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wall o' text Alcohol kind of creeps up on you over time. I was in Greek Life in college. I don't regret a second of it, but the drinking culture was omniprese

wall o' text Alcohol kind of creeps up on you over time. I was in Greek Life in college. I don't regret a second of it, but the drinking culture was omnipresent (we did have dry brothers but if you drank you drank). After college I moved back home. I had a few concerning episodes that one could "pass" as a mildly embarassing thing (vomiting after a comedy show once I was home, passing out during a family party). The first time my drinking came to a head was when my then-SO called me at a work retreat and I realized I had consumed about 30 drinks in the past 4 days- I was violently hungover and unable to consume food. Several months later, we broke up, a relative died, and I came into enough money to pay off a significant enough chunk of my loans so that I could move out. During this time my therapist suggested I curb my drinking but I didn't really take him all that seriously. Dumb things kept happening- the most prominent event during this period was that I vomited while drunk gaming online with friends. Sometime after this I took my therapist's advice to quit drinking for a week. My mind cleared up a lot but I resumed after. Things came to a head when I woke up one day after a day-long bout of drinking (I went to a tailgate and ended up going out to bars later that night). I felt like my liver was going to explode. The worst part was that I had errands to do that day and the entire time I felt like I was going to die. I decided to indefinitely quit drinking. This was over this past November and December, and I had a few holiday parties to go to- I mostly teetotaled at them, but one conversation stuck out to me. A college friend who was older than me told me she had to re-calibrate her drinking life post-grad to function normally. I kind of realized that I hadn't done that. I've started drinking again but I've kept it much more muted. I don't go to my local bar after work anymore. I don't really club. I never really drank alone much (the online gaming this was an outlier), so stopping that wasn't hard. I do think there's a way to curb bad drinking habits, and I think I'm making headway in doing that, but the key is to recognize that your habits are problematic. Right now my mantra is 1) Have a predefined limit 2) Nurse the drink (I drink everything fast, so this is hardest) 3) Don't let people pressure you. Don't feel the need to drink at someone else's pace. Don't feel the need to take shots because someone bought them from the group. I know this isn't perfect, and I'm not truly abstaining for good, but I'm in a way better place than I was before. Don't make excuses for yourself. If you feel like alcohol is impacting you, do something about it.

opportune 7y ago
Some people are able to moderate drinking after periods of binge drinking but if you find you can’t moderate after multiple attempts to do so, your best strategy is to just quit. It can be hard to not have anything to drink when everyone else is, but it’s better than making a fool of yourself somewhat frequently
- murph-almighty 7y ago
  Honestly if this latest attempt of moderation fails I don't see an option other than quitting. This period has held up decently well so far though.
  - throw_this_one 7y ago
    I pretty much failed because I would just let it rip after a few drinks in a "high energy" atmosphere. So I just decided to stop, at least for Dry Jan but probably for 2020. Just feels so clean and also forces you to man up and "just do it" socially.
sibeliuss 7y ago
From Dale Pendell: The ally's secret face is terror. The alcohol ally is like a slime, slow moving, growing on you, at first only a fine veneer, like a slug trail. But later more layers collect, until you feel unclean. Feel your steps weighted. Feel every hour of the day a tedious distraction and ordeal. You finish as quickly as you can, so that you can return to your place among the rocks were the ally is happy and thrives. The ally likes darkness. It doesn't like to move around a lot. A little feeding. Mostly, it likes you, your body, your brain, your dreams. It likes a chair, if you have one. Once it's fed and watered, it tells you that you can leave your place among the rocks, that you can arise from your mossy boulders and enter the world of humankind, but you seldom do. At such times the growing weight of the layers of film that the ally has coated over you seems to lighten and soften. The mass becomes gelatinous and pliable, and you feel free. Pain is banished or forgotten. The world is light. You feel spontaneous. Problems are solvable or ignorable. And you can live like that for a very long time perhaps. For a very long time indeed. Maybe until you die. Or maybe not. Maybe the mass of stuff that the alcohol plant has deposited on you begins to harden. Maybe you haven't been able to feed it enough and the veneer has begun to crack. It's like the way the wine itself kills the yeast, its own mother, when the poison is fully formed. Then it is time for your friend across the table to unmask. He does, and you see that he is not there, that he has already departed. In fact, he has not been there for some years, or perhaps it is she. Only the coating, the facade deposited day after day by the poison, has been keeping you company. In truth, you are totally alone, and frighteningly alone. And tonight, of all nights, you are out of food. A night like this, when you are alone and people that you don't want to talk to are knocking on your doors and windows. You are aware that soon they will abandon civility all together and just force their way in. Oh, it's got you now. By the balls, by the short hairs, got your tit in a wringer, it does. It's got the hold on you. It's got tiny wet sucking fingers, green fingers - it's the slime, and it's got you. It's saying it is time to start paying your dues. It's saying that it is time to start feeling all that pain that has built up on you like a crust. It's saying that it is time to get back to work. To free your words. To face your children, your spouse, your divorce, your ruin of your life, or perhaps its success. That it is time to deal with the devil you have created. For they are all your creations, all of them. It is your own children that call to you. It's a sneaky kind of plant, a patient kind of plant. It is glad to wait, to let you control it. It is always ready to talk or parley and negotiate. But note, the plant is a shrewd negotiator. It loves to make deals, but it always takes the first night for itself: you say to the ally, "OK, I'll spend tonight with you, but tomorrow night I spend with my family, and you stay locked up in the cupboard." It will always say yes to deals like this, but never to the converse. It's a nightmare. It's a slime well. Every direction is uphill, and it's all ice. The ally says that it is time to deal with the devil you have created. It is your own creation, it is your art. It is, perhaps, gothic, but nonetheless there is an inner integrity to it. It is your genius, only your genius could have created such an elaborate prison for your own self. The ally is telling you you have built enough. Enough locks, enough doors, enough curtains and shades, bars and obstacles. They are all yours to burn. Look upon it as the devil's firewood, and now you have a shed-ful. Call it your "material" in the alchemical sense. So there is still cause for hope, for now you have a practice, you have a discipline, a path - a true path and an everyday path - probably what you were after from the beginning. Sun doctors, of course, avoid this wonderful creative opportunity, if they can. (Dale Pendell, Pharmako/poeia)

opportune 7y ago

Some people are able to moderate drinking after periods of binge drinking but if you find you can’t moderate after multiple attempts to do so, your best strategy is to just quit. It can be hard to not have anything to drink when everyone else is, but it’s better than making a fool of yourself somewhat frequently

murph-almighty 7y ago
Honestly if this latest attempt of moderation fails I don't see an option other than quitting. This period has held up decently well so far though.
- throw_this_one 7y ago
  I pretty much failed because I would just let it rip after a few drinks in a "high energy" atmosphere. So I just decided to stop, at least for Dry Jan but probably for 2020. Just feels so clean and also forces you to man up and "just do it" socially.

sibeliuss 7y ago

From Dale Pendell: The ally's secret face is terror. The alcohol ally is like a slime, slow moving, growing on you, at first only a fine veneer, like a slug trail. But later more layers collect, until you feel unclean. Feel your steps weighted. Feel every hour of the day a tedious distraction and ordeal. You finish as quickly as you can, so that you can return to your place among the rocks were the ally is happy and thrives. The ally likes darkness. It doesn't like to move around a lot. A little feeding. Mostly, it likes you, your body, your brain, your dreams. It likes a chair, if you have one. Once it's fed and watered, it tells you that you can leave your place among the rocks, that you can arise from your mossy boulders and enter the world of humankind, but you seldom do. At such times the growing weight of the layers of film that the ally has coated over you seems to lighten and soften. The mass becomes gelatinous and pliable, and you feel free. Pain is banished or forgotten. The world is light. You feel spontaneous. Problems are solvable or ignorable. And you can live like that for a very long time perhaps. For a very long time indeed. Maybe until you die. Or maybe not. Maybe the mass of stuff that the alcohol plant has deposited on you begins to harden. Maybe you haven't been able to feed it enough and the veneer has begun to crack. It's like the way the wine itself kills the yeast, its own mother, when the poison is fully formed. Then it is time for your friend across the table to unmask. He does, and you see that he is not there, that he has already departed. In fact, he has not been there for some years, or perhaps it is she. Only the coating, the facade deposited day after day by the poison, has been keeping you company. In truth, you are totally alone, and frighteningly alone. And tonight, of all nights, you are out of food. A night like this, when you are alone and people that you don't want to talk to are knocking on your doors and windows. You are aware that soon they will abandon civility all together and just force their way in. Oh, it's got you now. By the balls, by the short hairs, got your tit in a wringer, it does. It's got the hold on you. It's got tiny wet sucking fingers, green fingers - it's the slime, and it's got you. It's saying it is time to start paying your dues. It's saying that it is time to start feeling all that pain that has built up on you like a crust. It's saying that it is time to get back to work. To free your words. To face your children, your spouse, your divorce, your ruin of your life, or perhaps its success. That it is time to deal with the devil you have created. For they are all your creations, all of them. It is your own children that call to you. It's a sneaky kind of plant, a patient kind of plant. It is glad to wait, to let you control it. It is always ready to talk or parley and negotiate. But note, the plant is a shrewd negotiator. It loves to make deals, but it always takes the first night for itself: you say to the ally, "OK, I'll spend tonight with you, but tomorrow night I spend with my family, and you stay locked up in the cupboard." It will always say yes to deals like this, but never to the converse. It's a nightmare. It's a slime well. Every direction is uphill, and it's all ice. The ally says that it is time to deal with the devil you have created. It is your own creation, it is your art. It is, perhaps, gothic, but nonetheless there is an inner integrity to it. It is your genius, only your genius could have created such an elaborate prison for your own self. The ally is telling you you have built enough. Enough locks, enough doors, enough curtains and shades, bars and obstacles. They are all yours to burn. Look upon it as the devil's firewood, and now you have a shed-ful. Call it your "material" in the alchemical sense. So there is still cause for hope, for now you have a practice, you have a discipline, a path - a true path and an everyday path - probably what you were after from the beginning. Sun doctors, of course, avoid this wonderful creative opportunity, if they can. (Dale Pendell, Pharmako/poeia)