Monday
Apr112011
Ask Schmutzie: Why I Can't Just Cut Down And Go Back To The Pub
Monday, April 11, 2011
I asked you to ask me questions about my sobriety. This is my third answer in response to your questions. Check out my first and second set of questions and answers here: Is There A Point Where It Won't Feel Like I Should Just Give In? and How Do You Deal With The Urge To Drink?
My question is — will you ever be able to go back to those "places" of alcohol consumption, or have you, and how have you handled it?
— Rhonda
Why did you decide to quit instead of just cutting back?
— kris
When I publicly admitted to having a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol, I had accepted the fact that I couldn't alter my habitualized interaction with it. I finally understood that my relationship with alcohol was entirely one-sided. It didn't know me, love me, or want me. I was its dewy-eyed stalker, taking what I could of it whenever I could.
With my public declaration, I had to take action, but I couldn't do it like all the other times when I had told myself after five pints of beer that I needed to cut back. That half-hearted conviction only resulted in me having one less beer the next night and one less blackout that week before I resumed my regularly scheduled bingeing.
It is important to know here that I never ever, under any circumstances, wanted only one or two drinks. I only ever wanted as many drinks as it would take to black out, so cutting back still meant getting loaded, which always lead to not cutting back, which lead to blacking out two nights later.
The only way out was to stop, and the only way to stop was to discontinue the triggers that I followed down that road again and again. This was a decision I had avoided making for years, being that my triggers were at least one hundred people and one particular drinking establishment to which I had very close ties. Everyone who worked there and most of the regular patrons knew me by name. I had drowned my sorrows about cancer there. We had celebrated the Palinode's back surgery and ability to stand upright again there.
My life had become work (to make money for alcohol), pub (to drink said alcohol), and home (to sleep off said alcohol) on a revolving carousel. I was going to have to break up with a substantial portion of my life, and I had to do it NOW. There could be no second-guessing or one last hoorah.
And so, without any fanfare, or even a word of explanation to anyone, I chose to simply disappear. I walked away from the pub I frequented and nearly ten years of friendships within a fairly expansive circle, and I forged three rules to help carry me through:
This first year away from that place and my friends hasn't always been easy. It's as though I am grieving a death, and I suppose that I am, in a way. Each major holiday, shifts in seasons, and birthdays and parties that come up on Facebook have me waxing nostalgic, and, especially now that spring is here, I am finding it hard to imagine that I won't park myself on that patio through long summer afternoons. As it stands, I avoid even the street that the pub I drank at sits on. In the past eight months, I have walked down that block a sum total of four times, three of which were by accident when I turned the corner to it out of habit.
What makes it easier, though, is reminding myself that the expansive circle of friends I thought I had was not the so-called chosen family I sometimes espoused it to be. Of the people I saw most often there near the end, of the couple of hundred people I knew in that place, a surprisingly tiny number have bothered to check in with me over the last eight months to see how I am, and most of those who checked in did so to tell me that I should come out for a drink. Quite a few more have unfriended or blocked me on Facebook.
I get the warm fuzzies all over just thinking about it.
Of course, I just dropped out without a word and have made no motion to contact most of them, either, so don't think that I am blaming a hamlet's worth of people for not declaring their undying support of my life decisions. I have not been the best example of how to win friends and influence people. If you want to know how to dump almost everyone you socialize with and spend an entire winter holed up in your apartment, though, I'm your gal.
It's just a little eye-opening in the clear light of sobriety to see how easily most of my supposed ties were cut, and it's surprisingly freeing. And, to be perfectly honest, I rarely, if ever, truly miss the configuration of the life I had just less than a year ago. I was lonely and sad and lost in a sea of people whose friendships I used to prop up that night's drunk. They deserve better, and so do I.
So, Rhonda and Kris, my answer to your questions is no. I cannot cut back when it comes to alcohol, and I can never revisit the pub I once thought I loved so much. My relationship to alcohol threw all of my other relationships tangential to it askew. I very nearly broke myself and the few parts of my life that I truly love, my liver among them, and I'm kind of attached to that little guy and all the living that he makes possible.
My question is — will you ever be able to go back to those "places" of alcohol consumption, or have you, and how have you handled it?
— Rhonda
Why did you decide to quit instead of just cutting back?
— kris
When I publicly admitted to having a dysfunctional relationship with alcohol, I had accepted the fact that I couldn't alter my habitualized interaction with it. I finally understood that my relationship with alcohol was entirely one-sided. It didn't know me, love me, or want me. I was its dewy-eyed stalker, taking what I could of it whenever I could.
With my public declaration, I had to take action, but I couldn't do it like all the other times when I had told myself after five pints of beer that I needed to cut back. That half-hearted conviction only resulted in me having one less beer the next night and one less blackout that week before I resumed my regularly scheduled bingeing.
It is important to know here that I never ever, under any circumstances, wanted only one or two drinks. I only ever wanted as many drinks as it would take to black out, so cutting back still meant getting loaded, which always lead to not cutting back, which lead to blacking out two nights later.
The only way out was to stop, and the only way to stop was to discontinue the triggers that I followed down that road again and again. This was a decision I had avoided making for years, being that my triggers were at least one hundred people and one particular drinking establishment to which I had very close ties. Everyone who worked there and most of the regular patrons knew me by name. I had drowned my sorrows about cancer there. We had celebrated the Palinode's back surgery and ability to stand upright again there.
My life had become work (to make money for alcohol), pub (to drink said alcohol), and home (to sleep off said alcohol) on a revolving carousel. I was going to have to break up with a substantial portion of my life, and I had to do it NOW. There could be no second-guessing or one last hoorah.
And so, without any fanfare, or even a word of explanation to anyone, I chose to simply disappear. I walked away from the pub I frequented and nearly ten years of friendships within a fairly expansive circle, and I forged three rules to help carry me through:
- I can never again set foot in the pub I inhabited for so many years.
- I cannot continue my friendships with most of the people with whom I drank during that decade, because my social ties are inextricably bound to my alcoholic triggers.
- I can never drink alcohol again with the idea that I can control my relationship to it, nor can I be left alone with it in my home.
This first year away from that place and my friends hasn't always been easy. It's as though I am grieving a death, and I suppose that I am, in a way. Each major holiday, shifts in seasons, and birthdays and parties that come up on Facebook have me waxing nostalgic, and, especially now that spring is here, I am finding it hard to imagine that I won't park myself on that patio through long summer afternoons. As it stands, I avoid even the street that the pub I drank at sits on. In the past eight months, I have walked down that block a sum total of four times, three of which were by accident when I turned the corner to it out of habit.
What makes it easier, though, is reminding myself that the expansive circle of friends I thought I had was not the so-called chosen family I sometimes espoused it to be. Of the people I saw most often there near the end, of the couple of hundred people I knew in that place, a surprisingly tiny number have bothered to check in with me over the last eight months to see how I am, and most of those who checked in did so to tell me that I should come out for a drink. Quite a few more have unfriended or blocked me on Facebook.
I get the warm fuzzies all over just thinking about it.
Of course, I just dropped out without a word and have made no motion to contact most of them, either, so don't think that I am blaming a hamlet's worth of people for not declaring their undying support of my life decisions. I have not been the best example of how to win friends and influence people. If you want to know how to dump almost everyone you socialize with and spend an entire winter holed up in your apartment, though, I'm your gal.
It's just a little eye-opening in the clear light of sobriety to see how easily most of my supposed ties were cut, and it's surprisingly freeing. And, to be perfectly honest, I rarely, if ever, truly miss the configuration of the life I had just less than a year ago. I was lonely and sad and lost in a sea of people whose friendships I used to prop up that night's drunk. They deserve better, and so do I.
So, Rhonda and Kris, my answer to your questions is no. I cannot cut back when it comes to alcohol, and I can never revisit the pub I once thought I loved so much. My relationship to alcohol threw all of my other relationships tangential to it askew. I very nearly broke myself and the few parts of my life that I truly love, my liver among them, and I'm kind of attached to that little guy and all the living that he makes possible.
categorized in health, lists and tagged in alcoholism, ask Schmutzie, relationships, sober, sobriety
health, lists and tagged in alcoholism, ask Schmutzie, relationships, sober, sobriety 
Reader Comments (17)
thank you for walking though this thought process so clearly, and my heart aches for the grieving that was necessary in this.. in the midst of stopping and getting sober, to have lost those connections out of necessity. I have been through something similar as I stood my ground and made a decision that was best for me. The grief in the midst of doing a hard thing makes both harder. Grateful for your words and your honesty.
Bravo, a well written piece which eloquently explains how many of us feel. I couldn't drink in moderation either, I had no choice but to commit to never allowing alcohol to pass my lips again.
Thanks for sharing this. I understand completely. While there are those close to me who have become comfortable enough with sobriety over the years to manage being in proximity to alcohol, there is definitely something about that place in particular.
The 1st time I went back after over a year was both comforting in it's familiarity but also incredibly depressing. The people greeted me as though I were their closest friend and yet did not want to know or even care where I had been, they either couldn't comprehend, or just weren't interested in my life outside of it. It was kind of a shock, in the long lonely days after Oliver was born, and even the quiet pregnant days before that, to realize that so many of the connections I had made in the previous 5 years had been totally false.
When I say 'something about that place in particular' I meant that I am sure everyone has a 'that place'. I don't think that came across how I wanted it to.
Thanks for that.
The last time I went there (Valentines) I had broke down and asked someone for a smoke while my friend was using the facilities on our way out. It's habit to stand there and puff.
I'm driving my car that's been sitting since the fall (since I was pregnant, actually), and the old packs and smell have been torture. I might have to get the car detailed to get rid of the smell and memories. I've even thought about selling it.
And avoiding my smoker friends... wow that has been hard. so we have redefined our relationships and they don't ask and I don't tell. It's ok, it's just really hard to not feel the urge to beg someone for tobacco. But I do want to quit and to be healthy and athletic again. It's just such a mindfuck to know that I was extremely active/athletic despite being a smoker before, so I keep thinking I could do it again?
Anyway... thanks for your response. Triggers are something I'm really battling with, it's so friggin hard. As much as I can change my cognitive response to do something else, the smell and the routine are killing me. I really want a sandwich from the Llama place for lunch today.. but it's right across from where I bought smokes :(.
I just wanted to let you know how you look on the outside, despite all the heart-digging and effort and change that this has required. You look like you don't need to drink. I know it may not feel that way, but you're cheerful and engaged and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and lovely and you find a great time wherever you go. Either that or you bring the great time with you. I'd like to be more like you.
You might be shaking your head, but in some cases, it doesn't matter what you think - how unsure or anxious or clamped-tight or measured you feel. It matters what everyone else sees. And this is what I see in you. xo
Hi Schmutzie!
Blogging brings us incredibly close to people we don't actually know in real life... I was reading "Bird by Bird" a few weeks ago and came across this quote: "Toni Morrison said, 'The function of freedom is to free someone else,' and if you are no longer wracked or in bondage to a person or a way of life, tell your story. Risk freeing someone else. Not everyone will be glad that you did. Members of your family and other critics may wish you had kept your secrets. Oh, well, what are you going to do? Get it all down. Let it pour out of you onto the page."
It made me think of you, "hey! That's Schmutzie!" and although I don't have a similar story, we all battle different demons. Thanks for sharing yours.
*fist bump* Sweetie! :)
Thank you for being so honest about your sobriety and what led you to it.
I hope I can be as strong one day. I really do. I'm in that curious half-place right now and will either drop or rise. I want it to be the latter.
To be perfectly honest, I find it extremely weird that I will not be sitting on that patio with you, drinking til we've gone stupid and smoking cigarettes for hours on end. It doesn't make me sad though. We'll find other ways to have fun this summer. :)
Thank you for posting these with such unflinching honesty about where you were and what you had to give up to get out.
It is sad when we mourn the loss of people, places and things that we held so dear in our drinking careers. Some of my friendships fell by the wayside, like you're experiencing. (I've come to realize that in certain cases, people didn't want me around because I was a reminder of their own issues with alcohol.) I admire how well you're handling it. I wallowed a lot in self pity. Eventually, I started paying more attention to the people around me. And you know what? My remaining friendships improved in quality and I even made NEW friends! (Like, really, who makes new friends in their 30s?)
People who I was distanced from because of my drinking suddenly wanted to spend time with me. Acquaintances at work I used to consider lame because of their teetotaling ways invited me to socialize in ways that didn't involve hitting the pub. Before, I only wanted to spend time with people if they drank. Now my circle of friends has widened and I have workout buddies, coffee buddies, movie buddies, etc. I even do things alone because I enjoy spending time with myself. Go figure.
Really not checking on you and defriending?
That kind of blows my mind. Also, that kind of blows, period.
What an earth shaking thing then.
Sorry for going on.
When I think about all my drunken family members I get sort of confused thinking of you as having this same problem. It seems so much to stem from personality traits that you don't have. I am always very pluralist about alcoholism and addiction just because I know so many alcoholics and addicts and they are all so different. But it feels like there is this self deceptive trait that you don't have. It's hard to really explain.
Also, kind of internal nihilism. Some kind of frozen spot that can't grow.
These views of people are probably too simplistic. But maybe the difference is they can't get unstuck and you can.
It IS grief. Sometimes it still swallows me, when I get nostalgic, thinking of the places and the people. Some of those people were a mix of real friendship and alcohol-friendship, so it hurts. And many many of them do not call or come by or contact me in any way. I understand that, but I tell my husband that it hurts because it feels like I am not enough without alcohol. (to those people) That's just the truth and it hurts. So I'm here building a whole new life and grieving that old one in stages. It takes a long time, but healing is good.
Someone I care deeply about was able to "cut back" but he's still an alcoholic. "Cutting back" is a sham when you are an addict. It takes tremendous strength to truly admit you have a problem and to cut it out completely. I had to cut out my relationship with him because I couldn't accept or condone his behavior. I wish you the best as you continue this journey.