Casual alcoholism is the vice it's ok to have.

I decided to stop drinking for a month to try and regain some sense of control after necking three or four cans pretty much every night for a few weeks. The Dryathalon campaign seemed like a good way to raise some cash for cancer research while I got my shit together and so far I've made £55 from simply not having a beer. Other than the pre emptive alienation I feel from an impending stag do, I've managed pretty well so far. I've been staying in to mix music and write things (my hobbies) instead of going to the pub during the week and I've been drinking glasses of water when other people are having a beer in the house. 

The fact that I used the word "manage" in my last paragraph is quite worrying when you think about it. It's not like I've got to "manage" coping with a child who has a profound disability or the slow and inevitable decline of a terminally ill relative. Managing those things is a feat of superhuman endurance. All I've done is not had a beer for a while. It's not really something to "cope with" or "manage" but  something to put up with for a bit. (For me, at least. I do realise that millions of people battle alcoholism every day and they have my sincere and humble respect.) After a few days I quickly realised that my own fears about addiction were unfounded and as my personality dictates, over dramatic, but I did start to think about a few things...

If you study our media in Britain, or even just casually glance at it while sneering like I do, it's impossible to miss the recurring theme of casual alcoholism that runs throughout popular culture. Panel shows and daytime TV are littered with references to having a "cheeky" beer or a glass of wine "or three!" yet our newspapers and politicians screech hysterically and hypocritically at the evils of other drugs that alter consciousness. 

Casual alcoholism is so accepted it has become interwoven to the fabric of our society. Unless you are religious or have a medical condition that prevents you from consuming alcohol, you are often viewed as pathologically weird for abstaining from booze. I have never been comfortable with the desperate need to belong or whatever it is that pushes so many people in to extended drinking sessions. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed getting extremely drunk with groups of people and had some brilliant times in the process but we all know things don't always turn out that way. When things go wrong and people react badly to alcohol, the resulting vomit and veiled threats, passive aggressive bullshit and torrents of tears and repressed emotion that gush from their addled faces are utterly horrific and disturbing to behold. Unfortunately, these human trainwrecks inevitably get laughed off like a weird dream the next morning. What I'm referring to here is evidence of a much larger, more complex problem than drinking too much alcohol, but booze remains the most effective catalyst for violence and regrettable decisions that we have. 

What concerns me is the sheer number of people who seem to use alcohol as an excuse to behave like an absolute bell end and then take literally no responsibility for their actions or worse still, expect the kind of playful, hair tussling forgiveness reserved for an incorrigible but lovable toddler. Alcohol is not the problem here, it never has been, it's our relationship with it that needs to be addressed. If you need four pints to face up to your life, like I felt like I did for a while, this is probably evidence that something is seriously wrong and you should seek help from your GP or mental health services as soon as you possibly can. If you find yourself waking up miserable and with no memory of what happened the night before on a regular basis, you might also be developing a problem. My only advice is to listen to the nagging little voice in your head instead of the bellowing and braying of your mates or the nudge, nudge, wink, wink of the TV. Do what feels right for you. 

Despite all of the things I hate about how people react when they drink alcohol, I've enjoyed getting stupidly drunk as much or even more than most people in their early 30s and until recently, I didn't regret much more than the wire wool throat and the toxic sickness that remains after a night of extended boozing. It was only when I found myself wondering why I had even bothered buying the four cans of lager I didn't really want on a Tuesday night that I realised I was starting to lose control. 

Two weeks in to my abstinence and I feel more focused and less aggressive but I have also started to fear social situations more than I used to. At this point I should probably mention that I suffer with severe depression and anxiety, so many social situations aren't exactly a laugh a minute for me anyway. Having gone 9 weeks without alcohol when I started taking my last round of antidepressants, I know that it's possible to go to clubs, dance your arse off and have a good time without getting drunk; but I also know that the nonsensical jabbering of a well meaning drunk friend can be as irritating as a thong made of sandpaper, even when they're trying to be as positive as they possibly can. Let's face it. There's only so many times a person can stand hearing the same compliment barked at them through a cloud of beery breath.

Once I've completed my month off the drink, I might go back to it or I might sign up for a sober October as well. I haven't decided yet. What I will attempt to do is remember this sense of alienation and detachment that I feel. I imagine a lot of it is to do with my ongoing mental health condition but a part of me does wonder if a large proportion of us are using alcohol to cover up the fact that deep down, we are so miserable in our everyday lives that we just can't bear to contemplate it. Surely that's a problem that needs to be fixed.

Cheers!