I find it amazing that alcohol, in particular wine, is so prevalent in my mind.
More than three years since I last tasted a glass of wine, it is like a shadow following me. Always there when I turn around as if to say; “Ha, you thought I’d gone away, didn’t you? Well, I haven’t. I’m still here. You don’t get away that easily.”
Evidently not.
Just because I’ve stopped drinking alcohol doesn’t mean alcohol has forgotten me.
I’ve faced lots of challenges in the past three years without alcohol to numb the pain and I don’t know how I haven’t had a drink. This is not written in praise of myself. It is just a fact. The moment I think I’m great is the moment I fail. Today, I know what having a drink means for me. When the clouds are dark and the sky has turned into a grey blanket, will a drink seem like a good idea? I hope not.
I was away in Portugal for a week and, with the beautiful weather, my laissez-faire attitude to life was augmented, and a drink didn’t seem like a bad idea. Everyone else seemed to be doing it and enjoying themselves. Why not me?
My drinking was not like others’ who drink socially and know when to stop. I drank to forget. There is nothing social about that kind of drinking.
With the holiday vibe going on, I forgot the hangovers, the shame of
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