I can still vividly remember flashbacks of the first time I went to a party and got drunk. 15 years old. My crush will be there. Maybe I will finally be able to work up the courage to talk to him. Vodka cranberries. Sitting on the couch with my friend, a random guy between us, turning his head from side to side as we take turns kissing him. My crush watching. My crush walking out. On my knees in the middle of the road at the door of his car crying, profusely apologising, begging him to forgive me. He leaves. I call him over and over again, leaving rambling, slurred voicemails. I wake up the next morning with crippling anxiety, shame, sadness and self loathing.
This may seem like a relatively harmless ‘teenager getting drunk for the first time’ experience except for that 16 years on, I still have nights like this, fuelled by insecurity, and I wake up after drinking crippled with those same feelings of anxiety, shame, sadness and self loathing. 31 years old. At my friends house for a girls night. Feeling insecure in my ability to socialise. Vodka lemon lime and bitters. Pouring my drinks stronger and stronger. Spilling drinks. Saying embarrassing, stupid things. Blacking out. Waking up in a bed with no memory of how I got there.
Over time, as my insecurities, depression and anxiety grew deeper, so did my addiction to binge drinking. I don’t just drink to have ‘fun’, I drink to escape my darkness. When I start to drink I feel free, I feel confident, I feel like I can be somebody else for the night. Somebody who isn’t held back by her paralyzing insecurities and perfectionist mindset. But more often than not, there comes a point in the night when I’m no longer free, I’m no longer fun and the ‘somebody’ else that I so desperately seek to be when I drink is the ugliest, worst possible version of herself. I behave in ways that are out of character, I ruin relationships, I embarrass myself, I black out. Waking up the day after drinking brings so much more darkness into my life then the darkness I‘m trying to escape. Every time I open my eyes after drinking, I am tormented with feelings of hopelessness, despair and a seething hate for myself and my behaviour.
Despite this, the cycle always continues. Over and over and over again. Because once the ‘hangxiety’ subsides, I can’t help but long for the high of the escape yet again. This time will be different, this time I will be able to control how much I drink. This time I will be able to control my behaviour. This time I will just have ‘fun’. So I drink again. And again. And again. And I blackout or behave in fucked up ways again and again and again. And I wake up in a suffocating state of lowness again and again and again.
Alcohol has kept me hostage to my insecurities and this dysfunctional way of living for over half of my life. My existence is tainted with painful memories of my drunken behaviour and the emotional hell that follows. But while my binge drinking is scary, and the emotional aftermath is all consuming, the thought of never drinking again is even more confronting. I will have no release from the self that I believe I hate so much. I will have to learn to love myself, to be kind to myself, to deeply understand myself and to be confident in myself. And that, is the scariest thing of all.
