’s not writing this bit of reality) that his creation had the power to keep him in enthralled and therefore trapped, incarcerated with a death penalty.

Now I’m sure you are at this point wondering what the hell?  This isn’t a biography of the author of this blog and you’re right, soz you’ve been duped.  The upshot is that we came to an idea for a cult, naughty I know.  The cult of Me.  Don’t worry I’m not asking you to join, yet.  In a way Me is just an extension of solipsism.  The only thing that we can really believe in is what we perceive, what our senses tell us.  Anyone else’s perspective is skewed through their reality and therefore cannot be wholly trusted or believed to be real.  Only what we see, as an individual, is real.  It is after all the reality we have constructed, and not theirs to interpret and miscommunicate back to Me like a confused and demented parrot.

Unlike solipsism Me allows that there can be a you, just not a You to believe in. Your reality is unreal to Me.  Not to me though, I have empathy and can accept that we share this reality as random beings who have spontaneously been created and will just as spontaneously pop out of existence.  So it goes.  However Me is an abstract concept much like all religions, except it isn’t as rich and powerful or all that charismatic, so far.  That’ll do for now, that’s part one.

 

PS

Oh and it’s easy to join.  Look in the mirror and say (internally or externally, it doesn’t matter) “Don’t believe in you, believe in Me.  Believe in Me”.  Simple.  Oh and something about giving us all your liquidated assets so that the word of Me will be allowed to propagate.  Thanks : )

First blog post

So here I am at last  writing.  I must admit I have been somewhat pressured into doing this by friends and family (hello if you’re reading and just look at what you made me do!) but mostly by myself.  I have no idea what content will go up on this blog or indeed if there will be anything following this.  I do hope that I will be able to collaborate with others so you won’t get simple me all the time.  I intend for this site to be a place where I can put down my thoughts, such as they are, and maybe some short stories but also to use it as a diary of sorts.  I won’t promise to put something up daily or even weekly, time is not something I have boundless quantities of but I shall do my best.  I do hope that this is something that will grow and in time become a collection of work and that you will be able to, if not garner pleasure from, then at least be encouraged to think and feel.  There’s not much else to say at the moment but I am writing in the background and when the pieces are ready for publication I shall post them, until then stay well and happy and thank you for your time.