I always had a suspicion that I drank just that little too much.
My father drank too much. I remember when I was young deciding that I didn’t want that in my life. Sure I experimented, but I was always the sensible one. The one that people could rely on. I was the one that would always be ‘skipper’ on nights out with friends.
I can’t quite pinpoint when my drinking habits changed. I think it was whilst I was living in New York, around the age of 35. New York City is a strange place. Bars and restaurants dominate. All over the city, people live their lives either at work or in bars where they meet their friends and lovers for dinner, for drinks, to argue, to entertain and like me, to drown their sorrows.
I was terribly unhappy back then, working 12-14 hours a day. I had a great job, was paid well, but something was missing. I think I filled that “something missing” with alcohol. I use to laugh about actually being a “functioning alcoholic”. It doesn’t seem so funny now.
Being intent on losing this weight (which I suspect is there because of the wine and vodka), I have had to look at my relationship with alcohol. You can lie to yourself about how much you drink when you don’t keep track, but when you track every single thing that goes in your mouth, it’s there in print.
The question I am currently asking myself is: do I really have a problem, given how much I drink on a daily basis? Time will tell, but I must admit that I am enjoying not waking up with a fuzzy head and feeling bloated. I think there is hope.