The Quarantine Is Forcing Me To Confront My Drinking
by Anonymous
Warning: This article contains details about addiction.
So, I might have a drinking problem. Though I don’t even like to use that phrase. “Drinking problem.” Problem.
But 6 weeks into the quarantine, constant fear and anxiety as my new resting state, I’m teetering on the edge of something. Chaos. Control. Emotional stability. Such feelings have, in the past, lead me to consume an alarming amount of alcohol.
On days when the hum of my depression gets so loud that it drowns everything else out, I’m tempted to drink champagne. I usually have this thought around 11 am. Mostly because I feel a certain kind of warm bliss, imagining myself passing out early, sleeping under a bright sliver of sun on my bed, on into the night. I could just skip the pesky feelings of consciousness altogether.
Other days, the hum of my anxiety is louder, and my brain ricochets between thoughts of how to productively use my time and feeling completely overwhelmed by the very idea of time itself. Whiskey can help numb those thoughts to a stillness that is almost always worth the next day’s hangover.
And when socializing in the age of social distancing leaves me emotionally drained as I try desperately to Be There for every, single family member, friend, coworker, and Instagram acquaintance, a mezcal neat sounds like a slice of heaven.
Drinking seems comforting right now. Comforting and warming and bolstering and helpful and numbing.
But much to my surprise, I am not giving in. That much.
And believe me, this is not some humble brag. It has nothing to do with some outmoded ideas of willpower, and I definitely don’t claim to be thriving right now. I think I’m mostly becoming more aware of how alcohol seems to undo all of the self-work that’s given me whatever shred of knowledge and control and self-esteem and strength and sense of self that I currently possess.
I’ve been learning how to let myself feel what I need to feel, without wanting to instantly erase those feelings. They are just feelings of extreme discomfort. Discomfort sucks. It’s scary as hell, but I’m finally understanding what my therapist has been teaching me throughout the years. She recently told me to stop drinking— this was the action she wanted me to take. But what lies beneath that action is the fundamental change that I (and most women) need to make to fully divorce myself from alcohol; I need to value my life, and trust that I am worthy. Of love, happiness, and good things. I didn’t used to think that message could actually apply to me.
“drinking seems comforting and warming and helpful and numbing.”
We’re all being forced to sit with ourselves. Literally. Sit, day in and day out, with our own damn self. While locked away in isolation away from others, it feels like drinking heavily would be a convenient way to deal with myself, which leaves me with this terrifying question:
Do I like myself?
I wish I could say, “Hell yes!” all the time. But self-worth has not come naturally for me. My insecurities are so deeply embedded in my core and drinking has always been a way for me to literally black them out. It’s provided a feeling of numbness towards those insecurities, coated by a false sense of authenticity as “the fun one.” The friend who was SO easy going, you can take them anywhere. The relative who lives the exciting life in the big city. The coworker who is a ball to be around. The date you can drag to a boring event but they’ll work the room like it’s their job. That friend.
My “fun” persona was actually a self-constructed exterior, built on a foundation that I didn’t care about anything or anyone. I thought if I didn’t “care,” I couldn’t actually feel hurt or pain. I held onto this belief for years, and alcohol became a natural complement to this perspective.
But my therapist knew better.
She saw through the facade, seeing an insecure young woman filled with an immense amount of self-hatred and guilt, which came from every “sin” I held onto from a previously religious life. I thought I deserved a small life, so I made myself small. I killed off my dreams because those were for rich, white people who didn’t need to be practical. I thought I deserved a life inside a body that carelessly mistreated itself in ways that are too painful to revisit. A life of someone who hadn’t been taught how to ask for help, who had only experienced love as conditional, and who was raised to believe that acceptance only really mattered if it came from a man in the clouds. Human connection? True vulnerability? Genuine acceptance? Those were foreign concepts to me.
“we remove any uncomfortable feelings because we refuse to live with discomfort.”
Until I got into self-work. The deep dive into the darkest and ugliest parts of my soul that are hard to face. Thankfully, I started facing them before a worldwide lockdown. I don’t want to imagine how I’d be coping right now if I hadn’t.
Psychologically, it makes sense that we avoid the kind of difficult situations that make us turn within. We fight off threats in a variety of ways, and with alcohol, we trick our body and mind into thinking that we’re fine. We remove any uncomfortable feelings because we refuse to just live with the discomfort. For me, I always abused alcohol in social settings. I used it to take risks without endlessly worrying about the consequences.
But, this quarantine has made me realize that no matter how much I could drink, I would still wake up in the same house, with the same square footage, and interact with the same one person. I don’t know how long or how many iterations of this new life I’ll have to encounter in the next 18 months, and I cannot change that. The truth is that it would take an infinite amount of pure ethanol to “forget” about the impact that COVID-19 is having worldwide. Ironically, this insane, stress-fueled, worldwide pandemic has finally made my brain stop wanting to cede control to the numbness of alcohol, and focus on areas that I can control.
And for me, I’m trying to see all of this time as a gift. An opportunity to maybe, kind of, sort of…. start liking myself. An opportunity to form new patterns for dealing with the darkness. To sit in discomfort. To learn how to somehow wrap my brain around the fact that I am worthy of living the kind of life that I never thought I deserved.
And this is where I find myself today. Sitting here writing these words out loud to all of you.
I’m doing my best to see every day as a new opportunity to breathe, accept what I am feeling and build a deeper appreciation for my humanity, body, mind and relationships. Choosing to find ways to gain control by seeking support and supporting others. Admitting when I am struggling and not feeling shame in that place.
I realize that this is work is never done— that’s just the nature of addictions; but noticing that it’s possible to grow and survive through all of this is giving me joy, hope, and a deeper love for myself. I hope the same for you.
