SOBERESQUE
I quit drinking for the month of August 2021 “to ‘reset’ the brain and the body,” the same reason for my previous month-long hiatus in June 2010 (as I wrote then when I reflected on that experience). Only this time, there was an additional reason.
For the previous six months, I’d been trying to stop for just one day. But every day at 5pm, when the ceremony of making and enjoying a cocktail usually occurred, I didn’t have a strong answer to “why not?” have a drink. So I caved, and I drank. And I was growing increasingly concerned about that.
Like many, when we first went into lockdown (and I was furloughed from my job) in March 2020, my drinking increased. Specifically, as I live alone, my drinking home alone increased. But because home is charming bungalow on a 6.5-acre farm alongside 14 goats, a donkey, a dozen chickens, a cat, and my pup Picard, I was more than happy to be in lockdown. Not going to work every day, I could focus on what I might do with the Anthrozoology MA I’d just earned. I wrote a few essays that were published on various websites. I read, cooked, watched countless webinars. I reconnected with old friends in a way that felt meaningful. I chaired a virtual discussion on “Covid 19: the impact of a human pandemic on animals” for my alma mater. I assembled an all-star lineup and pitched a panel to South by Southwest on Representing Animals: Impact of the Human Gaze in visual content. I was learning the Greek language with the help of Audible, and learning Greek dance with the help of YouTube. I worked out everyday and got in the best shape I’ve been in years. By 5pm, I’d earned that cocktail.
Eventually the furlough ended and I returned to work. It was that end of summer / end of freedom feeling I got at the end of every August when I was a kid. The 5pm ritual continued, but it was no longer celebratory. It was now consolatory.
I wasn’t getting drunk every day. I was very mindful of the quantity of alcohol I consumed. I measured 1.0 oz of vodka for my 5pm constitutional (a typical cocktail recipe calls for 1.5 oz.). But it was every day. And it was the one thing I most looked forward to. Not a good sign.
On day one, August 1 at around 5pm, I felt a phantom itch just where that cocktail would normally be. I also had a mild headache (and the next morning). It wasn’t my body going through any sort of withdrawal; rather, the headache was the result of the constant internal mantra “I cannot drink, I cannot drink, I cannot drink…” that I couldn’t turn off. Fortunately, the headaches eventually went away, but every day was impossibly long, as I dwelled on the day’s date, and ran the math of how many days were left in the month.
I replaced the 5pm cocktail with a long walk, and replaced the later in the evening glass (okay, glasses) of wine with vegan ice cream, hoping to assuage the feeling of deprivation. It didn’t matter. I still wanted wine.
I noticed that my usual indoor activities (writing, cooking, reading, dancing) were less appealing without that glass of wine nearby. As much as I love doing all of the above, I especially love doing them with wine.
At the start of the fourth week of August, I began a new indoor activity: painting. It was a wonderful form of play, and play is sorely underrated and lacking in adulthood. As I was painting, I had that “something’s missing” feeling: I was pining for a glass of wine. But since I’d never painted before, I had no preexisting paint-wine association. It was then that I had my “a-ha” moment: I wasn’t pining for wine. I was pining for a playmate. Or a friend. Or a partner. All those things I did with wine, I realized that I pined to be sharing them with another person, in a way I never fully admitted to myself. Wine played two roles: it was an understudy for human companionship in my daily life, and it also made me numb to / forgetful of the absence of said companion.
It’s now January 1, 2022. On September 1, 2021, I didn’t jump right back into my old drinking habits, as I’d looked forward to doing for the first three weeks of August. Once I started to better understand my relationship with alcohol, the less appealing it was to resume that relationship. I wouldn’t say I’m sober now, but I no longer drink home alone, or to self-medicate. I now view alcohol as a treat on special occasions. This has worked out to be about twice per month; and in each case, the next day I wake up feeling less refreshed and well-rested than I’ve become accustomed to since August. It always makes it very easy (and somewhat of a relief) to return to an alcohol-free regime.
