I've made it no secret - on here, at least - that I drink too much. And while I wouldn't call myself an alcoholic, it does affect me to the extent that I frequently turn up to work hungover, riddled with all sorts of regret and hollow promises that I shan't do so again.
It wasn't noticeable during university, where it was perfectly permissible to get rat-arsed any day of the week and have to dash out of your lecture next morning to vomit, or more frequently, to simply not turn up to your lecture at all. Post-university, the effects became more troublingly apparent, when age made the hangovers more difficult to recover from, and the friends I'd gone out with dropped off the radar and into reputable employment and long-term relationships. I went through over a year of joblessness, and the lack of purpose and apparent futility of hundreds of applications meant that the nights of lonely, consolation drinking became far more frequent, and far more depressing. It didn't matter if I sat on my bed getting shitfaced until 4am, because there was nothing to get up for, and no repercussions outside of myself if I were to lie there vomiting until the next evening, when the whole sorry cycle would begin again.
When I eventually found a job, things changed. The new purpose to my day, the need to get up early, the desire to look like I was doing a good job, all reflected in my mentality and the drinking just about stopped, except on weekends. I still wasn't happy, but I felt better in myself, and I hoped this heralded a positive change that would only continue. But as I settled into the job, and the need to come over well diminished, the drinking started up again. I wouldn't stay up until 4am anymore, but I would start earlier so I could be finished by midnight, and hopefully half-recover by the morning.
Fast-forward to today. I am in a new job as a teaching assistant, and history has repeated itself. I rarely drank during the week in the first few months, but after growing used to it I fell back into the same old routine. Some nights I go to the pub, where the presence of other people somehow gives my own presence a sort of validation. Sometimes I stay at home and have a bottle of wine or a few G&Ts by myself. I am never incapable of work the following day, but I often feel unwell and it is a source of constant worry.
I do not dislike my job by any means, but I am aware that I am not especially good at it. I have little experience talking to children, I am not a natural at it, and I am in a constant state of anxiety in the classroom, particularly where the students are less well-behaved. The only sort of comfort I ever feel is with the special needs children, who don't judge me for my evident awkwardness and lack of teaching ability. It is not a career which I would entirely like to continue, though the lack of alternatives make me reluctant to abandon it. Besides, the thought of being out-of-work again is frightening, as I know things would inevitably degenerate into nightly, lonesome piss-ups.
For someone diagnosed with depression and anxiety, one would assume that the choice would be clear. Alcohol is a depressant, and I know it only makes me feel worse in the long run. But often, it seems as though the few hours of happiness I get from being drunk is the only bit of happiness I get at all, and it might not be real but it feels it at the at time. I'm sure I would be better off if I stopped, but it isn't that easy, just as it isn't as easy to 'cheer up' when someone tells me I look miserable. I do hope, however, that fully admitting it to myself is one step closer to being able to stop it.
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| Me after a sesh. |
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