“Non-Alcoholic Guinness Request Met With Mockery”

Have you ever experienced a day when everything seems to conspire against you? You step out, only to realise your wallet is still at home. You return to retrieve your wallet, now realising you’ve left your keys inside. Amidst the dim winter morning light, the distinction between black and navy tights is nearly nonexistent. You intended to wear the black ones, but it eventually dawns on you that you have mismatched your footwear – one black and one navy suede ankle boot.

These may be little vexations, but our reaction to these mishaps can have a significant impact. Accepting the inevitability of such occurrences can dilute their impact. Of course, major letdowns are daunting and cause pain, making us feel as if happiness will never return.

Yet, let’s pause and recall the countless times our hopes have been dashed before, and how we always managed to get through it. The same principle applies here. Why exacerbate our situation through our own negativity, giving it more weight than it warrants?

The plea for “perspective” is reiterated often, but are we implementing it enough? I recently went through a letdown, compounded by a series of small setbacks during a period when I was low-spirited. I felt a constriction around my heart and my mind was in chaos. Worse still, I felt a surge of anger. Recognising this, I knew I needed to act. Anger would only cloud my judgement and sap my energy. Instead, I chose to engage with my anger, displacing it away from me.

Many people choose to distract themselves with a drink when situations get overwhelming. “Here’s a drink, it’ll help take the edge off”– a statement commonly heard when faced with a daunting situation. Unfortunately, that was not an option I had. However, is it a viable solution? Its effects are temporary at best. What then? Another drink? You see the cycle formed here? We must confront and outsmart our inner turmoil.

I attended a day-long spiritual gathering and at its conclusion, we crossed the thoroughfare towards the cathedral. Following a brief sermon, we were requested to join Holy Communion.

On another instance, I joined a social rendezvous one twilight. The chamber was peopled by females, the exact count slips my memory, though they were definitely over a dozen. Except me, everyone was a stranger to the hostess. Being aware of my preferences, she had stocked up my beloved effervescent water.

To my surprise, barring two ladies, everyone ordered a glass of water. Even the two exceptions switched to water after their initial drink. How peculiar was that?

Rows of wine bottles lay across the kitchen counter, unpopped and untouched. The thirst for water was so great that, when the hostess was refilling my glass, I asked her jokingly, “We might need a miracle akin to Jesus’s, except you’ll need to convert wine into water.”

Finding this amusing, she replied, “You should include that in your piece.”

However, I still wouldn’t be comfortable having my addiction to alcohol public knowledge.

Why? The reason eludes me. It’s possible that the presence of teetotallers, especially those recovering from alcohol abuse, alters people’s behaviour. They may believe that imbibing water alongside you is a form of support. But it’s not. If they withhold their drinking to avoid enticing you, it’s an unnatural restraint and it strains the friendship.

Then, there are those friends who sip their drinks yet continually ask if it makes me uncomfortable.

Does it disturb me?

Would I rather they abstain?

I’d rather they just stop asking. I’ve asserted already that it doesn’t bother me if others drink in my presence, what troubles me is that I can’t join in.

There’s a distinction there.

Revisiting that spiritual gathering again, after the sermon concluded, as I approached the altar to take Holy Communion, I observed that the parish was accepting bread from the vicar on one flank and then turning towards a lady with a goblet on the opposite side. It didn’t take me long to realise that the goblet contained wine, which was to be bypassed. As I went back to my pew, I could sense everyone’s gaze on me.

““Oh, observe, the lady seems to be avoiding drinking from the goblet. Any idea why?”
“She could be a recovering addict.”
“She doesn’t present as a typical alcoholic.”
“And what is the usual appearance of an alcoholic?”
“Usually, they have tired, bloodshot eyes.”
(Just to be clear, the above discourse is entirely fictitious.)
After a long while, I found myself in Davy Byrnes, a place I enjoyed despite being teetotal, captivated by the bar mirror’s display of multicoloured and oddly shaped bottles. The elegant decor, reminiscent of a traditional French tavern, with its ornate ceiling and authentic artwork adorning the walls, made it a pleasing spot for an afternoon meal. I plan to return.
The ping of my mobile alerted me to a message. It was from a WhatsApp group, its members oblivious to my past struggle with alcohol. The message contained a photo of a couple at a restaurant, a waiter jotting down their orders.
“I’ll take a non-alcoholic Guinness, please,” requests the man.
“Would you like some crayons and a colouring book to go with that?”
Seriously?
Humour often serves as a mask, helping to ease our deepest fears and anxieties.
I holidayed in Italy. Was I anxious? To be perfectly frank – yes, I was. Who wouldn’t be? Vacation mode tends to lower one’s guard, particularly when faced with the tempting combination of Mediterranean climate and the mellifluous Italian tongue (Is there any other language that sounds like a melody when spoken?). Add to that the pairing possibilities with dishes like spaghetti bolognese or risotto alle vongole and a tantalizing glass of red wine?
I didn’t intentionally take Dolores along, but she managed to slip into my plans, as I feared she might. And, despite the luggage restrictions, my metaphorical suit of armour was the first item I readied for the journey.”

Everything proceeded smoothly. I must confess, I was tempted by the idea of a sip of wine, but the knowledge of my inability to stop at a mere sip, kept me from indulging. I did, nonetheless, inadvertently partake in a beverage containing alcohol. This unsuspected incident occurred one morning, as I requested coffee. It was accompanied by a charmingly packaged, petite chocolate treat. The attractive and small in size sweets instigated me to ask the waitress for an extra one. I downed the duo of tiny treats and sipped my coffee, only then realising the true nature of the confections – they were biscuits flavoured with amaretto – the moment’s action was irreversible.

The action was committed.

A Sunday lunch invitation came my way. Given the tardiness of the meal, both varieties of wine, red and white, were making their rounds. Predictably, I was the lone wolf, avoiding the sweet nectar. However, the yearning was intense. I glanced around at the reverberating glasses and could not help but be green-eyed towards all those who enjoyed their indulgence. I pondered over the sensation of tasting the divine liquid trickling down their throats.

My craving for a tipple was immense. I was nurturing a harmful fixation which I had to curb. Observing the change in the demeanour of everyone post the initial rounds of drinks, I realised that they were more at ease – not that they weren’t comfortable earlier, but the alcohol-induced serenity wasn’t hard to miss. And it was that, which I yearned for.

I believe abstinence mirrors life itself. It comprises of highs and lows. There are moments when I find my stance on sobriety more firm than usual.

My laptop, a machine well-versed with my preferences, this morning, threw up an article which spoke about the effects of daily wine consumption on the human body. At first, I was indifferent. After all, I deemed myself an authority on the subject. However, curiosity prevailed. However, as I delved deeper into the article, I regretted it, as it served as an endorsement of wine. Rest assured, I will not enumerate any encouraging factors of wine consumption here.

But, on the brink of surrender to the call of the corkscrew, I finally found the solace I sought.

Alcohol results in dehydration and accelerates skin ageing. A triumphant yes!

Alcohol provokes the manifestation of spider telangiectasia lesions beneath the skin. A resounding yes!

Consuming red wine often leads to headaches. A glorious yes!

Alcohol hinders quality sleep. A victorious yes!

Sobriety, in my view, is quite comparable to the journey of life – filled with ups and downs. At times, my sobriety seems rock solid, unshakeable. Other times, it dangles by a thread. A drink’s allure isn’t always tied to a bad day or failure; joyous events can coax it out too. A piece of good news and the instinctive urge is to bring out the champagne. It’s vital for me to understand my triggers and have a counter plan in place.

Would you believe, once upon a time, my presently 21-month-long sobriety seemed an unattainable dream? And that once achieved, the thirst for alcohol would simply evaporate?

The belief that if I could manage to abstain for such a long while, surely I could have the odd glass of wine, lodged itself in my mind. The concept of drinking without draining the bottle dry seemed logical, didn’t it?

[Power came flooding back into my life with Abstinence: ‘I Am Not an Alcoholic’]

Alas, I fear it isn’t so. Our recollections get distorted as time progresses, bending to our whims rather than reflecting reality. I constantly remind myself of the destructive path my consumption was on, far from those who savour a single glass through the evening. How could that even be enjoyable?

Despite nearing my 21st month of being sober, the yearning for alcohol lingers, alarmingly so. I am yet to have fully escaped its clutches.

Is it ever truly possible to do so? Quite doubtful.

I contemplated whether to pen this down at all, but my personal motivation in writing these articles compels me. The terror of a potential relapse, a wavering day of weakness that will make me cave, haunts me incessantly. It’s like Dolores’s voice persistently whispers, ‘Drinking wasn’t that detrimental. Look how everyone is enjoying their wine – you can too.’

The fear that one day, I might be swayed by her words is truly terrifying.

To read more, check:
– Part 1: Alcohol and I aren’t friends
– Part 2: I had resolved to cap it at three
– Part 3: Somebody turned to hand sanitiser
– Part 4: Nine bottles down are a thing of the past
– Part 5: A man claimed I wasn’t forthright
– Part 6: Will this drink leave a bitter aftertaste of regret?
– Part 7: I can’t peel my eyes off the wine.

– Chapter 8: Could the earth consume me?
– Chapter 9: Is another attempt at AA required?
– Chapter 10: Battling minor terrors of living
– Chapter 11: Proceed, you’ve earned it
– Chapter 12: The reasons behind my anonymity
– Chapter 13: My shine has faded
– Chapter 14: Strengthened through abstinence
– Chapter 15: Self-loathing couldn’t be greater
– Chapter 16: Concealing my addiction
– Chapter 17: Solitude in the city of Paris
– Chapter 18: The journey back to therapy

Written by Ireland.la Staff

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