I saw Nealo, a fantastic Irish Hip Hop artist, post over on Instagram that he was now four years off alcohol.
The first thing that popped into my mind, as is always the case when I hear someone has gone the sober route, is to say congratulations, so I did.
The second thing that pops into my mind is my own experience. The last drink I ever had was on September 7th, 2002. So, as I type, I'm entering my 25th drink-free year.
25 years... Some of you out there reading this weren't even born the last time I had a drink! There are masses of people who have never met drunk me, and, I'm glad for that.
Drink, for me, was an escape. From what? Well, truth be told, probably from myself. I was not, and probably still am not, the most self-confident person in the world, and alcohol masked that. It gave me all kinds of confidence, but strangely enough, never the confidence needed to chat up women. I'm still working on that one.
But the problem with drinking to gain confidence is that, over time, you need to drink more, and then more and then... well, you see where I'm going with this. But hey, it wasn't a problem because I could still do my job, I could still pay my bills, I could still function in the real world.
Until the day came when I couldn't...
I woke up that morning to a very irate housemate, a room that stank, a very angry mother on the phone and no clothes on, bar a sock...
I'd been at a family wedding the night before and, well, I wasn't on my best behaviour. I have very vague memories of the night, and none of them, not one, paints me in a good light.
My sides hurt that morning. I couldn't breathe properly, I ached from head to toe, but I had been summoned to my parents for Sunday dinner, and no amount of saying no was getting me out of it.
I remember walking into the kitchen that day, my mother looking at me, not angrily, but with disappointment in her eyes.
That was hard to take.
Dinner was almost harder. I couldn't eat, I didn't want to drink, I just needed bed.
Later that day, someone rang to see if I'd go for a pint. I said no, not realising that it was the start of something.
That day turned into a week.
My sides still hurt the following weekend, no matter how many bottles of water I drank. Somewhere during that fortnight, I thought I'd give up the drink for a month, let my body recover.
That fortnight became a month.
That month became three, and it was Christmas. I wondered, can I last till New Year's? And I did.
I figured, let's give it six months. Paddy's Day, we'll have a blowout.
That came and went.
Easter was next, then summer holidays and then, before I knew it, year one was complete.
Did I struggle?
No, I don't think so.
I was a stubborn bollix.
The more people offered to buy me drink, the more forceful my refusals became. Some learned the hard way and lost money on buying me booze I refused to drink. Others refused to buy me Cokes or sparkling water. Others disappeared out of my life for a while, saying I was no fun sober.
I stuck to my guns though.
I didn't give in.
That's the thing about doing anything in life. You can't do it for anyone else. It just doesn't work. You have to do it for yourself, first and foremost. Absolutely, get inspiration from and take support from others, but do it because you want to do it, not because they want you to do it.
This isn't a "look at me, I'm fucking great" post. It's just a brief but honest account of why I stopped drinking. It is probably the one thing in my life that I did, on my own, that I am proud of.
Anyway, thankfully there are no photos to follow this post. Well, maybe one...
