When the wine witch wins

When I was twenty-six, a friend of mine introduced me to his new girlfriend - Juliet. Juliet and I immediately fell in (platonic) love.

Juliet had wild, untameable red hair and freckles, and she crackled and fizzed with an energy which was tangible. She was fiendishly clever, and fiercely loyal and, like me, she smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. When I was with Juliet I felt more. More attractive, more witty, more alive.

I should have known then that a flame that burned so brightly would inevitably die young.

Juliet and I would go to smart restaurants and talk until the waiters started putting chairs on the tables around us. We'd finish the first bottle quickly and Juliet would wave it at a waiter crying "excuse me, my man, could we please have one exactly the same as this, but full?" and she would tip back in her chair and guffaw with laughter.

We would spend long nights at her flat or mine, dancing like no-one was watching to the anthems of our youth: Duran Duran, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Toyah Wilcox. We read poetry to each other. One of Juliet's favourites was John Betjeman's 'Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough.'

We'd promise that we would never end up as grey faced automaton's like those in the poem, rather we'd be eccentric old ladies dressed in purple velvet and mink, terrorising youths with our walking sticks and drinking Martinis with abandon.

Juliet was ferociously fearless (when drunk. When sober she was riddled with insecurities), and persuasive. She would always manage to convince someone that she was 'perfectly able to drive'. She was, she'd say, a brilliant driver and, in fact, even better after a few drinks.

One day, after we'd all been to a wild weekend country house party, she decided she was perfectly able to drive home rather than stay the Sunday night like the rest of us. We let her. She crashed her car on the M1.

Mercifully, no-one was hurt, but it shook her up big time. She realised she wasn't invincible. She ditched the high powered consultancy job she hated and moved out of London, away from temptations, to live more soberly and follow her dream of writing. She wrote the way she lived - with great gusto, originality and humour. Her e-mails were side splittingly funny. My husband read some of them out at her memorial.

I'm ashamed to say that, wrapped up in the self-obsession of youth, I didn't speak to Juliet as much as I should have done after she left town. In the year that she was away I never once went to visit.

One night Juliet had a friend over. He wasn't yet a boyfriend - I think they were just 'testing the water.' They got drunk. She wanted to buy some cigarettes, but - having holed herself up in the countryside - the nearest shop which would be open was several miles away. She spun the usual line about being an even better driver when drunk.

Juliet's car careered off an empty country road and ended up upside down in a ditch. The bloke was trapped for hours, dressed in his pyjamas, next to her corpse. She wasn't even thirty years old.

Many years later, the husband and I were driving in Africa with #1 and #2 (who were then a toddler and a baby) in the back. The visibility was terrible - lashing rain and fog. I fell asleep. In my dream I saw Juliet, as clear as day. She shouted at me "WAKE UP!" I woke to see that the road was splitting into a dual carriageway. The husband hadn't noticed and was heading straight towards two lanes of oncoming traffic. I yelled. He swerved. I honestly believe that Juliet saved our lives. I wish I'd been able to save hers.

That's the thing about the wine witch. She cuts brilliant lives short, and ensures that others are only half lived. She makes children grow up thinking it normal for adults to drink all evening, every evening. She fixes it so mothers are woken up in the middle of the night by a stranger telling them their only child was found dead in a ditch, next to someone she barely knew.

So, I'm not just doing this for me. I'm doing it for my children, and I'm doing it for my feckless, fearless, flame haired friend - Juliet. I will never forget you.

Love SM x

If you have a friend, or relative you'd like us to remember, please do post in the comments section.

Related posts: When the wine witch wins. Part 2

5 signs that you're a problem drinker

Today is Day 40! Woo hoo - the big FOUR OH. Have a glass of veuve cliquot to celebrate! Oh, whoops - perhaps best not....

I used to be - and still am - obsessed with those quizzes called things like 'are you an alcoholic?' or 'signs that you're a problem drinker.' The problem is that I always found them too reassuring, despite the fact that I was drinking at least one bottle of wine a day.

I would happily stick crosses against questions like: Do you get the shakes in the morning? Do you get blackouts? Have your friends and/or family asked you to cut down? And, until 41 days ago (see Secret Drinker Hits the High Bottom) I confidently shook my head to 'Have you ever drunk in the morning? and Do you hide alcohol?'

But these questions were providing a false sense of security. We all have different 'ah ha' moments - those things that, in the middle of the night when we're wrestling the demons and sweating out the Chablis, make us realise that our drinking is actually a bit of a problem.

So, in the interests of honesty, and so that I have a written record to remind myself what life was like BS (before sober), here were my five signs. Please do, for the benefit of any worried drinkers reading this, add your own in the comments below...

(1) Dealing with hangovers

I started to notice that most people who wake up with chronic hangovers have the reaction 'Oh my God, I am never, ever, going to drink again'. And, indeed, they manage not to for at least a day or two. My reaction to a hangover had become 'Oh my God, I am never going to feel better until I can legitimately (i.e. after 12pm) have another drink.' This, I eventually realised was a sign.

(2) Trying, and failing, to 'moderate'

Problem drinkers all desperately want to be able to moderate. We do all sorts of deals with ourselves. Do any of these sound familiar: I will not drink on school nights? I will not drink before 6pm/before dinner/at lunch times? I will not drink alone/at home? I will not drink spirits/wine? I made many of these deals with the wine witch over the year or two before I quit and I was never able to keep to them for more than a week or two. This was another sign.

(3) Obsession

I started to spend more and more time thinking about drinking. For example, an hour or so before 'wine o'clock' I would start to obsessively check my watch. I would check my fridge daily to see how much wine was available, and plan my shopping trips around school runs accordingly. If the husband and I were 'sharing' a bottle I would constantly check that I was getting at least my share (hopefully more). Spending lots of time thinking about drinking is not a good sign.

(4) Physical and Mental Health

I was never hospitalised. I never blacked out or threw up. My doctor never twigged how much I was drinking (I 'fessed up' to 14 units a week - lol). But I had a terrible wine belly. I was overweight and puffy. I had debilitating insomnia (see sleep, glorious sleep), and I was miserable and stuck in a rut. It took a long time to twig that these were all signs.

(5) Deception

I have always prided myself on being really open and honest, but towards the end of my glittering drinking career I started to lie. I lied to myself - constantly - about how much I was drinking. I lied to my GP (see above). I 'confessed' to my friends to drinking 'oooh, about half a bottle a day - isn't that terrible?' And then I started to hide half full bottles of wine in the cupboard so that when the husband came home I could pretend that I hadn't started drinking yet. For me, this soul destroying deception was the final sign.

So, next time the wine witch whispers in my ear that 'I wasn't so bad really. I've done 40 days without wine already, surely I can have just one?' I can re-read this post and remind myself how much better life is without all of that stuff.

If you're a drinker and recognise yourself in any of this then please do join me on this rollercoaster of sobriety. It's worth it.

Love SM x

Fed up Friday - Angst and Wobbles

I suppose it was bound to happen. The last 19 days have been tough, but I've been generally positive about what I'm doing. I've been determined, upbeat, sometimes verging on euphoric (see my post from last Sunday on Mindfulness). Then last night I hit a wall.

It was Friday. The end of the week. I've done really well this week. And last week. And the week before. I just felt that I really deserved to be able to treat myself, let my hair down, go wild. Yet we have NO PLANS this weekend. None at all (except the usual kid based activities). I deliberately didn't organise any social events and we've had no invitations. Nada. Does everyone hate me because I'm a drunk? Does everyone hate me because I'm not a drunk? Aaarrrgghhh.

So, I pick #2 up from school. #1 and #3 have playdates (alright for some). I feel an overwhelming need to indulge. The boy and I go to a café and I order a piece of carrot cake. It must be at least half vegetable, right? When it arrives it's almost as big as my head, and doesn't look in the slightest vegetably. How can they serve portions that big? How could I have finished it? I feel physically sick, but no happier.

In the fridge I have 6 Becks Blue beers (alcohol free). I've never tried one of these, but I'd bought them especially for the weekend, thinking that I'd have one at the old 'wine o'clock'. I make it as far as 4.45pm (plus ca change!) and then crack open the (alcohol free) beer. Spookily, it looks just the same (not quite as much 'head'), tastes just the same and even makes me feel light headed. I double check the bottle. It is alcohol free. Either they're playing a sick joke or my head is so finely tuned to expect to feel drunk that it's slipped into that mode automatically!

Once I've drunk the beer and the light headedness has worn off I feel even worse. I'm fed up with being 'boring'. I'm fed up with the constant dialogue in my head about alcohol, with spending hours each day reading about it and writing about it and not getting anything else done. I'm not sure I want to live my life on an even keel rather than a roller coaster.

6.30pm and I have to pick up #1 and #3. I remind myself that in the 'old days' this would have caused me endless angst. Either I would have had to delay drinking on a Friday night until 7.30pm when I got the girls back home OR I would have spent ages working out how much I could drink without being over the limit or looking worse for wear to the girls' hostesses. As it was, I jumped in the car totally sober.

Husband came home, opened fridge and brightened up visibly when he saw the beer. "Just what I need after cycling home from the City!" You should have seen his face when he spotted the 'alcohol free' flash. Oh God, I'm ruining his life too! He sneaks a glass of wine from the kitchen cupboard surreptitiously, so as not to rub it in my face. I think about how much I'd love to rub a glass of wine in my face. Then neck it in one. I reminisce fondly about our decades of evenings sharing a bottle of wine (conveniently forgetting the fact that I'd usually have 'pre-loaded' with at least another half bottle first).

We watch a family movie. #2 and #3 have a god almighty barney about who gets which end of the sofa and spend ages 'accidentally' kicking each other. I wish (again) that I could self-medicate with the bottle of St Emilion that the husband's hid behind his chair. I look back at some of my early posts and I think "OMG I sound so smug."

The wine witch starts whispering in my ear. I try desperately to beat her off. She says: "It's Friday night! You need to be able to celebrate the weekend!" I think back "But it's not just Friday night, is it? It's Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and every other night." She says "Just have one! That can't do any harm." I remind myself "It wouldn't be just one, would it? It would be the whole bottle." She says "You've done nearly three weeks! You'll have re-defined your relationship with alcohol. Now you can moderate!" Well, now she's bought out the big guns. The classic moderation argument. I've been here before - again and again. I know that even if I can 'moderate' for a while it won't be long before I'm back where I started, doing DAY 1 all over again.

So, I remind myself again and again about how bad it got. I re-read Secret Drinker hits the High Bottom. Then I think about all of you guys - about Kags, Justine, Wendy, Laura, Jen, Emily, Bethany and everyone else who's been kind enough to post comments. I think about my lovely friend, Philippa (now 9 years sober and an addiction counsellor) who is the only person I know who has my blog url. And the main reason I don't physically wrestle the Saint Emilion from the husband and drink it from the bottle is that I don't want to let you all down.

So thank you all, because today I feel much better. Apart from the fact that I seem to have gained a pound in the last 24 hours - damned carrot cake.

Onwards and upwards, soberly.....

Am I an alcoholic?

I hate the word alcoholic. This is the first time I've used it in this blog. I'm sure that my loathing of the term is partly why I didn't stop drinking years ago. By defining people as 'alcoholic' there's an implication that it's all very black and white: you're either a normal person or you're an alcoholic. Yet what I see all around me is - to coin a phrase - fifty shades of grey.

Several times over the years (usually after a big night out, with a crashing hangover) I've typed 'am I an alcoholic' into Google. Generally you get one of those quizzes (I've always loved quizzes!). The questions can vary quite a bit, so there's obviously no agreement on which are the best ones. Here's an example from one I Googled this morning:

1. Do you lose time from work due to drinking? No
2. Is drinking making your home life unhappy? Not really
3. Do you drink because you are shy with other people? God, no
4. Is drinking affection your reputation? No, I was very secret about it
5. Have you ever felt remorse after drinking? Is the Pope Catholic?
6. Have you had financial difficulties because of drinking? No
7. Do you turn to inferior companions and environments when drinking? Goodness no, only the very nicest wine bars with lovely friends!
8. Does drinking make you careless of your family's welfare? I very much hope not!
9. Has your ambition decreased since drinking? Yes, probably, but I only realised that once I stopped!
10. Do you crave a drink at the same time daily? Yes, absolutely.

There are ten more questions. I answered 'yes' to sleeping badly and drinking alone, but no to all the questions about being hospitalised, blacking out, seeing my doctor and so on. And after all that, what was the result? You may have a problem with alcohol or be an alcoholic. 

Well I knew that I 'may have a problem with alcohol.' That's why I'm doing your stupid questionnaire! I want to know if I do have a problem with alcohol. And since I answered 'no' to 70% of the questions I'm thinking 'Well, that's all right then! Carry on! Crack open the Pouilly Fume.' But, quite obviously, drinking 1 or 2 bottles of wine a day for a decade is not okay, even if many of your friends are doing it too.

The amazing Jason Vale (read his 'Kick the drink, easily' if you haven't already) says, bravely, 'there is no such thing as an alcoholic'. He believes, and it makes sense, that alcohol is an addictive drug just like any other. Anyone who drinks regularly is an alcohol addict, it's just a question of how far down the slippery slide you've slid. And it's a very good idea to get of the slide before you hit 'rock bottom' or, what society defines as 'alcoholism', but Jason would call chronic alcohol addiction.

The problem is that we are terrified of getting off the slippery slide and quitting alcohol because then we will be admitting to ourselves and others that we are an alcoholic, and that word has a really bad rap. It comes loaded with terrible imagery of tramps quaffing methylated spirits and mothers passing out on the floor in a pool of vomit in front of their children. It means admitting to an incurable illness, and resigning ourselves to be miserable for the rest of our lives! Jason Vale points out that 'alcohol is the only drug in the world where, when you stop taking it, you are seen as having a problem.'

I was a terrible nicotine addict, but I gave up 13 years ago and I do not define myself now as a nicotin-aholic. I am a non smoker. I am nicotine free! I am an ex-addict who saw the light.

Likewise, I do not want to spend the rest of my life standing up in a church hall in front of strangers saying "My name's SoberMummy and I am an alcoholic." I do not want to define myself by a negative. I want to shout "I am a non-drinker! I am alcohol free! I used to be an addict - like millions of people worldwide - but I was brave enough and wise enough to quit. Hurrah!"

I honestly believe that when we manage to rebrand the ex drinker as wise, strong, clever and alcohol free, rather than an ill, sad, struggling 'alcoholic' far more people will jump onto the wagon. So, I'm starting a movement - one blog at a time. Anonymously. And isn't that ironic!

If you're reading this thinking 'am I an alcoholic?', then please forget the terminology, it's a red herring. You, like all regular drinkers, are probably addicted to alcohol. It's a horribly additive substance, so there's no shame in that. The sooner you quit, the easier it is, and - believe me, and millions of others - you'll never regret it.

Good luck this weekend, everyone! Let me know how you get on....

Related Posts: Secret Drinker Hits the High Bottom, Why so many well educated, middle aged women drink, Why ex-drinkers rock! Am I an alcoholic? Part 2

Alcohol Induced Rage

My UK readers will be aware that Jeremy Clarkson has been all over the news this week. For the benefit of the non-Brits (by the way, welcome to my reader(s) in Antigua!), Jeremy Clarkson is a very well known, well loved TV presenter over here. Jeremy presents Top Gear - one of our most popular TV programmes, and one of our most lucrative exports.

Last week Jeremy got into a brawl with his producer in a hotel in Yorkshire because, allegedly, his producer had the nerve to produce a plate of cold meat and cheese for his dinner instead of the steak he'd asked for. As a result the BBC have suspended all showings of Top Gear and Jeremy is under investigation and will, despite huge popular support, probably lose his job.

I took one look at Jeremy's florid complexion, puffy jowls, confused and depressed expression and thought "ladies - he's one of us." Some commentators claim that he'd spent 'several hours in the pub' prior to the brawl, some that he didn't drink at all. His boss has muttered (on the record) about re-hab. It looks to me (and this is purely speculation, and not in any way an accusation) like a classic case of alcohol induced rage. Either rage due to too much alcohol or too little...

We've all been there, haven't we? Many times I've picked a fight with the poor, longsuffering husband when he's got back from work and I've been (secretly) 2/3 of a bottle down. I've slammed cupboard doors passive aggressively and considered hurling a wooden spoon across the kitchen as a result of some (imagined) slight. Jeremy, allegedly, called his producer a 'lazy, Irish ****' and punched him in the face - splitting his lip. I never went that far. Apart from anything else, my husband isn't Irish.

Professor McMurran - a psychologist at Nottingham University - says that alcohol "narrows our focus of attention and gives us tunnel vision....If someone provokes us while we're drunk, we don't take other factors into account, such as the consequences of rising to the bait. This can lead to violent reactions from people who would usually shrug things off." Also, because alcohol lowers inhibitions our warning systems don't go off and "this can put us in dangerous or confrontational situations."

The Prof goes on to say that alcohol affects the way we process information so we are more likely to misinterpret information - to see insults where there are none. That's why so many fights start "because he looked at me the wrong way."

When I was in the high powered job (with the bar in the office), I remember having two large glasses of wine with a colleague at lunch. When I got back to my desk I found an e-mail from a very important, global client asking for a number of changes to the edit of the new TV commercial we'd just shot. I fired off a reply in (drunken) high umbrage, calling him a Neanderthal nincompoop who was obviously unable to appreciate a work of true artistic genius. This e-mail became famous and made me a heroine in the creative department, but it got me fired off the business and could easily have lost me my job.

Funnily enough, since giving up the booze I've not picked one fight. I've been - relatively - Zen. I am a thing of wondrous calm and serenity.

So I look at lovely, raddled, remorseful Jeremy and think: log on to www.mummywasasecretdrinker.blogspot.com Jezza, and we'll give you a big virtual hug and persuade you of the magical restorative powers of hot chocolate.

Love, peace and calm to you all X

Related post: Alcohol Induced Rage Part 2

Secret drinker hits the high bottom

'Hitting the high bottom' sounds a bit like a Miley Cyrus dance move, but that's not what I'm talking about.

It seems to be generally understood that alcoholics need to 'hit rock bottom' before they can shake off the denial and change their lives. We're used to hearing stories of people doing terrible things like sleeping with their best friend's husband, or putting themselves at huge risk - waking up in a gutter with no idea where they are or how they got there. For some, a medical diagnosis is the wake up call, or an 'intervention' by family and friends. The problem with never getting to 'rock bottom' is that it's much easier to convince yourself that you're absolutely not an alcoholic and, therefore, are perfectly able to start drinking again 'in moderation.'

I know that I'm going to constantly question whether going back to drinking is possible for me, so in order to remind myself why I stopped I thought I should document my 'high bottom'. Not a 'rock bottom', admittedly, but a 'bottom' in any case.

There were three events in short succession that gave me the necessary wake up call. My drinking had gradually increased, from sharing a bottle of wine with my fabulous long-suffering husband over dinner every night, to also (secretly) drinking half a bottle at lunch time and (secretly) drinking another half bottle while getting the children's supper ready and supervising homework. When I say 'secretly', I mean that I never confessed to drinking 1.5 bottles of wine a day, but my children were totally used to seeing me with a glass of wine constantly to hand.

Event number 1 was in my youngest child's classroom. She's five. Her teacher pulled me aside one morning and said "Lucy said the funniest thing yesterday! We were reading a book called 'a cup of tea' and I asked if Mummy liked a cup of tea, and she replied 'no, Mummy likes wine!' Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"Ha! Ha!" I replied, "Aren't children funny?" but inside I felt terrible. The truth is that my children think it's perfectly normal for Mummies to drink constantly. What kind of a role model am I?

Event number 2 was a few weeks ago when, for the first time I hid a bottle of wine. I'd always thought that alcoholics stashed bottles of vodka in laundry baskets, and because I only drank expensive wine, and never hid what I was drinking, I was ok. Well that evening I'd cracked open a bottle at about 5.30pm (as near as dammit to wine o'clock) while I was cooking the children's supper. By 7pm it was only a third full and I knew that the husband would - quite rightly - raise an eyebrow when he got home, so I hid it in the back of the cupboard and texted him asking him to bring a bottle home with him for supper (which I then drank half of, obviously). I did the same thing a couple more times, and realised that I'd crossed over one of my invisible lines.

Event number 3 was another line crossing. Alcoholics drink in the morning. If you don't drink in the morning, therefore, you're not an alcoholic - right? Well, a couple of weeks ago I woke up on a Saturday with a rotten hangover. I had lots to get done and knew that I wasn't going to feel better until I was able to have another drink. But it was only 10.30am. There was an inch of red wine left in a bottle from the night before. I poured it into a mug (a mug! ), so that the children wouldn't notice, and I drank it. And - wow! - I felt better. For about 5 minutes. Until I realised that I'd broken the big taboo. I stared at the empty mug and - with horrible irony - it had 'World's Best Mum' printed on the side. And that was it. I knew it was all over.

So when the wine witch starts whispering that it's really ok to drink on special occasions I'm going to read this again and remember the shame.

By the way, I went out for dinner with the husband and another couple last night and drank water. Yay!