The day I quit drinking
A story about looking where you least want to look
Two years ago today, I finally confronted what I had been avoiding for the past decade, my addiction.
After a mental breakdown, I spent the big part of a year trying to make the best out of a bad situation. With some effort, I managed to quit drinking, fix my diet, exercise, go to therapy, and meditate. I won’t say it was easy, but it felt right.
It became clear from all of the unsolicited feedback, that everyone around me was happy with the new me. For the first time in recent years, I had finally moved forward.
Unfortunately, life isn’t always a walk in the park.
The moment I slipped up and had sex with a bad influence, the house of cards I had built crumbled and exposed an obvious truth, I’d neglected to dig dipper and build a solid foundation before the start of this new endeavor.
In a couple of days, my anxiety and mood swings went through the roof. As everybody else I knew, I resorted to coping with it by drinking.
Sobriety doesn’t fix the underlying issues that draw you towards addiction. Even if you consider genetics and abstain from alcohol altogether, you still have to add other parts to the reaction. Otherwise, it’s just a temporary solution.
Addiction is a symptom, not the root of all of your problems. This means you have to look inwards and find what is causing it.
Good friends know that when I want to have a clear perspective on something, I put on my running shoes and go for a few long walks.
I remember wandering around, trying to focus on two big questions:
- What do I want to accomplish in life?
- Why do I have such an urge to drink?
Woefully, my emotions were all over the place, blasting my Top 10 Insecurities & Fears Playlist, again and again.
I was a few hours in my walk when someone called me by my first name. It was a waiter. He smiled and we chatted a little bit. Quickly, he cleaned a table for me, and to my surprise, there I was again, sitting at one of my favorite bars.
As soon as I had my first gulp of beer, something in the back of my mind warned me I was in danger,
“What are you doing here?”
“I came here to eat.”
“Then why the fuck are you drinking? Stop and look around.”
I obeyed. The place was fully packed and everybody was compulsively drinking. It was around 7 pm on a warm Saturday.
“Is this the kind of life you want? Can’t you do better?”
I was under attack.
“People are not happier when you drink. How many relationships must you ruin, how many stupid things must you do until it stops, what are you waiting for?”
“Ahem…”
I started to feel throat pain and pressure on my chest.
“You are hiding.”
“I’m not hiding” I lied. “I’m… I’m scared and this takes the edge off a little bit… you know.”
“Stop lying to yourself and wake up! You are here because you have a problem. Quit.”
Resembling what guilty people often do, I tried to justify my behavior, even though the voice was right on target with everything I was doing.
“Even if I try,” I complained, “I’ll probably fail again, and I can’t deal with any more failure right now.”
The pain worsened. So I reason with it by promising I would stop drinking.
I texted a handful of friends to join me for a (secret farewell) drink. Knowing very well that if they came I would drink as much as I could fathom. — How stupid, what was I thinking?! — One by one, they declined my invitation and with each new rejection, I felt a cold sweat going down my spine.
Desperate, I tried one last trick and called two great friends who are always down for anything, but neither could make it.
Immediately, both pain and pressure worsened to such intensity that I could feel my body was about to shut down. I was paralyzed and couldn’t gasp for air anymore. It was crystal clear that no one was going to save me. I had to surrender.
I let go of the glass then managed to breathe in a little bit, feeling vertigo. I stopped, and finally admitted what I had been avoiding for such a long time:
“I’m an addict.”
It felt strange to say that. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. So I stayed there, quiet.
A few moments later that voice came back and asked me:
“What do you want out of life?”
“To live my rich life,” I answered.
“OK. What stands in your way?”
I pondered for a moment and said:
“Addiction, Fear of Failure and Rejection, Energetic and Emotional Instability.”
“Alright. You can have any life you want, but you will have to sacrifice parts of you to do it. Can you let them go? Can you stand up for yourself and dare to be successful?”
“I… I don’t know,” I answered in tears.
There was one more moment of silence.
“From 0 to 100%. How much effort are you exerting to make the life you want?”
My first instinct was to lie and say something like 60 or 70%, that life was hard, and some excuse like that, but there was no point in fooling me anymore.
“6%”, I replied.
“Good. If you fail, you already know what hell looks like. If you have consistency and work hard, there is only room for improvement.”
“How much are you willing to give up to make that possible?”
There was only one possible answer:
“Everything.”
I shivered, aware that this was my chance. My mind was energized as if a switch had flipped inside my brain. There was no more insecurity, no more hesitation, no more excuses. I was confident about what would come next.
I took a deep breath, stood up, and glanced at the half-empty glass. At last, I made a vow:
“I will no longer drink alcohol. I will no longer hide. I will grow and make a habit of stability. I will uplift people with me and will give everything I can to be successful. When I finally have the life I want, I will keep pushing forward.”
Since then, every area of my life has improved. I’m physically stronger, my mood is responsive and reliable, work is more meaningful, relationships are better, and so is my sleep, energy, memory, and sex life. I feel like myself now.
Sobriety is not a panacea, though. It’s the red pill. It allows us to be conscious of what happens, while we get a chance to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.
As you can imagine, there are difficult days when I want to have a drink and lay back. But for the most part, not so much. I still do stupid things, but dealing consciously with my problems and actions has made me into a better and more well-rounded human being.
If there is one indispensable lesson from this whole experience, is that what you need will be found where you least want to look. It won’t be comfortable, but it’s worth it.
I’m excited about what the following years of sobriety will teach me.
Talk to you soon.
Lucas Napier
