#like i relished in constantly being at the edge of a total breakdown and i can't see how i did

[eggsistential-basket]

every year i survive until Christmas and then i survive until next Christmas

[thenonaveragetwentysomethin-blog]

Alcoholics Anonymous? But I just like a drink...

Hi, I’m Bex, and I, like most people, enjoy(ed) a drink.

A vodka and coke, a rum and coke, a cider, a larger, a glass of champagne, a cocktail, even a whiskey. Never wine though, god I can’t stomach that shite. I can easily drink a can of special brew warm but never wine. Bottom line, I always enjoyed a drink.

I’d drink for people’s birthdays, I’d drink for people’s leaving do’s, I’d drink for old friends getting together, for any given plethora of celebrations that are out there. I’d drink because of a good day and because of a bad one. I’d drink because I fancied a pint. I just liked a drink, nothing wrong with that right? 

“Invite Bex, she knows how to how a good time” “Make sure Bex, is there, she can handle her booze!” “Is Bex coming? She knows all the best places���

I was the fun one, who was always up for a pint, wherever, whenever with whomever. What’s wrong with a couple of ciders after work? What’s wrong with coming home wrecked on a Tuesday night because it was cheap shots at the local boozer? It started out at ‘one-off’s’. It started out as enjoying myself, “I deserve a drink, I deserve to let my hair down, I’ve had a rough year”.

I was just having fun wasn’t it? Wasn’t i? 

I’d always be up for a trip to ‘Spoons, no matter how much it may have inconvenienced me, or anyone else for that matter. Financially, geographical, professionally or personally. I couldn’t say no when the night was over, I never wanted it to be over. “Oh just one more pint, go one, I’ll pay”. 

I was pseudo aware I had an issue, but I just palmed it off at binge drinking, or just wanting a bit of fun. The NHS defines binge drinking as...

‘6 units of alcohol in a single session for women’. I assume a ‘single session’ is a short space of time, half an hour for example. 6 units is 2 pints of large or 2 large glasses of wine, which, really isn’t a grandiose amount is it.. quite pathetic attempt at binge drinking really in all honesty. I was, on an average night, packing away roughly 20 units. A warm mix of cider, rum and vodka (maybe a tequila if it was cheap) swirling around my stomach, warming my body and warming my heart. 

An average week for me, including a couple nights out would look something like this. Monday: work, finish at 5:30 or 6. Pub. 4 pints of cider and a couple bottles of desperado’s. 16 units. Tuesday: ahh, lovely, Tequila Tuesdays! Pre-drinks at a local bar; 4 or 5 ciders, maybe an alcohol-pop. (throw back to being 13 necking, caribbean twist and wkd’s.. which I still have no idea what that stands for*****).  15 units at predrinks. Later that night: a few rum and cokes (double), a few more pints of cider, maybe a larger and some cheeky j-bombs thrown in for good measure. 13 units. End of night? roughly 28 units. Wednesday: urg hangover, god I feel shit. I’m never drinking again. Put me in the fucking bin I’ve got work. Finish at 6.... anyone about for a pint? Lovely job, 3 or 4 pints of cider, bus home. 8 units. Thursday: well that was a beautifully boring day, I’ll go over my mates for dinner, maybe a tinny there. 4 units. Friday: ahh, look at that, it’s (almost) freakin’ weekend baby imma bout to have me some fun.. Rihanna, 2017 (or 16, I don’t know). Night out, it’s Friday. Friday is a classic going out night. I’ll run home from work, get gussied up, couple cans at home (4 units) and head out. Pre drinks: same as usual, no need to repeat, give or take 15 units. The clubbing venue: cheap booze and a well heated smoking area. Easy. Total for that night? 30 units Saturday: Once again I vow to never drink, I’ll have a night off I say to myself. Work, home, shower and bed. Cheeky tinny before bed. 4 units Sunday: I used to have Sunday’s off, sometimes I’d go to spoons, sometimes my friends house. Either way, give me a pint of larger pleeeeaaaase and pack of flakey’s.. (Two Pints of Larger and Packet of Crisps reference for anyone who hasn’t witnessed the perfection that is that programme, and is so very quintessentially British). Either way, let’s add a couple more units to my ‘Alcohol Unit Bed-Post’. 2 units.

*****okay I just googled... it means ‘wicked’.. wow. British culture.

End of week? 92 units. The most one should consume within a week is 14. 

I’d like to say this type of week was a one off, but it really, really wasn’t. I can't tell you the exact time, day or month it spiralled. I can’t tell you the exact moment that I lost all self-control, dignity, money, self-respect and self-care.  I can’t even tell you why it became a problem. 

What I can tell you, it changed from merely a social lubricant to soften the edges. To my best friend, my confidant, my warmth. Alcohol never let me down, until it did. 

I became very secretive of my drinking. Drinking in my room, drinking in the toilets of bars out of flask. Lying about how much I had drunk. Lying about where I had been. Paradoxically I was also very open about my drinking, ordering rounds, going out, visibly infront of people telling me “slow down Bex, you’ve had a lot tonight”

Most of my stories began with “mate, I was so fucked” or “jesus I was gone that night”.. or “I can’t even remember that! (queue self-pittying laugh after).

The more I drank, the less I remembered. The more I drank the less it worked, so time and time again I would push body to its limits, throwing as much down my neck as I possibly could. It felt good. Alcohol gave me a rush of love. It gave me confidence, it made me funny, smart, attractive, fucking indestructible. It also made me angry, obnoxious, overtly sexual, selfish, rude, and to quote someone dear to me ‘absolutely out of fucking control’.

I liked the notion of anaesthesia it gave me, alcohol is a wonderful numbing agent, both mentally and physically. Did I either subconsciously or very consciously drink to forget what was going on? Did I drink to forget about the death of my mum, the rape, the nervous breakdown, the falling apart of two relationships, the debt, the stress of a masters degree?

Or did I just drink to have a bit of fucking fun. I truly and honestly always thought the latter. 

I started losing friends, money, dignity, self-respected and the all the fucks to give. I consistently drank to oblivion, I constantly got fucked. I made a multitude of bad decisions, over and over. Drinking more each time to forget the most recent lapse in judgement and morals. I can't say I hated it, because I fucking relished in it. The taste, the feeling, all of it. I even enjoyed the crippling guilt and self-loathing. By this point, I was completely at the mercy of this poison.

I didn’t care who I was hurting. The self-destruction was almost as addictive. Pushing people further and further away, seeing how much they could or couldn’t deal with me. It made me feel alive, electric and I was in no way going to stop. 

What’s the straw that broke the camels back I hear you ask?

It wasn't ending up in A&E with concussion like I’ve done before. It wasn’t ending up on some rando’s sofa like I’d done before. It wasn’t coming home and not remebering a single thing like I’d done time and time before. It was the 2nd of October, 2019. I was sat alone, I had lost my cards, my ID, my keys, my fucking expensive red lipstick. I was sat alone in a Wetherspoon’s toilet. I’d been out for ‘just a cheeky one’ to celebrate my uni results at 2pm that day. Fast forward 10 hours, it’s just before midnight. Someone asked me to go out clubbing, I started my first day at my new job the next morning. I walked to the club, slurring, trying to touch up my make up from crying. I queued up, got in. I beelined for the bar. I opened my mouth to order my usual. 

The next thing I know, I’ve walked out, got a taxi and a pizza and I'm home. Sobered up. In bed by 1am. 

Enough was enough. I was tired, I was fed up, I was completely powerless to alcohol. But something clicked, I had to change or this will not end well.

Hi, I’m Bex and I am an alcoholic.