A is for Alcohol

Let’s be honest, if you’re an avid reader of my blog you know what to expect. The post will begin with a brief summary of What, Why, Where and How. Occasionally there’ll be an element of foreshadowing and a philosophical question. I’ll guide you through the evening, inserting between the various fixed happenings the unique incidents that occurred; funny, traumatic and embarrassing. The end will bring a general summary of the entire evening with a conclusion of how successful it had been.

So far this structure has served me well. However this week I’m taking a different approach. Instead of rambling on about the fun filled events of an amazing night out, I’m going to take a look at the reasons why we choose to drink. What urges us to carry on drinking after horrific nights full of tears and vomit? When it comes to consuming alcohol the phrase “Once bitten twice shy” seems to be completely void. In today’s society the more outrageous a night becomes and the more alcohol you can guzzle down the better.

I asked a group of people a range of questions to fathom the motive behind the want, and possible need, to drink ourselves into oblivion.

My first query was how alcohol makes one feel and there was a range of answers; some were easy to guess but others were more interesting. On a whole it seemed that confidence was a winner. One person said “I definitely feel more confident and get my swagga on a little bit more” which explains it all really. When the first drink or two starts to work its magic it’s as if we’ve all spent a week with Gok Wan telling us we’re gorgeous and the next thing you know we’re all posing for naked photo shoots.

With a loss of inhibition the result is a completely carefree attitude. A general review of the answers would suggest that this is another attribute alcohol has which lure’s people into drowning themselves in it. We can dance like no one’s watching when everyone clearly is; we can speak to that boy/girl we like even though they’ve been giving one word answers for the past 45 minutes; we can walk in 6 inch heels because who’s going to feel the pain when you tumble down the steps? Alcohol provides us with a feeling of freedom that you simply cannot get when sober as a certain standard of behaviour is expected.

However these enhanced feelings that at first fill one with elation can soon turn ugly. In one individuals response they explained that in the tipsy stage they are happily carefree but when they move past this into the drunk or paralytic stage things take a turn for the worse and they cannot stop crying. This is reiterated amongst many others I questioned. “I think when I'm tipsy I'm ok but by the end of the night, if it goes bad, I get pretty sad”. The struggle for most appears to be control. When a night commences it’s all guns blazing and spirits are high. The happy potion can soon turn sour though and we’re faced with uncontrollable urges of aggression or sadness. What was at first a release becomes a catalyst to things we may be bottling up or hiding from others.

After the joy and the tears and the rage comes the morning after. We’ve been sound asleep, oblivious to the chemical reactions occurring in our bodies. Upon awakening we must face the dreaded hangover and the day ahead is a mountain which must be climbed. One participant stated that the next day she feels “like there is a huge elephant on my head!” Physical side effects are often the first aspect of our hangover to grab our attention, from throbbing headaches to the need to hurtle oneself into the bathroom to vomit. Granted, bodily aches and groans are not the most pleasant but they’re not the only side effect of a night out on the lash.

One particular statement stood out to me. “Often I wake with a sense of impending doom.” The morning headache comes hand in hand with a sense of unease. Despite what anyone may say there is always something that one will not remember. Even if we can recall a substantial amount from the previous night there is a vast uncertainty that can only be soothed after talking to other attendees. When the creases in our memories have been flattened out the feelings of embarrassment and regret are brought to the surface. The confidence and carefree attitude that formerly seemed heaven sent are revealed to have been hugely deceptive. 

Moreover, ones mood is largely affected too. “I feel considerably unhappy the first day or so after” one individual explained. After all, alcohol is a drug and the following day brings the “come down”. Repeated explanations from others suggest that being more emotional than usual is common when hungover. I can vouch for this also and I personally feel overtly needy; I have an exasperating need to be with my boyfriend and hug my mum at any opportunity.

In spite of everything I have just written, when asked if anyone would ever stop drinking as a result of a bad night out the choir sang a resounding no. The risks of a night turning bad due to excessive drinking are always present, yet most don’t let this thwart their positivity. “I generally manage to overlook them (bad nights) in favour of the good ones.” Although there is evidence to show alcohol can produce nights we’d rather forget, there is also evidence proving its consumption can result in nights which will go down in history, which is too hard to resist.

Having said this, a few admitted that on occasion they have chosen not to drink. The reason for this decision varying from having work the next day to wanting to look after others. Although these are of course valid reasons, the notion of going out without drinking seems one that most would prefer not to face. Others who said they had chosen not to drink admitted to eventually giving in and defying their previous decision. It can all be summed up with one individuals answer: “It’s depressing when you’re the only sober one on a night out.”

Let me paint a picture for you. You’re with a group of your friends sitting at a sticky table in your local pub. Each other member of the group is armed with their preferred drink: Vodka and Diet Coke, Pear Cider, JD and Coke, Budweiser, Fosters, Malibu and Lemonade, White Wine, Red Wine, Rosé Wine. What delicious potion have you decided upon? Orange juice. As the night continues the alcohol injects the spirit of those around you; laughter erupts in your ears following a joke that wasn’t funny and there’s a glass is getting way too close to the edge of the table for your liking. As your friends float up into intoxication you seem to be diving deeper into sobriety.

If that doesn’t sound depressing, I don’t know what does. I imagine the feelings one experiences as a third wheel would be very similar. The cliché of “feeling alone in a crowded room” springs to mind. Because when it boils down to it, we don’t want to be the odd one out.

I have concluded that the reason we continue to intoxicate our bodies is that we crave freedom. Every day we are faced with commitments and rules; we have to be reliable and act in a certain way at work or school and in front of our family. When the weekend roles around we are given the chance to let loose; if you’re going to do something you may as well do it to the extreme and alcohol is the key.

The limits to what we can do when we’re drunk seem endless. We feel as if we have power and no one can tell us what to do. We’re unstoppable. Bad nights may put us off briefly but the craving for this particular class of freedom will always return. That’s why we can never kiss our drinking habits goodbye. That’s why we deal with the embarrassment and the headaches and the sick and the regrets. All we want is a few hours to say what we want, dance how we want, have sex with who we want and say a massive “Fuck You” to anyone who tries to get in our way.

Introducing Sunday to Alcohol

The night that I am on the verge of recalling was a rather traumatic one and possibly even more traumatic for me to have to recount. As I begin typing there is one ultimate question on my mind: does alcohol magnify ones personality? For example, on a day to day basis little things irritate you; you’ve even snapped a pencil in frustration once or twice. Subsequently when you’ve consumed alcohol you turn into a raging beast and wake up the next day with bruised knuckles from all the faces you’ve been obliterating in the heat of your wrath. I myself do not fall under this category, but if this statement rings true, I may as well lock myself in my room as soon as possible and throw away the key.

Initially the night was labelled “a few drinks and last bus home” but when is a few drinks just a few drinks? My situation wasn’t helped by the chosen establishment. I’ve always hated entering said pub without the haze of intoxication to protect my senses from the grime and general dirty nature of the place. To add to this, the gentleman who had invited me along had been drinking for hours before hand and his behaviour was reflecting it. These combined aspects put me under pressure and so I began to drink with an agenda to get as drunk as quickly as I could.

The reason we were there was because there were bands playing and my friend knew one of these bands. They were to take to the stage further on in the night and therefore when the time came I was suitably drunk to bop along and cheer whenever a song finished. During the time spent inside watching the bands perform a certain female was attracting rather a lot of attention. I’d seen her previously that night attempting to grind against a bearded gentleman who effectively ended up on the other side of the room. At this point she was at the front of the crowd accompanied by a few other ladies, clearly intoxicated and having the time of their lives, at the same time obstructing any view my 5ft frame was capable of having.

After the scheduled entertainment had come to an end, we were left to our own devices; this device namely being alcohol. Unfortunately for me alcohol seems to being having a certain undesired effect on me lately. A certain effect that makes me boorish and judgemental topped off by being ungraciously honest, drowning myself in words that should remain unsaid. The reality of how harsh they are doesn’t seem to register. The connection between my brain and any feeling of sympathy tends to flood with alcohol and ceases to function; even the reactions and expressions of others fails to unite the severed link. It can now be understood why my preliminary question is cause for concern. It also raises the more daunting question of whether or not it is the level of alcohol I consume that is the issue, or whether a whole revamp of my personality is in order.

Fortunately most of my memories are so diluted that they can barely be recalled at all. Either that or the events that occurred that night are so distressing that I have repressed them. Whatever the case may be, I’m glad; simply having my antics described by a second party is enough to make me want to stick a knife in my face.

After the momentum of the mayhem began trundling downhill, my memory seems to kick in again and we were now on our way to the cab office. We herded along the high street, making a quick stop to get money as we headed towards the kebab shop. For the first time since my kebab obsession began I actually sat inside to consume my food. Being stationary whilst eating made the likelihood of covering my clothes with food that much less inevitable. We all managed to leave in one piece and continued on our way. Regrettably there was one thing we all managed to neglect: cabs cost money. Even during our stop at the cash point our minds were so focused on the meaty goodness we were about to purchase that no one thought about the journey home we were yet to take. Therefore we spent a considerable amount of time counting out our change. At first we were doing well; the majority of the coins we’d gathered were 1 and 2 pound coins. But then we were moving on to 50ps and 20ps until we eventually had enough. It was essential at this point to make sure that none of the money was dropped as we were fucked if we would have to count it all again. I’m thankful that I got out of the cab before the fare was given.

We took refuge in the 24 hour HSBC, where we discovered a homeless. I was later informed that he was entertaining himself with some light reading. His selection was a bit odd; he’d chosen to read the TV guide. He greeted us all politely as we entered, keeping himself to himself as we all gathered in his temporary bedroom. I would have expected some kind of attempted conversation but he didn’t pester us in the slightest. He bid us goodnight as we left though and got back to discovering what programmes he’d be missing out on this week.

I wish I had an answer for the proposed question I started with, but I do not. There is no enlightening conclusion that will inspire you to make a profound change in your opinion on alcohol or life and for this I apologise. And as my 21st blog ends, can I say I have matured and become more responsible throughout the time I have been writing? No, no I cannot. In fact I believe I’ve become more reckless. I can only hope that my recklessness becomes more constructive in the coming weeks in order to aid me in producing far more interesting posts.