I was a beer drinker. Rarely did I drink anything else. I shouldn’t say “only,” which makes my alcoholism seem mild compared to others I met in rehab, but I drank an awful lot of beer. I’m surprised I never shifted to harder liquor — it would have made grim sense. I had built up such a tolerance to beer that I would need a six-pack just to feel normal. I stopped drinking for the taste and rarely felt any real enjoyment from it. It’s only been a month or so, but the idea of beer now makes me feel ill, which has made withdrawal and cravings so much easier to manage. I say a month, but it might be a little longer; I think forgetting the exact time is probably a good sign. Usually I have a special, specific date that I quit, but this time all I know is I gave it up a couple of days before my horrendous hospital stay, and one doctor bluntly told me another drink could be fatal. That drummed it home for me — things had to stop. I just hope there isn’t too much permanent damage done. I’m not overly worried about my liver; it’s in reasonably good shape. It’s my kidneys that concern me. I hope they can repair. Mum just told me I was very close to needing dialysis. How lucky am I to come out of that news without facing numerous blood transfusions or weekly hospital visits for the rest of my life.
I went to my uncle’s a few days back; he’s had his own health scares with liver issues from drinking. This is the same uncle who once told me you were safe if you stuck to beer and kept away from spirits — the irony was striking. It felt odd: instead of pouring me one of his homebrews we both had a glass of water. Who would have thought? Partners in crime who used to drink beer all day were now enjoying water together. That, I thought, is a good thing. Earlier that day I had popped in to see my other uncle — look at me… socialising without being intoxicated! Well done, Dave. This uncle has been sober for maybe five years, but he drinks the non-alcoholic beers like a fish. I’m often offered one, but I’m wary; it could be a trigger to go and get the real stuff. I told him I didn’t drink for the taste — I drank to get drunk. In his case, though, he clearly enjoyed the taste, otherwise he wouldn’t be drinking the zero-alcohol beers.
I can honestly say that I have been enjoying my sobriety. The doctor made this easier for me, though I had expected the whole journey to be a lot harder than it turned out to be. There are no cravings at all now. I had grown tired of the old routine too. The bottle shop opens at ten o’clock and I was there one minute past, usually not for just that single visit. I got sick of buying the same beer every day, carrying it home and reluctantly opening the first can or bottle — reluctantly because my body was already telling me not to drink that poison. I was mildly hungover most mornings, which always made the first couple of drinks a bit of a challenge to keep down. But after the first few I was back in the cycle. The following beers became almost too easy to drink. I always did this in secrecy and managed to get away with it for the best part of the time. I had to time things right: as soon as I heard my ex-girlfriend’s or my parents’ car leave, that was my cue to begin the journey to the same old shop. Then there were the empties. I would let these accumulate for days until there were hundreds of hidden stubbies around the house, and I would take them to the large recycling skips and dispose of them, only to make my way back to the bottle shop and pick up more of what I had just thrown out. That continuous loop became an ongoing source of stress for me — always getting rid of the evidence.
Fineness's have improved immensely. I was spending up to twenty to fifty dollars a day, which really started to add up over time. It didn’t help that I bought six packs and not slabs as this would have been much more cost effective. It’s only been a relatively short period since I quit beer, and I’ve been enjoying watching my savings account grow a bit each week. Giving up the cigarettes has helped the cause too — I can’t justify spending hundreds each week on something that gave me little enjoyment. I’ve just got to get rid of the vapes; that’s my only remaining addiction now. They are so hard to give up. I dare say they’re more addictive than ciggies. I get almost nothing from them either — maybe a nicotine hit — but I’m never satisfied once I’m done. It feels like a 99 percent psychological thing. When I was in hospital I went a week without a single puff, but the cravings didn’t disappear and I bought a bunch as soon as I got out. I’ll never go back to the smokes.