It’s funny that time is often used as a softer. The longer you do something, the easier it gets. But right now is feeling like an absence makes the heart grow fonder type affair.
It’s been 251 days since I stopped drinking. I am still firmly on the wagon, but if ever I was about to slip it would be now. Alcohol is a great thing in moderation and, (with the right people) even in excess it can still be thoroughly enjoyable. A lot of people like it for loss of inhibition; you become more talkative, you dance on tables and you get with gorgeous strangers and the headache the next morning only serves to remind you of how up you turnt.
I used to think that’s why I liked it, however with the knowledge I have gained in being without it for so long, I realise that that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t the lack of inhibitions, it was the distance it put between me and other people which gave the impression of being braver. It was the detachment that made me not give a crap that I found so liberating. And worryingly it wasn’t being confined to just crazy nights out. The detachment I was craving was becoming a part of my day to day life. In my early blog posts, I spoke a lot about being in control, feeling what needed to be felt and facing up to situations where usually I’d just say ‘sod it’ and go and party. While this is a more mature and beneficial thing, it can be really exhausting.
I haven’t written in a long time because I’ve been caught up in a string of events (mainly good) which needed me to be fully emotionally available and get swept in the tide of living and not reflection. Until now. Now I have cause for reflection and more than ever; I want a drink. Sometimes reality is this bitchslap in the face and something to numb it down is essential. I have just realised that I am in foreign country and all my long-term support lines are on a different land mass*. I think I also may have been a bit in love, and I might have delayed heartbreak or something. Basically, I’m feeling a bit low and homesick and quite vulnerable, and this is where I’d have a wild night and forget about it for a while, but I can’t do that. I have to face this reality completely unaided.
Unfortunately, I am not in the habit of breaking promises to myself (except about dieting, but who would!) and honestly, I am so close to a home-run that the momentary satisfaction of a G&T the size of my head would pale in comparison to the disappointment of letting myself down. I hope that I have enough strength and determination to get myself out of this pit unaided by alcohol – though, of course I will go out and watch my friends do shots.
Urgh, I will keep you posted (I promise!). In the meantime, if you hear of a chocolate biscuit shortage in Paris, that’s probably my fault. Soz.
*Note to my wonderful friends here in Paris. You have been essential to me feeling so comfortable here. Just nothing can replace a hug from Mum!