Alcohol and Its Effects: Why I Don’t Drink
To this day, my memory still replays the brisk Thursday night in December like a viewfinder. Scene after scene, with a dull, dim light behind each picture. The bar before dinner — click — the shots — click — the steakhouse dinner — click — the bar after dinner — click.
It was just after nine PM when my CEOs Porsche pulled under the porte-cochére of a hotel near the San Francisco airport. My window was down, my body slumped to the right of the racing seat. I was using my arm to hold my head as close to the fresh air as possible. The spins were catching up to me. And quickly.
I vaguely recall him telling me to stay put, as I noticed an older white couple standing near the car — the woman practically clutching her pearls in disdain, as I did my best to keep the Patron from making its way back up. Once I was essentially carried to my room, I was given a bottle of room-temp bedside Fiji, and a Snickers bar — only the latter of which was by my request, I’m sure. I barely heard the door shut behind my boss, on his way back to the company holiday party, before I relinquished control to the poison.
Because time stood still after that, I don’t know how long I was sick, how I got into bed, or how I somehow managed to refrain from destroying the two-story hotel room in my drunken stupor.
The next morning, using the textured wallpaper of the rocking hallway corridor, I made my way to the lobby once more, got into the back of a black Suburban, rode quietly back to the little strip on B Street where I left my car, and drove the rest of the way choking down my remorse and the rest of last night's dinner. And that was the last time I drank tequila.
A Little Backstory
I’ve never really been drawn to alcohol. I can recall taking a drink here or there in high school, making cocktails on my twentieth birthday, and getting drunk (for the first time) on my twenty-first. What I remember most about alcohol growing up, was that it was around — and served as it does for many — a social beverage of choice, or to take the edge off after a long day of work. It wasn’t until my own experiences with alcohol that I began to reflect on its consumption by those around me.
In my thirty years, I’ve been drunk less than a handful of times. Buzzed more often, of course, but drunk — definitely less than five. Belligerent, maybe twice.
The problem with me and alcohol, and I don’t know if this stems from my family tree or my lack of tolerance, is that the line of enough, and more than enough, is very faint. To compound the struggle, it also doesn’t take much to get me there. Foolishly, I’ve always followed a rule I was told in a bar once: “If you bite your bottom lip and can still feel it, you’re okay.” I can assure you now, that’s probably not the best measurement.
Including the night previously referenced, one other evening that I over-consumed, ended with the end of a year-long relationship. I’ve heard before that whatever mood you start drinking in only amplifies with alcohol; and it’s probably true — for most people. But for people like me — mean drunks — that’s not necessarily the case. We’ve all heard the jokes and stories of drunk alter-egos, but mine isn’t a sloppy or silly persona I give a name and refer to when discussing later. My drunk alter-ego is (verbally) combative, charged, and generally, destructive.
And because I’ve seen this side rear its very ugly head on more than one occasion, not to mention the stories I’ve been told of what happened after I completely blacked out — combined with my distaste for alcohol in general, I don’t drink.
Before I’m called out for clickbait: Let me clarify. On very rare occasions — read: twice a year tops — I’ll order a cider, or glass of rosé(which goes unfinished most of the time.) And to even be in the mood, I need to be with people I only feel completely comfortable with; who know my history and general feelings about my personal consumption — and most importantly, respect them.
The Apple Tree
Do I think alcoholism runs in families? Yes. Do I think that you can have a completely healthy relationship with alcohol even if your parents don’t? Also yes.
In my eyes — and I’m no scientist — the two aren’t mutually exclusive. As someone who has difficulty, and comes from a family that has historically struggled with alcohol abuse, I believe that it could add an extra layer of complexity; not necessarily that it does.
There are happy drunks, sad drunks, shopaholic drunks — but my bloodline just so happens to be dotted with my kind. But hearing stories from generations past, reliving my own experiences, and recalling the slippery slope I watched my dad on for years is enough to keep me from tipping the bottle.
In the grand scheme of things, I had it fairly easy regarding my dad’s alcoholism. Not to say that there’s not some emotional baggage there — because there absolutely is — but my dad’s outward struggle didn’t really begin until my early twenties. Having lived with him, just the two of us, until the month before my twenty-seventh birthday, I had a front-row seat to the rise and fall of Merlot in our house.
Looking back, I see now that I enabled the behavior early on, not noticing the early signs. I bought him wine baskets for Father’s Days and birthdays, ran to the store when he was running low as a favor, and led the playful teasing — often comparing him to a Real Housewife with friends. By the time I really caught on, his drinking was a runaway train that I had no success in stopping.
Dad had a habit of pouring himself a small glass of red while on his phone circuit of friends and family members he talked to on a regular basis. In between calls, he’d wander back into the kitchen, pour another small pour, and continue. These denial pours, as they were eventually coined, often led to a second uncorking and repetitive rambling.
We’d have “heart-to-hearts” on the mornings after he’d set off the house alarm in the middle of the night looking for the bathroom, or when I’d empty the recycling bin, almost exclusively full of deep green glass bottles — clattering through the night, but, as an alcoholic in denial — and a Scorpio at that — there was no telling him what he didn’t want to hear. Eventually, these conversations grew more heated, leading to gaslighting, and more than one slammed door.
One day I grew tired and threw in the towel after my therapist coached me through releasing the reigns of parenting a parent. And believe me when I say, nothing about it was easy. From caretaking to playing therapist in lone interventions — and getting calls from concerned loved ones to making the decision to give up that feeling of deep responsibility for his safety and well-being.
But by the grace of the universe and many conversations with others who weren’t the kid, something finally clicked. Dad, clear-headed and coherent, took the first step and admitted the power alcohol had over him. Like finding the therapist you click with, it took a couple of rehab programs to get the lessons to stick, but I’m proud to share that he’s coming up on his first year of sobriety — a monumental milestone that I truthfully wondered possible, at times.
While this article was originally planned as a very transparent (read: raw and honest) Q&A, I have to credit Dad for bowing out to continue doing his due diligence in learning more and working the twelve steps before sharing his side. That said, I am at liberty to share how helpful his support network — including the Beacon House, a rehabilitation treatment center in Pacific Grove, California, the Alcoholics Anonymous program, his husband and family, and the other “kids” he’s met along the way — has been helpful in him maintaining sobriety and the promise he made to himself.
Note: To my dad, anyone under the age of 40 is referred to as a kid. He’s reached peak, “Get off my lawn!”
Despite not being a kid-parent to him anymore, I’m one proud papa.
The Struggle of Being a Dry Millennial
Having seen my own reactions to alcohol, and where it could lead if I follow in the footsteps of my elders, making the conscious decision not to partake is usually pretty easy. Again, never really spending the time to acquire the taste probably helps some, too.
But, as you can imagine, things get a little tricky in social situations. When you’re drinking from a can of soda instead of a wine glass or raising water instead of a shot glass at a party, people can’t help but question it. Why aren’t you drinking? Not even one? Come on! One drink — one shot — one sip. I’ve been in one too many social situations where my lack of consumption turns me into the dancing monkey party trick. Who can get me to drink? It’s exhausting.
Truthfully, that, mixed with the waning patience of being the only sober person in a room full of tipsy people, and the fun starts to wear off pretty quickly. You begin to question your decision to put yourself in the situation in the first place, and do your best Dorothy — clicking your feet together chanting there’s no place like home over and over again in your head.
The reality is, most of the time, I get questioned about it. Occasionally, even by people who know my reasoning for not drinking in the first place. Remember the CEO who dropped me off? Despite it taking weeks (and in one instance, months) to rebuild from the verbal tornado that night, he pushed harder than anyone else for me to drink at the holiday party the following year. Even going as far as to say that out of cultural respect, I should share a drink. Yeah, ok. *eyeroll*
And before you shame me for shaming others — please know that’s not my goal or my M.O. I don’t judge people for wanting to let loose, drink, and have fun. (Responsibly, of course.) In my eyes, my personal distaste for alcohol is no different than my distaste for broccoli. (Minus the family baggage/implications, of course.) If you want to eat a plate of it — by all means; I just probably won’t stick around for the after-effects.
Still, regardless of my choices and beliefs, being the only sober person isn’t fun. Not only does it make you feel responsible for the people you’re with — What? Nobody else has caretaker tendencies? Just me? — but from time to time, the mean-spiritedness that alcohol can bring out of people results in them lashing out against you, simply for not drinking. So you’re judging me? You think you're better because you’re not drinking? Why are you even here then? I’ve heard it all before.
In all honesty, it’s a culmination of everything I’ve shared that gives me pause when events are being planned, that makes me hover over the RSVP button of a Facebook invite, and that usually has me back home before the group hits the second (or occasionally third) bar. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with people, that I’m looking down my nose because people want to party, or even that it’s because I’m jonesing for a drink — because none of those reasons are “it.”
It comes down to my own boundaries around alcohol (and the triggers that come with those.) As a highly sensitive person who’s done a lot of work in therapy to open up the floodgates of emotions from past traumas, — and an introvert as the cherry on top — my energy meter (read: tolerance) drains much faster when booze is around. Point, blank, period. I can’t help it. (And honestly, I don’t know that I need to.)
In my eyes, as with most things, it comes down to consideration, empathy, and respect. If you have friends or family members who are choosing to sit this one out, let them — freely and without question or commotion. (Because that only makes the situation more tense.) And if you’re like me, and feel the need to remove yourself from a situation that’s triggering, or moving beyond your boundaries, take care of number one, and do so.
I’ve found it helpful to be vulnerable, and share my story with those close to me — so they at least have the awareness and gravitas in the back of their mind. But as for anyone else, it’s really a crap-shoot in trying to explain your rationale — even in cliff note format. There’s no clear black and white in this situation, and not everyone deserves a seat at your table. But follow your gut, and you should be just fine.
And if all else fails and your fight or flight alarms are blaringly pulsing in your ears, there’s always the tried-and-true Irish Goodbye. Pro Tip: Order Post
mates as you head back to the car and it can meet you at home, just in time.
Resources
If you, or a loved one, are struggling with alcohol abuse; please know that you’re not alone.
I’ve gathered a few resources, with Dad’s help, and while not exhaustive, these should be enough to help get your journey started. We’re with you.
Al-Anon (For Families/Loved Ones)
NIAAA (National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism)
Article: Alcohol Abuse & Addiction (via Recovery Village at Palmer Lake)