Another Day One - the Light of Shame

This is Day One, the latest of many, perhaps the last one.

I'm starting this blog as a way of monitoring my sobriety. I don't know if I will maintain it for long, but for today it seems like a helpful thing to do.

I first gave up drink on 19 February 2018, a year after my mother's death. I had become aware that I had a serious problem with alcohol years before - and I may get into that in a future post - but by the time I gave up I really 2018 I really knew that I was in trouble and that I had to do something about it.

I successfully gave up for over a year and I was happier than I had been for a very long time. I felt strong, healthy, sane, valuable, loveable. I was exercising, eating well. I had a job I loved and a new girlfriend, neither of which I think I'd have been able to sustain if I had been drinking.

When the anniversary of my giving up drink came and went, I had no intention of taking it up again, but one evening I went out with my girlfriend and had a single very delicious pint of brown ale in a country pub. Within weeks I was drinking heavily again, as full of self-loathing and shame as ever before.

I may go into the details about my various relapses at some later date. There have been many, and I have learned to accept that the risk of relapse is part of the condition called alcoholism.

I have been drinking for the last month, not huge amounts but most days. I went for dinner with friends on St Patrick's Day and had two small beers, a glass of wine with dinner, a liqueur afterwards. I went to an event the day after. There was lots of wine and a free bar. I didn't disgrace myself and I slept OK.

But always - always - these apparent successes lead to disaster. And today, since it is a Day One, I just want to record the latest disaster, and say something briefly about the Light of Shame.

When my daughter was very small I thought nothing of bringing her to the pub. I'd have a pint or two (never more) and get her a Coke or something. But on several occasions I found myself looking after her and realising I was drunk. The shame of being Drunk Daddy was a big and useful part in my decision to stop drinking.

The other day Drunk Daddy made a reappearance. I had a couple of beers at lunchtime, and then another two in the afternoon. By the time my child got home from school I was experiencing a pleasant buzz. We went to the library and got her some books and I congratulated myself on my wholesome parenting, although I knew I was teetering on the brink of drunkenness.

After the library, waiting for the bus home, I suggested a drink. She had a hot chocolate, I had a strong beer, and I felt it tipping me over the edge. When we got home I cooked dinner as usual, walked the dog, put on a sitcom for us to watch. She went to bed in good time, with teeth brushed. Nothing disastrous happened.

But, like most alcoholics, I suppose, I woke up with a jolt at three in the morning, filled with dread and shame. I could not remember the bus journey back from the library. I could not recall my conversations with my child. I was aware of how she had not seemed as keen as I had expected to go for a hot chocolate, and that my suggestion of a drink was just an excuse to drink alcohol.

Underslept and grumpy I apologised to my child for being a bit of a grouch. I said to her "You know what did it? That beer. Stopped me sleeping. Stupid thing to do. I always feel terrible when I have a beer."

This was not the first time I have said this to her. Without going into the details I have made it clear that I don't drink alcohol, and I think it alarms her when she sees me with a beer, although she doesn't say anything. But this time I said to her "Was I acting weird yesterday, after I had that beer?"

She said, "You were being boring. You kept repeating yourself. You were talking in a sort of early morning voice." Groggy, I suppose, maybe slurred.

My first serious girlfriend had an alcoholic father and when I asked her what it was like, she said 'boring'. Her father was a clever lively man, and she loved him and was close to him, but when he drank he was boring.

Some of my best friends are boring, but the shame of poisoning myself to the point that I was repeating myself, and slurring my words in front of my child has really hit me. I have much worse stories about my drinking over the years, and I hope that this relatively minor instance shows that I have made progress. But I want to say something briefly about shame.

Shame can be crippling and debilitating; it can stop people realising their own value, and in getting the help they need. But it can also be useful. It can be a measure of how far we have fallen short of what we can be. It can be a light - to show us as we are, and to guide us to something better.

As on most of my previous Day Ones, I feel grateful, rested, optimistic today. I feel free and hopeful. I want to remember that shame, and to use it.