Socialising has always been difficult for me. I really struggle; catching up with people is something I would only do after a few beers. A bit of social lubricant or liquid courage never hurt anyone, right? It’s not so much courage I need — it just makes conversation come easier when I have a beer in my hand. Now, with my diagnosis, those days are over. I’m going to have to rewire my brain to find joy in sober socialising again, and I know it will take time and effort. For the last two weeks, since leaving hospital, I have barely left my room. I’ve become a bit of a hermit, only coming out for tea. I have a 2pm appointment with my uncle. He doesn’t drink anymore; it’s been five years since he drank, although he does enjoy his zero beers. There’s nothing that entices me to drink those — I’m too afraid they will trigger me into buying the real thing. When he was in active addiction he was pretty bad. I’d visit with a slab and that was gone by night’s end. I have to give it to him: for someone who loved beer so much, he has done a bloody good job of staying sober. So I’m seeing him later this arvo, and I’m waiting for a message to see if my other uncle is free for coffee. He was recently diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver, so I’m hoping he has quit or at least cut back.
It’s a double-edged sword. I’ve sometimes felt I need a drink to calm my anxiety, but I’m not very sociable when I’m sober. Drinking isn’t really an option right now, so I’ll have to tough it out. We’re just talking about a catch-up with my uncle, so there shouldn’t be any major difficulties doing this without alcohol. It’s not like I’m facing a job interview or meeting a room full of strangers. Something so simple shouldn’t feel so hard. I’ll relax once I get the conversation started and break the ice.
It’s not just visiting friends and relatives — anxiety and paranoia insert themselves into every outing, no matter how trivial. My particular pet hate is shopping; it’s become a source of constant tension. Even when I was living out of home a few weeks back, I had my groceries delivered, despite Coles being only a short drive away, simply to avoid the stress of going in person.
I’ve said this before, but I much prefer my own company these days. There are times when I feel an urge to keep in contact with people, as if staying connected will stave off something I don’t want to face. Reaching out is good practice for me — a way to work on that little problem and to touch base with family, which matters. I’m all out of valium as well, which complicates things. Sometimes I wish a beer would mysteriously find its way into my hand and that I didn’t have kidney disease to worry about. Still, I’ve got to remind myself that it’s early days and there’s time to take things slowly.
I often think about going to Bendigo to catch up with old friends, but it’s something I cannot do without drinking. How stupid does that sound! The last time I visited it didn’t work out the way I planned, and I feel a rush of embarrassment every time I remember how things went down. I was meeting my best mate, someone I hadn’t seen for two decades, and to try to relieve the anxiety I drank fairly heavily before we met. That might not have been a problem if I hadn’t been offered weed on top of it. I was still smoking at that stage in my life, so I accepted. Well, the combination knocked me off my feet and I was barely able to talk because of the weed layered over the alcohol. When I’m in that state of mind I can’t string together a sentence, let alone hold a conversation. After all the years I’d waited to meet him, I managed to make a complete fool of myself by drinking and smoking. This was something that used to happen to me regularly in social situations; I learned to smoke on my own as a way of coping. Thank God I’m over that phase now — weed just doesn’t work for me anymore.