How to lose friends (under-the-influence people)
It took a while, but when I stopped drinking alcohol, many of those fleeting, fearful imaginings I'd had about what life would be like – how nothing would ever be the same again – slowly came true. The too-bright nights unwinding over a drink or ten? Gone forever. Close friends taking the same liquid shortcut to a more communicative state of mind? No more.
Sounds terrible, right? Way back when, I thought the same. And now...I get that I didn't really get it before.
The fine print
Let's start with some caveats:
I'm not bothered if people drink around me. Nor am I tempted to drink. It's simply...not a thing. Alcohol has no power over me. I'll just drink something else. Cheers.
I'm not stridently anti-alcohol – so pop that cork, if that's what you're into. Follow your arrow.
My choice has nothing to do with anyone else, and likewise, other people's choices have nothing to do with me. If someone would rather have a drink around me but isn't, out of a sweet-but-misguided effort to be sensitive...well, I'd rather they just did what makes them feel most comfortable.
I don't care if others do or do not, but in my experience others care if I do or do not. (The classic liberal versus fascist dichotomy.)
If you don't mind me asking...
When you stop drinking, you'll soon become keenly aware of how drinkers are perceived: they're fun, free, exciting, willing, open, alive. Likewise there's a specific paradigm for those who don't partake: you must be religious, right? (By which we mean judgemental.) Abstaining due to medication. (So, boring then.)
Pick your label, they're pretty much just synonyms for “boring”, or “judgemental”.
Of course, none of the above is actually true – there's no straight A/B divide, but there's industry, and advertising, and a whole world of people who like taking a socially-acceptable drug but don't want to be considered to be taking a drug. People like the shared experience. I certainly did.
Regardless, you'll probably be gently urged – by those that do drink – to explain yourself at some point. Or maybe some of your drinking friends will vanish from the radar because they've decided you're just no rock 'n' roll fun these days.
And that's okay.
It's actually very okay.
Because, it means you're okay.
Be patient with the ones who want to understand, smile politely for those who pretend they want to understand as a gambit to suggest they're better than you (they're not), and say good riddance to anyone who considers their peer pressure more important than your boundaries.
The state of the union
If only it were as simple as all that though. Alcohol is a power in and of itself – in that the world is set up for drinkers, by default. At work and play, a willingness to drink alcohol is a force that binds people together. It's a commodity: a chip you can cash in for a needle-scratch jump to closeness.
Plus, we like people who are like us, and as a corollary, we dislike those who are different from us. (For more on this, read Cialdini's Influence, it's fascinating.) Making an active choice not to be like others can be challenging for those others; choosing not to exchange yourself for quid in that currency is an act of rebellion.
But when it comes to my health and happiness, if the choice is between a position as General in the Empire or being a Rebel...well, I'm rebel scum.
New truths
The classics tell us 'in vino veritas', or 'in wine there's truth' – but in these sober days of mine there's also a refreshing clarity, and honesty, to my world view. I notice things I didn't notice before. I join the dots.
Alcohol is a weirdly pervasive engine that drives so much social interaction. When you remove it, certain social interactions fall apart. Or maybe I'm just no longer a sparkling conversationalist like I was back then? Could be. (It's not.)
Some friendships have fallen by the wayside since I stopped drinking, and that’s alright – these things ebb and flow like the tides. It's all just evidence of the truths we're living, right here and now.
For some folk, me not drinking with them makes them feel unbearably vulnerable – so much so that they no longer want to hang with me.
But my choice isn't about them, it's about me. I'll not harm myself for the benefit of others, nor will I accept false intimacy in my friendships.
For others, they're dealing with their shit, and I'm dealing with mine – and how I'm doing okay is received as a slap in the face, because their dealing isn't going so well.
I'd like to help. I've offered. I'll be right here waiting if they need me. My door, and heart, is always open.
In other cases, I was the initiator of rad times spent, but now I organise fewer gatherings and others simply aren't practised in making, or aren't inclined to make, the effort to organise.
We'll see each other seldom then; Happy Birthday. But our relationship will be on more even ground when we do come together.
This I know for sure: nobody else's needs affect my choice to not drink alcohol. I've got so much love to give, but if a friendship comes with a rider sheet, it's no longer compatible with my level of self-respect.
Loss and growth
Some of those terrible worries came true, from a certain point of view. I don't have those nights any more. Some people stayed. Some didn't. Some will come back to me someday. Some won't. Life is made up of meetings and partings.
Things changed. My days are different, and though I have more time than ever before (because I'm not wasting it getting wasted) there still aren't enough hours in the day to make, and do, and create everything I want to. I have other nights now: nights full of stardust and secrets, where I remember every last beautiful moment.
Now.
I spend every living moment in my own skin.
I have the sunset and sunrise, and when the day changes shape I feel a sense of peace.
I unwind over intimate evenings of cake and conversation.
I have neon nights full of breathless laughter.
I lose myself painting with light, words, sounds, and love.
I dance just the same way I always have.
(Badly, but with gusto. No fucks given.)
I balance my emotional books in ways that help me to grow.
I sleep, and sleep well.
I dream, and dream well.
I learn, and learn well.
For the first time in years.
I am here.
Now.
Back when 'life being different' was a terrifying concept, 'not having those times any more' meant that my world would be an emptier place. But my world is fuller that it's ever been. I do more stuff, and more interesting stuff now than I ever have. People come and go, but I'm still me, and I still have to live In Here, whether they're nearby or not. And I like the me I am much better now.
I didn't have the capacity for understanding all this, way back when – it's a bit like the Dunning-Kruger effect, but with sobriety. As time ticked forwards, taking me with it, I started to comprehend how life could be wonderful, in ways I could never have imagined before.
Now I get it, and things will never be the same again.
Love always,
Fay
xXx