Your Wellness

I Am Not an Alcoholic: A misguided joke reminded me of how difficult it is to stop drinking in Ireland

Part 12: Can you imagine the looks I would get if people saw me drinking a glass of wine?

Despite the freely flowing wine and my discomfort with the age demographic, I found the retreat to be restful and tranquil. Photograph: Srdjan Pav

Anonymous
Tue Aug 15 2023 - 06:01

Ah, the retreat. Did I succumb? The short answer is no, I didn’t drink any wine, but the real answer is much longer. As I’d been told, wine was served at dinner, but it also featured prominently at lunch too. I was surprised by this. And it wasn’t just a jug of the locally grown organic red wine; there were bottles of white wine on every table. And, unlike what I’d been told, both were replenished when empty.

No one there knew me or of my dependency on alcohol. I could have drunk away to my heart’s content without anyone being the wiser. For more than 30 years I was a master at concealing how much I drank; I’m presuming I haven’t lost that skill.

Of course, wherever I sat, the wine was placed in front of me. Why does this happen? I tried surreptitiously to slide it away, but, like a boomerang, it came back to me with unfailing loyalty.

Dinner was eaten in silence save for Gregorian chants.

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It’s a strange thing. There was no sense of achievement that I didn’t have a drink when the temptation to do so was enticing and immediate, yet, if I’d succumbed, I’m guessing I wouldn’t be writing this now.

I would be ashamed of myself and hiding away.

As well as the wine issue, I had to cope with the age demographic. I was the oldest person on the retreat. I was aware of this fact before I decided to sign the dotted line. I thought it wouldn’t matter.

It did. I was wrong.

Being the eldest in a group in itself is not a problem (I go to a dance class where I am the eldest, but I go for the tuition and when it is over, I go home). Being in an intimate situation with a much younger group over five days is a different matter. Individually, they were a great bunch of people; smart, innovative, hard-working and compassionate. But as a group I felt somewhat disjointed. This was my issue not theirs. On a one-to-one basis, I connected with each of them and I had some interesting conversations, but, collectively, I felt out of my comfort zone.

On my way back I decided to stay in Rome for a few days. And there, whenever I ordered water as my preferred drink, no one looked at me as if I’d ordered a bottle of rat poison

There was meditation every morning followed by a talk; one was on feng shui (good luck with that, I said to myself) – I am a very untidy person; I think I must have been having a smoke break when God was dishing out the tidy genes. Occasionally, I look around at the “stuff” around me and decide to tidy it all away. I feel good afterwards and I like the effect but, evidently not enough to maintain it. It requires more effort than I have. I imagine there’s a maze inside my head where the tidy gene gets lost trying to make her way out and only on rare occasions does she make it.

The retreat took place in a former monastery in the magical surroundings of the Umbrian valleys where peace, harmony and tranquility reigned. The setting of the monastery was what sold the idea to me. Even looking at its photograph I felt restful and could imagine what it would be like, surrounded by all those trees and the calming effect they would instil in me.

Despite the freely flowing wine and my discomfort with the age demographic, I found the retreat to be restful and tranquil.

It’s possibly more difficult to stop drinking in Ireland than other European countries in the sense that not drinking alcohol appears to be socially unacceptable in Ireland.

On my way back I decided to stay in Rome for a few days. And there, whenever I ordered water as my preferred drink, no one looked at me as if I’d ordered a bottle of rat poison. In other words, it was normal to have a meal without alcohol. But in Ireland that has not been my experience; at lunchtime you can be forgiven for not drinking wine, but eating dinner without drinking wine is suspect.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you an alcoholic?”

That last question was asked of me once. It was said in jest and the person was laughing so much at her witticism I didn’t have to answer.

I found myself at a large circular table recently where I was constantly being asked to pass the bottle of wine. It was like pass the parcel but I got no prize. I was the only one not drinking and I felt out of place. That might have had something to do with the fact that it wasn’t until dessert was served that my co-diners finally stopped asking the question: “Won’t you have a glass of wine?” If they had ignored the fact that I wasn’t drinking, it would have made the experience so much easier. And the cherry on top of the cake was when the person on my left was clumsily pouring out a glass of wine for the person on my right – over my plate. After he poured the wine, droplets of wine spilt on the tablecloth and on my food. I knew I was being fussy but I couldn’t eat anymore. I honestly was frightened. What if I tasted wine? Would I reach for the bottle and empty it into my glass? It was a horrible moment and I was angry.

I have reached my one year of sobriety. Strangely, I didn’t feel great. There is a lot going on in my life at the moment and although I have often thought of having a drink to blot out the pain, it would only exacerbate the problem. At least sober, I have a clear head and can try to negotiate the bumpy path ahead.

I bought wine the other day. No, no, not for me. It was for a gift for someone. I tried to think of anything else I could buy but a bottle of wine was the only thing coming to mind. If it were for a female, the list of things I could have bought is endless but it was for a man and a good bottle of wine was the only thing I could think of to buy. This meant going into an off-licence, something I haven’t done in almost a year. It was strange seeing all those bottles of wine staring out at me from their shelves. Was it my imagination or did they chorus “where have you been?” “We haven’t seen you in a long time.” “Buy me, I’m on special offer.”

I didn’t look at labels; I couldn’t spend time reading labels which would describe how well such and such a particular wine would pair with red meat or strong cheese. Really, who cares? I once heard someone describe a wine as “cheeky”. I whispered to the person sitting beside me: “Shoot me if you ever hear me say that sentence.”

I well remember the time in an off-licence where a staff member came up to me and said: “Ah, a rich, ripe white Burgundy and smoked salmon make a good marriage.” I turned and looked at him and he pointed at my basket which had a packet of smoked salmon sticking out of it. I muttered something about being late for an appointment and ran out of the shop. I never liked it when someone tried to be a wine connoisseur – using language such as:

“Backbone.” Apparently, it means full-bodied and balanced.

“Lively.” A child is lively, not a wine. How can a wine be either alert or enthusiastic? Give me a break, please.

“Elegant.” This word is used to describe wines that are understated and have more restrained characteristics. I’m actually laughing as I write this. Do people really discuss wines in these terms? And if they do, should it not be illegal?

But the cream of the crop was:

“Legs.” Evidently these are the streaks that trickle down the glass when swirled and the more prominent they are, the higher the alcohol content. Who knew?

I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible – I knew how much I wanted to spend and swiftly took a bottle off the shelve that was in my price range.

I made a discovery when I was in the off-licence: they sell the sparkling water I like at €2 per six bottles cheaper than the supermarket where I usually buy it. So, I may be a more frequent visitor to the off-licence.

I had the radio on but wasn’t really listening to it when I heard the word alcohol and immediately it got my attention. Marty Whelan was interviewing Bill Whelan, who was talking about his drinking and how he had stopped because he knew he had a problem (it wasn’t clear how he had accomplished this). He said he hadn’t had a drink in years (he didn’t specify how many) but that he had once relapsed after an abstinence of five years. Again, I got frightened when he mentioned this. My immediate thought: am I ever going to be free from the power of alcohol? All that I have been saying in these articles is true: be aware, be prudent, be vigilant.

People are not comfortable speaking about addiction. Maybe it makes them question their own alcohol intake? Maybe it brings up unpleasant feelings they’d like to forget?

I was sitting outside a cafe in the warm sunshine having just ordered a cup of coffee. Alcohol, which is on my mind far more than I’d like, was the furthest thing from it at that moment when the waiter, with a big smile on his face as if endorsing my choice, placed a glass of rose wine in front of me. He was gone before I could say anything. I watched as he placed a cup of coffee (my cup of coffee) on another table. The recipient was quicker than I had been to tell him of the mistake.

Is God testing me?

Some people have questioned me as to why I choose to write anonymously. There are a few reasons, but the main reason is: shame. Can you imagine the looks I would get if people saw me drinking a glass of wine?

“Look at her. Quaffing that wine like there’s a drought and harvesting this year has been cancelled.” Even if nobody was giving me a second thought (and they probably wouldn’t – people have too much going on in their own lives), I would feel I was being judged. The embarrassment if I fall off the wagon (I’d love to write that this is not a possibility but I can’t) would be unbearable, mostly for myself. Yes, I would feel I had let people down but I don’t have to live with them; I have to live with myself.

There is another reason: taboo. People are not comfortable speaking about addiction. Maybe it makes them question their own alcohol intake? Maybe it brings up unpleasant feelings they’d like to forget? Although the airwaves would have you believe it’s okay to talk about one’s mental health and be open, it’s not.

“I forgot to take my anti-depressants,” you say, fishing into your handbag at a dinner party. Suddenly the room goes silent and on one knows where to look.

“I forgot to take my statins,” you say, fishing into your handbag at the same dinner party and nobody is uncomfortable. What is the difference? One is medication for your mind and the other is medication for your body.

We can talk about mental health as a concept or in an abstract manner. Just keep it neutral and in someone else’s back yard, not mine.

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