I Know How This All Ends
I never truly understood thirst until alcohol showed me what it means to feel thirsty
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“It’s not about how much you drink. It’s about HOW you drink.”
Glennon Doyle recently said this in her podcast and I full-body shivered. Where was this advice in my teens, when I only drank a few times in high school but every time was like a ravage animal who lost all control and connection to my body.
I never truly understood thirst until alcohol showed me what it means to feel thirsty.
The first time I got drunk, I was a sixteen years old on a exchange program in Sweden. An older boy handed me a glass of jagermeister and I remember my hand shaking as I accepted the drink. He laughed, and of course my heart plummeted into my gut from sheer embarrassment.
Be cool, Celeste. Be cool.
And with the first sip, something amazing happened. It’s like the moment in Cinderella when her fairy godmother waves the wand and Cinderella magically morphs from rags to ballgown with a full fledge glitter aura surrounding her.
I felt cool. I felt beautiful. I even felt a freakin glitter aura surrounding me, for goodness sakes.
I write more about this night in my book, so I’m not going to tell you what happened that night. But needless to say, that experience showed me everything I ever needed to know about how I drink.
And for me? My insecurities melted away. I wondered if this is how normal people feel all the time. I felt like I found the life hack I was waiting for my entire life. But also? There was no “OFF” switch. I was insatiable. I always wanted ‘just one more.’
Over the years, I continued to drink problematically but I felt safe from the dreaded “A” word because I didn’t drink every day. I could got days or months even without drinking. Then, experiencing two pregnancies without a drop of alcohol felt like all the proof I needed.
‘I am a regular drinker,’ I assured myself. This is normal drinking.
Even as I surrounded myself with people who only drank like me. Even as I started to drink more to seemingly feel the same buzz as I used to. Two glasses of wine no longer cut it, so naturally I need three. But it’s not because I have a problem… I just have a high tolerance. It’s because parenting is hard. It’s because I’m more tightly wound than others.
And when I gave myself permission to let loose, the sky was the limit. I remember going to a few strip clubs in near blackouts and trying to get up on stage. How’s the glitter aura looking now, Cinderella?
BuT iTs nOt A pRoBlEm… I’m just having fun. This is normal drinking.
The hangovers got worse. The drinking got heavier and more often. And the blackouts became more frequent.
What was I waiting for? The DUI? The talk from my spouse? A health scare? Getting caught in my lies?
And yet, I can now see the writing on the wall with that warm summer night in Sweden. A jagermeister that turned to many more. I kissed two boys that night, though I only remember kissing one. And that was just the beginning. To think I was so embarrassed by my shaky hands early in that evening knowing what I know now about how that night ended.
I think about my higher power, God, watching my drinking story over the years and shaking his head. “Girl… I tried to warn you in Sweden how this would all end,” he’s saying.
I spent most of my life thinking I could control how much I drank, and sometimes I could. But I could never control how I drank.
I think back on that night knowing now how it all ends… with lots more reckless nights, yes. But so much more deceit, insecurity, self-sabotage and mostly just fooling myself over and over again.
Today I heard someone say they had a few months of sobriety under their belt but they have a vacation coming up and are starting to question if they really need to abstain. “It’s just a week. Maybe this time it will be different. Why does everyone else get to drink but me?”
I’ve been there. I know how that feels. I’ve asked those questions. I’ve felt that resistance.
But I know now that it’s not about how much I drink, only how I drink. Even on days I could moderate, it felt awful. I’d be in my head the whole night. I felt deprived and frustrated. And those were the days I could successfully moderate. Other times, I lost control completely. It’s a heck of a lot easier to give up on moderation when you’re 1-2 drinks in, and more and more often those nights ended a lot like that heartbreaking night in Sweden where a innocent teenage girl started drinking and couldn’t stop.
Girl, I know how this all ends.
My book, It’s Not About the Wine: The Loaded Truth Behind Mommy Wine Culture, is now available for pre-order here.
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