Thirst - a reason to drink

I am experimenting with the idea that thirst is sufficient reason to drink.

Before you collapse in hysterics, knowing the copious amounts of brandy in particular, but also beer and wine I consume, I am actually referring to the notion that my thirst should be quenched, when I am dry. Not when I “feel like” having a drink drink!! The reality is that I feel like having a drink much more frequently than when I could say, I am thirsty.

Now this is an extremely novel idea for this old brain and its diminishing brain cells to grasp.

I have however, for the past few weeks, been contemplating and discussing such a notion with my HB and my counselor (who is highly skilled and extremely tolerant and patient – actually both of them are!!) I have been practicing refraining from drinking when I feel like a drink, noting when I feel like a drink and trying not to panic when I think I am not going to have a drink.

Needles to say, this has all been a bit of an internal and external struggle of some gigantic proportion. I wondered why I had bothered opening up such a convoluted and difficult can of worms. It would be much easier to not think about it and to just keep on with it. But I came to the decision to open this debate when I realized, at some level, that I had increased my tolerance to alcohol by consuming large amounts regularly and that this seemed to be escalating even further.

I guess I felt I had to make a stand against, with or maybe, for myself. To confront my behaviour, to try to understand what I was doing and why. Yes, I love a drink, yes I love to socialize (and that means having a drink doesn’t it?) but somewhere along the line I had lost my way and been consumed by the desire to drink, as opposed to being the consumer.

I have to say this is quite a scary thing to do. I initially thought I can’t tell anyone because I felt so stupid about it all. Then slowly I began to speak it, first I had to have this conversation with myself, then struggled to speak it to my counselor and with even more difficulty let HB know that I was broaching this subject (couldn’t even say my drinking or my relationship with alcohol, just muttered something and then said AND I DON”T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!! Blimey she is a saint. I have to say also HB and my counselor have had fits of hysterical laughter at some of my utterings, which has not been a bad thing as I realized the shite I was saying as a result!

I am not going to blame Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it is a factor in my increasing use of alcohol. Shelley’s death and what this means to me is beyond my understanding. I hate that my reality is that I will never hear her sweet voice on the phone, hear her chuckle and giggle, share her stories with me. I hate that her brothers will not have her with them for their adult years, as a sister, a friend an aunty even. I hate that she is lost to them in this way. I hate that she didn’t get to fall in love and find her life partner, I hate that this house, this room, her room will not rejoice in her homecoming. I hate that Shelley is missing her friends’ life events, children, birthdays, all of it. I hate it all. I hate having to adjust because there is no other option, no choice. I hate that this is my life

I don’t mean that I hate my life. I just mean I hate not having my sweet Shelley, here with me.

Finding a way to live my life with all the above included is not and never will be easy.

I am blessed with my HB and FBS & SBS. I doubt I would even be this sane without them!! (Ha ha – now that’s debatable!!)

So PTSD may have deepened my dependence on alcohol but it did not create it. I had already established pretty close bonds. Had I been a heroin addict I would have reached for my kit.

I am finding as I challenge myself to live “eyes wide open”, not numbed, not depressed by alcohol, that there is a lot I have missed. Ironically I had thought I was on to it, fully embracing everything on offer but that has not been true. I have now opened myself again to the depths of my grief. To see it, to feel it. To view the world through these eyes. To feel the barbs that come, every day, in some way to remind me that Shelley is not here.

I am reclaiming myself, breaking up with my false friend and not quite sure what lies ahead.

I am not certain that I will never ever drink again. I am not sure if I place myself in the category of a person who should not drink ever again. The thought of that causes me to panic. In that lies the rub. I am told that someone who is not addicted would not even contemplate the thought of never ever drinking as a worry!!

I know that there are numerous links in my genetic history with alcoholics.

I am not sure yet where I fit in to this history and maybe it is that I don’t want to know – yet. I just know for now, that I feel better doing what I am doing. I will keep exploring and testing my boundaries and be open to whatever I find. It is after all my own story and I am the writer.

Arohanui

KG