It’s actually day 156, and I have not consumed a drop of alcohol in over five months. This isn’t something to write home about, as I’m still only in the early stages of sobriety. I have only just begun this journey, and I’ve been at this point before only to stumble. To be fair, if you count back it’s closer to about a year with one relapse on the 16th of May this year, but in all honesty that felt like cheating, so I’m measuring from my last beer, which I drank two days before my hospital admission, very shortly after that slip.
The whole trip has been a breeze. I never knew how easy it could be, and I’m honestly ashamed that it took me so long to make this change. I should have done this two decades ago. I haven’t felt a craving, and there have been zero temptations to visit the dreaded bottle shop; I haven’t had a single evil urge to put a bottle to my mouth at all. I have genuinely developed a deep hatred for this poison. The mere thought of it now makes me feel ill. I don’t think I could take a sip of beer without soon regretting it and being sick all over again. Thank you, Jesus!
I have been rather prolific with my art over the last little while. I have been trying to create a few pieces a day, which hasn’t always gone to plan, but my quality of work and the ability to project my feelings are so much stronger than when I was under the influence. This issue has been the closest I have been to having that unwanted first thought. I’m not responsible for the first thought, but I am responsible for the second. I haven’t had a second. All I need to do is remind myself of all the negatives and how life has improved in general over a relatively short period. It’s almost funny to think of all the strategies I used over the years to quit: nonalcoholic beers, large amounts of caffeine, cigarettes and weed — willpower alone would never last. Two stints in rehab didn’t work. I tried drinking in moderation, which is impossible for me. It is much easier to say no to the first drink than to the second and the twentieth. I still can’t believe how much easier this time has felt.
I haven’t told the world, or even most of my family, about this undertaking. I want to gain a bit more time and experience under my belt before announcing any progress. It has been said too many times that I have quit alcohol for good only to fall back into the evil clutches of that awful drink. At this early stage I can honestly state that there is no going back this time. I am one hundred percent committed; I don’t know what it would take for me to cope with another relapse. It simply won’t happen.
In May, two days after my last drink, I was admitted to hospital for a week. This wasn’t the usual psychiatric visit — it was the actual general hospital ward. I was very sick. I was so unwell that there were even doubts I’d make it through. This was a real eye‑opener. For the first couple of days I was hallucinating and couldn’t work out what was real and what were manifestations of my damaged brain. I mention this because I was so close to needing dialysis: I’d been diagnosed with kidney disease among other serious problems. A doctor appeared and told me I would die if I had another drink. To this day I’m not sure if that really happened or if it was part of my psychosis. I have chosen to tell myself that it did happen. Whether that belief has helped my sobriety I can’t say for certain, but I would be a fool not to take it seriously and not to act on it real or imagined.
I don’t want people who read this to think I was a total alcoholic. I had been to rehab and saw firsthand how bad some people’s drinking had gotten. I felt like a lightweight when compared to them, but it’s important not to make comparisons. There are also people who developed health complications from drinking far less than I did. All I know is I am doing everything I can to avoid becoming one of those statistics. For my kidneys, which have improved greatly since the diagnosis, all I can do is drink plenty of water and watch my salt intake. Not drinking a;cohol is absolutely the best thing I can do for myself. I don’t miss it one bit. Sobriety has become my superpower. My mental health has improved too. I no longer suffer the anxiety attacks I used to get the day after consuming large amounts, and after twenty-five years of trial and error my antidepressants have finally kicked in and now seem to be working the way they should. No more hangovers! I would wake every morning feeling the aftereffects of a big night or the previous day’s drinking. The first task of the morning — and sometimes the afternoon — was the pilgrimage to the bottle shop for more beer. Finances improved! I’m saving a tone of money, most of which now goes into art supplies. Creating art matters more than being constantly pissed, and it’s also far cheaper than therapy.