100 days sober

100 days ago, I woke up in a semi-hungover state, tired, grouchy, with a light spattering of memory loss from the night before and some embarrassment from passing out on the sofa (whilst playing mario kart of all things).

This was not the “hangover from hell”. This was not a “I feel like I’m gonna die” moment. I wasn’t throwing up all day, I wasn’t plagued with guilt or shame from the night before. I didn’t have to nap several times, or sweat out buckets of booze from my pores. I got up, had breakfast, and went out for the day with my friend.

I haven’t drunk again since.

I knew that this mild hangover was a luxury. Compared to the blazing glory of the tragic hangovers from hell I’d had before and would (I thought) inevitably have again, this one was minor. But I’d had to work hard for it. Psychologically. I’d had to fight the internal debate in my head about drinking more. I’d had to force pints of water down myself all night. I’d stuck, roughly, to the limits I had set. The night had not be a peaceful bliss, like it should when you see a friend you’ve not seen for a long time. It was stressful. I was constantly monitoring my drinking to ensure I didn’t get that drunk.

I didn’t want to live a life constantly checking, assessing, debating, and worrying. I didn’t want to watch with intent as my friend drank their drink to ensure I didn’t finish mine too quickly. I didn’t want to stress about whether I was getting too drunk or not drunk enough. I didn’t want to worry about where or when the next drink was coming from.

I didn’t plan to stop drinking that day. But after two weekends in a row I realised I hadn’t drunk, hadn’t missed it and was enjoying the feeling. The calm. It was like all the noise had stopped. And I had bounds of energy. I started finding joy in little things. So I decided to make it a thing. I decided to do 100 days sober.

And here we are. 100 days sober. Looking forward to the next milestone, and the next, and the next.