Why mummy gave up drinking

Day 273. It’s been a while since I took the time to blog – because I’ve been taking some well needed time to practice self-care. This has not been a fun time of relaxation and rest – I’m writing now as I gloriously crawl out the end of a tunnel so dark, I couldn’t tell up from down or backwards from forwards. Finally, I can see light. It’s hazy, sporadic and intermittent but my God, it’s magnificent.

Where to begin. In July I took a cruise with a dear friend and our collective four children. I was looking forward to the trip but the experience was not as I’d studiously planned in head. In fairness to the kids, as much as they were utter wankers, it was not soley their fault that I didn’t enjoy the holiday. I couldn’t find the fun because I was struggling to manage each day surrounded by people who were drinking.

I took a similar cruise when I was still a wino in 2021 and the experience was as different as night and day to navigating the trip sober. I lost sight of just how much of the holiday was going to be wrapped around alcohol. Bars on every deck, at every turn. Waiters continually asking ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Cocktails being handed around like Haribo at a kid’s birthday party. And the laughter. Groups of families, friends, lovers – all gloriously kicking back and enjoying their tipples whilst I looked on in begrudging anger.

This was a shock to my system. I’d not craved alcohol in a very very long time. I definitely didn’t consider myself to be a ‘dry drunk’ and I’d long surpassed the point of having alcohol on the brain, even for a small amount of time. What I didn’t account for, and what I failed to see as a growing issue, was that I was running low on medication – and this was the beginning of a downward and depressive slump that I’ve just crawled out of on my hands and knees.

I have Ulcerative Colitis. A nasty disease which I’ve suffered with for over eight years following the traumatic birth of my first son. I’d never heard of the condition before my diagnosis – the symptoms are debilitating and insidious. However, over the years I’ve come to terms with living with the condition and as much as I hate the phrase, it’s become my ‘new normal’ to live life and manage the symptoms.

Towards the back end of last year, I woke up in the night with joint pain so severe, it felt like I’d been shot in the knee caps. My darling sister was staying with me luckily, and she had to call the doctor because I was unable to speak due to sobbing. I was put on Morphine and Tramadol to manage the pain. I’ve been on the medication ever since.

I’m no stranger to prescription meds. I’ve used and abused all of them over the years. I loved all of it. Diazepam, Temazepam, Lorazepam, Oxycodone…you name it, I’ve taken it. Why? It stopped my brain turning. It shut off the madness. I loved the fluffy fuzzy feeling of euphoria and sense of calm and well-being. The antidote to anxiety – and then inevitably, the cure becomes the cause of the problem. No different to alcohol. The more you take, the less the effects, the more you need, the more you want. I’ve not been on these meds for a number of years – but my Colitis was the catalyst to taking a far worse concoction of drugs – namely opiates.

Morphine is a great painkiller. When I had my sudden attack of joint inflammation it was essential and very welcome. The first problem is that it’s highly addictive and much like alcohol, your tolerance just keeps going up and up. Every time I missed a dose my joint pain would come back with a vengeance – so I kept taking it. The second problem is that one of the effects of not taking morphine (when you’re dependant) is joint pain – so it was impossible to know if it was my Colitis or the drug causing the issue. It became clear to me it was the latter on that trip. When I went on the cruise, I didn’t take enough meds with me. The result was that I started to experience the effects of withdrawal because I was taking lower doses than normal. This is the reason I started to crave alcohol on that trip. The numbing euphoria was wearing off and I felt like I wanted to rip my own skin off just to crawl out of my own body and escape my anxiety riddled brain.

When I got home, I had to give myself a good talking to. The same chat I had with myself when I decided to quit drinking. The Morphine was so evidently causing more problems than it was curing – I had to come off it. I had a two-week period of soul shattering withdrawal. Restless legs, joint pain, flu symptoms, sweats, extreme anxiety, depression (but to name a few). It was brutal. But I’m coming out the other side, starting to get my energy back and whilst my Colitis joint pain is particularly unpleasant and ever present, it’s tolerable.

After withdrawal from any substance, the brain needs to learn how to function on its own again. This takes time. When I quit alcohol, it took a good 3 months for my brain to start producing Dopamine again. I found it really difficult to find pleasure in anything for that time. Coming off the medication has been easier in that respect. I feel alert, awake and I know that much like coming off alcohol, you have to learn to find the fun again whist your brain is finding its way back to normality.

And this is exactly how you learn to be happy once you’ve quit drinking. You slog it out at the beginning. You grit your teeth. Knuckle down. Get in the dark cold wet tunnel and just fucking crawl. One knee at a time. It’s painful and at times – soul crushing. You can’t see the light. You just have to know it is there and the only way to find it is to keep putting one knee in front of the other. Eventually, you are able to stand and walk. Slightly less gritty but still sans light. Still one foot in front of the other. And you keep going. Until one beautiful day you start to see beginnings of flickers of light in the distance. You start to believe there is an end to this, because you can see it. When you eventually get to the tunnel opening you look back and can’t believe you actually managed to get through it. Fuck. Maybe you’re bullet proof too? I know I am.

So, what then? You stand in the light and think about how your wonderful, incredible, amazing machine of a body has healed itself. How lucky you are to be alive. You look back at the time you wasted in a tunnel you put yourself in, and realise that life is actually much better worth living sober. You only get to be here once. You have to go out there, work out what the hell gets your rocks off – and go and bloody well do it! We’re not here long and as far as I can see, we’re here for one reason only – to enjoy it.

As I write, alcohol and med free, I’m excited for the future. I turned 40 three weeks ago. I had an epic sober celebration with my nearest and dearest at a Magic Mike show (I highly recommend it!). I thoroughly embrace the mantra that life begins at 40. I look back at the last 25 years of madness and I don’t feel bad for putting my body through the mill, for the terrible decisions or the multitude of mistakes that I’ve made. I’m just grateful I’m still fucking standing. I’m healthy and I can make the most of the next 25 years in a completely different and wonderful way.

So, what happiness have I discovered so far? I’ve discovered that my teenage love for rock music is still as present and in my blood as it ever was. I spend almost all day every day with an array of tunes blaring out whilst manically singing along. I drive my car like an utter nutter whilst simultaneously drumming the wheel and amusing other drivers. I run – almost every day. I go to the beach – the sea is calming. I eat salted caramel ice-cream. I dance naked around my kitchen island (Shinedown – Saints of Violence and Innuendo. You’re welcome!) I’m an adrenaline junkie – so I’m planning some natural highs. Days out at theme parks – man I LOVE a roller coaster. I’ve booked tickets to some rock concerts. This week I’m going bungee jumping – after a relaxing couple of spa days with a wonderful friend. As my Italian would say – LIFE. IS. BEAUTIFUL.

Now – go and find your fun again. And if you’re still in that shitty tunnel – keep crawling. You will get through it. There is an end. And it’s fucking awesome.

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