My relationship with alcohol frequently fluctuates from anxiety ridden to joy inducing. It can be my strongest ally and at times, my worst enemy. I am either dancing on tables or crying in toilet cubicles and I often don't know which night is going to involve which one. Since we re-entered the world of nights out and drinking, post lockdown, I found myself conflicted with the culture that surrounds alcohol and how it presents itself in my own life, and amongst my peers.
There are times when all I want on a Friday night is a fucking drink, God please! The idea of being able to get dressed up, get drunk before I even leave the house, and dance in a pair of heels like nobody is watching, except everyone is because they can now see up my skirt or I've just tripped off the stage, fills me with heaps of joy. I love the whole Camaraderie of it. The entire build up. The wondering who you'll bump into, the buying bottles of Glens from my beloved corner shop man, painting my toenails, all those tiny details that make it entertaining.
I have collected over my (few) years of drinking endless funny stories of drunken mishaps, friendships formed in smoking areas or loos and deranged strangers forming an obsession with me over sticky dance floors (not as flattering as you'd assume). I have laughed out loud with friends and had all my senses heightened, in a bubble of my own, as though I was floating above the room. I've danced on tables and stumbled out of taxis. I've snuck into bars and I've accepted free drinks.
But there's always been a lingering sense of fear around intoxicated people that I've had since I can remember. Seeing family members row in the kitchen or my parent’s words slur always frightened me, as though their body was being occupied by somebody else. Someone I could no longer trust to protect me. Someone who made me feel that little less safe.
That feeling still lingers around strange men on nights out, or friends who I've watched go dead behind the eyes or turn into their alter ego we created. I've has nights where for no particular reason, all I've wanted to do is go home. Where I'm stood in a crowded room and feel like I'm on the outside looking in. Just sat quietly on the peripheral of every conversation, waiting to slip off of the edge and disappear until its time to get a taxi.
The idea of going to an unknown city on a night out gives me anxiety. The fact that I can't just call my trusty taxi company, who know me by name, and be straight home, in bed within 20 minutes, stresses me out. The thing that is the worst of it all, is that when I want to drink, I want to drink on my own terms, which sometimes doesn't happen. I want to drink delicious fruity cocktails in a fancy glass and embarrassingly suck the juice out of the fruit from it afterwards. I want cosmopolitans and sex on the beach. I don't want scarily cheap shots shoved into my hand or a bottle poured in my mouth, and I've been made to feel like if I'm not always wild and crazy drinking jägers then I might as well not be there.
I've been told countless times that being young and in your 20's is about getting sloshed and that's what university is for. Well thank God I didn't go. For me, I just feel as though I've got so much more to give when I'm sober. I've got thoughts and opinions and things to say. There's so much I want to do in this life and enjoy it, clear as day. Not living through rose tinted glasses or in this case, beer goggles. I am very lucky that I enjoy the clarity of being awake and alive and don't feel the urge to have to escape it.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is; I'm not a big drinker really, and I've been a bit ashamed to admit that. I hope that doesn't make me boring and I hope that when I do decide to drink a lot it’s because I want to. I hope I feel the best kinds of happy and funny and silly when drunk. I hope my friends don't like me less because I'm not drinking as much as them. I hope I can learn to be around people with alcohol and still enjoy myself sober. God, I hope people make more sober plans with me! I hope I'm not the only one.