I don’t want to jinx anything, but this is my second post within the week. I’m taking this return to blogging in baby steps, people.
I suppose for those of you who read my last, somewhat angsty-arty-‘no-one-understands-me’, post, you’ll have seen that the ‘nonalcoholic’ part of my username and blog title doesn’t really fit me all that well anymore and I wanted to take a minute to explain why. I suppose to fully understand why I’ve changed track, you’d have to understand why I didn’t want to drink in the first place: the short answer is that I was scared of alcohol. The longer version is a planned post to follow up later.
But for now: what happened?
Well, I suppose it all started last summer when some new people had been hired at my work, one of whom would eventually lead me to realise that I have had a worryingly sheltered life. Without wanting to give too much away for the sake of her privacy, we talked a lot about our different upbringings and very quickly what was essentially my fear of socialising emerged. She wanted to go for a drink. I was petrified of the drinking environment (also, just as a sidenote: this was a completely innocent drink, purely platonic!).
I can’t really explain what it was that made me anxious, maybe the idea of being surrounded by people ‘who weren’t fully in control of themselves’: a phrase I’d often heard thrown around home and school when addressing people and alcohol in the same sentence. That drink never happened. But, what did happen was this girl’s leaving do. It turns out, she wasn’t planning on staying for very long and after she and a few other long-term members of staff left, we decided to have a collective leaving do at the pub. At which point, for some reason, my surface had already started to crack. I was trying to hone down exactly why I didn’t want to drink. Was I worried that I wouldn’t be ‘in control’? (Whatever that phrase meant.) I seemed to think that alcohol was this tangible thing that I would be able to feel working its way through my system, that I would be consciously aware of my own sense of ‘control’ slipping away from me.
I’d resigned myself to try the odd drink at the work do (it was an open bar so I didn’t have to worry about paying for anything) and this girl who had made it her mission to drag me out of my shell had already promised me that I could try any drink I wanted and, if I didn’t like it, she’d finish it. So no pressure. In the end, I was in such a comfortable environment that I let myself see that there was nothing to worry about. I sipped my way through two drinks between massive bites of food (there was a cheer from everyone at the table when I finished my first!) and didn’t feel a thing (obviously!). But it was enough to take my fears away from alcohol and the drinking environment to enable me to actually enjoy it.
There is more to this storry but I feel as though 600 wirds is enough for a person who doesn’t really know me to digest so perhaps I’ll continue in other installments if anyone is interested aha!