It’s that time of year again. I bought three aquilegias and I have yet to plant them. One or two readers might remember how, last year I watched an aquilegia get thirstier and thirstier until one day it died and I went back to the garden centre to buy another one which I then successfully planted. Procrastination is such a thief of time. I am going to go out to the garden this afternoon to plant them. Hopefully, the fact that I have written that sentence might have an impact. (It did.) Above is a photograph of last year’s aquilegia. Despite being ignored all winter, it is looking very well.
First thing in the morning, especially at this time of year, I like to go out to my garden while waiting for the kettle to boil. It’s only a few minutes but the pleasure I get from those few minutes cannot be measured. Some mornings it is so peaceful even the droning of the boiler battling with the birdsong to be heard does not diminish the tranquillity. Watching the wispy white clouds swaying and forming gentle shapes is a favourite pastime of mine. I imagine I’m sitting up there being transported to a magical land.
It is tranquil.
If it is raining, the petrichor after the rain is refreshing, replenishing the warm, earthy soil with moisture that discharges a fragrant scent which is captivating. I wish I could bottle it.
I don’t know if it’s the warmer weather, but watching the evening sun shimmering through the trees and dancing with the leaves and shrubs before it goes to bed is like an invitation to open a bottle of wine and sip glass after glass, after glass, after glass ... sorry one glass.
I can see that I am going to have to be extra vigilant at wine o’clock. In addition to factor 30 sunscreen, I need to put on my suit of armour.
It’s never going to go away, is it?
Sometimes, the desire to have a glass of wine is very strong and it has nothing to do with other people drinking. No, for me it is to do with how I’m feeling and it could be at either end of the spectrum as in, excited about good news and wanting to crack open that bottle of champagne to mark the occasion or, on the contrary, so down in the dumps about the row you had with your husband/wife, son/daughter, mother/father (tick where appropriate) that the only way back up is to have a drink.
I don’t like it.
Of course, there are certain triggers that will weaken your resolve and anticipating these triggers is my best defence. As I mentioned before, while cooking the dinner I sometimes find myself reaching out automatically to the cupboard to take out a glass to pour myself a glass of wine. I find this quite disturbing. How can that still be happening? I’ve heard of muscle memory, but this is ridiculous. I even had the insane thought that if this is happening, then maybe it’s a sign that I’m supposed to have a glass of wine.
That thought had to be squashed.
When I was drinking, I lived in a box. A box in which I put myself or was put by society. But when I stopped drinking, I no longer fitted in the box and climbed out.
Not to the welcoming reception I was expecting.
No, others were not as excited as I was to finally escape the box. People tend not to like people who jump out of boxes. Like a jack-in-the-box, it gives an unpleasant surprise. I recently experienced this when I was told in no uncertain terms: “Get back inside your box.”
“Who do you think you are?”
No, of course, it didn’t happen like that but it may well have. Out of the box I am their equal and this clearly made the other person uncomfortable. It poses the question, “do I need these people?”
It turns out it is not a good idea to put oneself into any type of box.
We (my editor and I) have decided that I shall continue to write these articles, but on a bimonthly basis. This suits me as I mentioned in an earlier article that I also write fiction and this gives me more time to spend on writing fiction.
I wrote a novel some years ago. I wrote it while I was still drinking. I didn’t succeed in getting a traditional publisher so, after forensic editing, I self-published it. Whenever I got positive feedback on that book, it felt good but that was just a bonus, writing it saved my sanity.
I discovered recently that I was excluded from a particular group. I wasn’t even aware this group existed until one day by accident I learned of its existence. Exclusion is not a nice thing. It is a form of bullying
When I woke up in the morning knowing that I had failed in my quest to stop at two or even three glasses – no, I had once again finished the bottle – sitting down to write brought me to a better place than where my head was. I am now finishing my second book, but if it too is rejected, I shall continue writing. I cannot minimise the benefits of writing – not only is it therapeutic, it can also be cathartic for me writing these articles because I write from my heart, expressing in letters what might be difficult to say in words.
When we are worried our thoughts become distorted and we catastrophise the future – the one that has not yet happened. Writing down our feelings is a powerful exercise that acts like a balm to our soul. And a support, particularly for me, as I do not go to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, a place where so many people all over the world get the support they need.
I went to a book launch (sadly not my own) and, anticipating triggers, donned my suit of armour. Yes, there was wine and no, I didn’t have a glass. But a voice said to me: “This is a lovely wine you should taste it.” I looked around – no, Dolores wasn’t there. It was my friend. Hmm.
Relapse is something I don’t often think about other than to be aware of its existence but my subconscious fear is that I may one day relapse. If other people relapse after an abstention of years and years of sobriety, then I cannot be complacent. Today, I know I cannot have one glass of wine but will I always know this? Or will the day come when the voice is so convincing that I succumb?
I’ve been unwell for the past few weeks with some sort of virus that won’t clear up and another friend said to me: “What you need is a hot whiskey.” I gave her my quizzical look before the penny dropped. With friends like these... ?
I wrote before about the level of drinking that occurs in films – someone is always opening a bottle of wine – but strangely, it doesn’t appear much in books. I can’t remember the last time I read a book where the character pours out a glass of wine. As I was writing that last sentence, I suddenly remembered that drinking alcohol does happen in the book I self-published – one of my characters works undercover as a bartender – and in the book I am currently writing, alcohol features too.
But it is an interesting fact, drinking is not as prevalent in books, certainly not on the same scale as in films.
I discovered recently that I was excluded from a particular group. I wasn’t even aware this group existed until one day by accident I learned of its existence. Exclusion is not a nice thing. It is a form of bullying. Would I want to be included in a group that excludes anyone? I’m going to be kind and believe it was an oversight because if it was deliberate, then, well shame on you. It’s schoolyard stuff and it’s time you grew up.
I was at a small reunion recently which, despite a few no-shows, turned out to be a great day. I was sitting next to a gentleman who long ago did an act of kindness for me that I have never forgotten and I was delighted to catch up with him. I told him about these articles and he said he would look them up online. He then did something that made me feel normal. He ordered a glass of wine without asking me, “did I mind?”
It’s not that I don’t appreciate it when asked if I mind if someone drinks or if I would prefer they didn’t. But this made me feel it was acceptable for me to choose not to drink and not feel different.
Again, there was a slight envy watching people have one glass of wine with their meal and stopping. I was glad I wasn’t drinking because I would have had to put on my pretend hat and say: “Who me, no, I’m just a social drinker but this wine is so good I think I’ll have another.”
I believe if a child is constantly being told that they are great/wonderful/talented/lazy/difficult et cetera, et cetera, they become that expectation
As if anybody is ever fooled by comments like these.
I did hear someone joke: “It’s five o’clock somewhere in the world.”
This time it wasn’t me.
Becoming a non-drinker changes you, or, at least, it changed me.
As mentioned previously, I was in a box and things I had once accepted I no longer could. I don’t want to cause trouble but it seems that I am. If I see something as unacceptable it is seen as combative. Because I accepted it for years and years, the person cannot understand why the change? Consequently, it leads to rows. And if I adopt my new stance of staying quiet then that too is seen as difficult. A word I associate with my childhood. “She’s very difficult,” I heard my mother utter as I was sent to my room once again. I was even told: “You’re very difficult, aren’t you?” Not understanding it was not the compliment I took it to be, I said, “thank you” the first time I heard it.
I believe if a child is constantly being told that they are great/wonderful/talented/lazy/difficult et cetera, et cetera, they become that expectation and a great/wonderful/talented/lazy/difficult child is born. And a difficult child becomes a difficult adult.
I probably exceeded the expectation.
Sometimes, I find myself in a position and I don’t know how I got there. It is not at all where I thought I would ever be or wanted to be. It is frightening. It is unfamiliar territory and I don’t have a roadmap for this destination. So, I stumble along in the dark, often taking shortcuts that turn out not to be shortcuts but prolong the unwanted journey and the road back is a long one with many roundabouts and traffic lights on the way.
It passes but it appears again uninvited and unwanted.
I think what I am experiencing is what is called making mistakes.
I seem to make more than my share of them.
Read
- Part 1: I am not an alcoholic
- Part 2: I told myself I’d stop at three
- Part 3: Someone drank hand sanitiser
- Part 4: I’ve stopped drinking nine bottles
- Part 5: A man told me I wasn’t honest
- Part 6: Will you regret taking this drink?
- Part 7: My eye is stuck on the wine
- Part 8: Could the floor swallow me?
- Part 9: Should I try AA again?
- Part 10: Combating life’s little horrors
- Part 11: Go on, you deserve it
- Part 12: Why I write anonymously
- Part 13: I lost my sparkle
- Part 14: Abstinence has brought power
- Part 15: I could not hate myself more
- Part 16: Hiding my dependency
- Part 17: Alone in Paris
- Part 18: Return to rehab
- Part 19: Fears, anxiety ... and humour