Mrs D is Going Without E-Book

Lotta Dann

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 335

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Lotta Dann was in trouble - her fun drinking habit had slowly morphed into an obsessive hunger for wine. One bottle a night was never quite enough. When she tried to cut down, she found it nearly impossible to have an alcohol-free day. Everyone around could see her drinking, but no one realised what a serious problem it was. She was high-functioning, fun-loving Lotta, not some messy, hopeless drunk. Only Lotta knew how sick and twisted her thinking about wine had become. Desperate and miserable, she was falling deeper and deeper into a boozy hellhole and running out of ideas about what she could do to stop it. What's a girl to do when her beloved wine becomes the enemy? Here's what Lotta did. She stopped drinking and secretly started a blog that charted the highs and lows of learning to live without alcohol. Mrs D was anonymous, honest and, as Lotta would discover, surrounded by people who would help her on her journey, and whom she could help in return.

Leseprobe

Mrs Dis Going Without

I used to be a boozy housewife. Now I’m not. This is my book.

LOTTA DANN

Author’s note: All efforts have been made to obtain permission to reproduce copyrighted material in this book. In instances where these efforts have been unsuccessful, copyright holders are invited to contact the publisher directly. The names of some people in this book have been changed to protect their anonymity.

First published in 2014

Copyright © Lotta Dann 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Allen & Unwin Level 3, 228 Queen Street Auckland 1010, New Zealand Phone: [phone]

83 Alexander Street Crows Nest NSW 2065, Australia Phone: [phone] Email:  [email protected] Web:    www.allenandunwin.com/uk

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand

ISBN 978 1 877505 39 3

E-book ISBN 978 1 92557 632 0

Quotes from Women and Alcohol in Aotearoa/New Zealand [report] in Introduction. Jenny Rankine et. al. 2013 ISBN 978 0 9941021 2 6 Reproduced with kind permission from Alcohol Healthwatch and Women’s Health Action

Table from Controlling Your Drinking (2nd ed.) in Chapter 3. © William R. Miller and Ricardo F. Muñoz 2013 ISBN 978 1 46250 759 7 By kind permission of Guildord Publications, Inc.

Excerpt from From Chocolate to Morphine in Chapter 16. Copyright © 1983, 1993 by Andrew Weil and Winifred Rosen Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved

Quotes from Kick the Drink . . . Easily by Jason Vale in Chapter 17. © Jason Vale 2011 ISBN 978 1 84590 390 9 By kind permission of Crown House Publishing Limited

Typeset by Bookhouse, Sydney

For the gorgeous men in my life— Corin, Axel, Kaspar & Jakob

Contents

Introduction

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

Afterword

Acknowledgements

Resources

Introduction

I’ve written this book to tell the story of how I transformed myself from a miserable, boozy housewife into a self-respecting sober lady. What I’ve done is lay out in minute detail what I went through in the months leading up to my big decision to quit booze, and what transpired in the months following. I’ve provided an intimate look at what was going on in my mind; exactly how twisted my thinking was, how trapped and desperate I felt, how low I sank, how I made the decision to quit and, most importantly, what happened from that moment on. The personal revelations, the online community, all of it was unexpected and utterly fascinating.

I was one of those heavy drinkers where from the outside I didn’t appear to be suffering. There were no clichéd signs that my drinking was a problem. This story doesn’t contain wild drunken exploits or shock-horror tales of crazy debauchery. The police don’t feature at all, there’s no falling over in public, no waking up in jail cells or hospital beds. There are no crashed cars, broken glass, blacking out, pants wetting, fist fighting or drunken sex. The most I offer in terms of outward drinking drama is a few instances of vomiting, some embarrassing slurring and a bit of inappropriate loudness. I think most of my friends and family would admit that the biggest drama they experienced from me was when I announced I had a drinking problem and was giving up. And even to this day I’m sure there are a few people around me who are a little bemused that I’ve stopped drinking.

I can’t blame them for that. I was the classic high-functioning boozer. Outwardly running a successful life but in truth managing a very dysfunctional, heavy, steady wine-drinking habit. For all intents and purposes I was an ordinary, hardworking housewife and mother, yet I was completely addicted to wine and on most nights was habitually filling myself up with far too much of the stuff. But make no mistake: while things might not have appeared outrageous from the outside, on the inside it was drama central.

My story is one of inner turmoil, a sick, twisted obsession, lonely angst, utter powerlessness and guilt—terrible guilt that gripped me, tormented me, and ultimately saved me.

What I went through in the lead-up to September 6, 2011, and what has transpired since that day, from my perspective, has been about as monumentally, earth-shatteringly intense as you can get. Drinking wine steadily and heavily for most of my adult life had slowly stripped me of my self-respect and trapped me in a deep, desperate misery.

This is what my story is about—my inner shit-storm as I came to grips with an alcohol addiction and then worked to turn my life around.

I had no idea what I was about to put myself through when I decided to stop drinking. I know now from having read numerous other stories through the blogging world that what I’ve been through since getting sober is entirely typical, but I had no clue at the outset. Getting sober took me through an entirely unexpected sequence of events, endless astounding revelations, surprising feelings and fascinating insights. I won’t gild the lily—at times, especially early on, it was bloody tricky and rough, but there have also been truly wonderful and amazing phases. And now from my solidly sober position I can see that, inch by inch, through grit and tears, as I learned to live without wine I was lifting myself up.

From where I sit now (and I can hardly believe I’m going to say this considering where I’ve come from) I can tell you it’s not the end of the world to live alcohol-free. It’s honestly not. I don’t touch alcohol ever anymore and it’s totally and utterly fine. That’s the simple truth. Of course, why and how I stopped drinking is incredibly complex, as it is for all of us ex-boozers, and it’s taken hard work for me to get to this point, but that simple truth is what I sit with today: I don’t have any alcohol in my life and it’s totally fine.

It’s better than fine, actually, it’s fantastic.

Since I took the alcohol away on the 6th of September 2011, slowly but surely every aspect of my life has gotten better. This really is super-cool, especially given that things didn’t appear particularly bad from the outside when I was boozing. Only after I put down the wineglass did I start to realise what a big impact my habitual drinking was having on all corners of my life. What emerged for me after I got sober was totally unexpected.

It’s a fact: taking alcohol away has improved me. Now, almost three years after my last drink, I’m aware of so many improvements to my life. I sleep better, I eat better, I look better, I perform daily tasks better, my personal relationships are deeper and more authentic, including (probably most importantly) my relationship with myself. I respect myself now and trust myself. I’m not saying everything in my life is perfect all the time; that would be stupid, and of course it’s not. But the majority of the time I feel calm, comfortable and in control. This is in such marked contrast with the sloppy behaviour, inner turmoil and angst I used to live with when I was boozing, not to mention the guilt and regret. In many ways I have simplified my life immensely by deciding to live without alcohol and even though that decision has taken me on a crazy rollercoaster ride, it’s been so worth it.

I’m not unique in experiencing this sober transformation. Again, through following numerous other sobriety stories through the blogging world, I can see that feeling much better about yourself after getting sober is typical. I regularly witness as others dig deep, remove alcohol, get sober and experience uplifting transformations. It’s really fun to watch and cheer on from the sidelines. And it always happens: if we stick at it and don’t touch alcohol, the positive transformation comes. It always does. It takes grit and determination but eventually we reach solid sober ground and, trust me, it’s a mighty fine place to be.

I don’t regret all the boozing, lushing-out and overindulging that I’ve done throughout the years. To sit and regret strikes me as a huge waste of time (and I’ve been fortunate that my drinking never led to devastating consequences). If I hadn’t done all the boozing that I have, I wouldn’t have been able to experience the amazing uplift that being sober has given me. In a twisted way, I’m thankful for the boozing because it has given me the rich gift of sobriety.

It’s also led me to this place in my life where I get to write and communicate daily with a wonderful, wise community of like-minded people. This is such an unexpected joy in my life. I had no idea that starting a blog would lead me into a place of such warmth and support. As I spell out in this book, I thought when I decided to start blogging as a way to keep myself honest that I was writing a private diary that would be tucked away in a corner of the internet, never seen by anyone. That people started reading and responding to me was so cool! The connections made through comments or emails feel real and strong and true, because they are real and strong and true. They might be dotted around the world, tucked away behind their computers, but the people who participate in the online sober community are real people. And the ones I hear from are unfailingly lovely; never judgemental, always supportive, always kind. They are also brave, determined and honest. It is truly amazing what goes on in the sober blogosphere.

I think finding support with not-drinking through the internet is the newest, most modern form of recovery, and it’s growing daily. New blogs and websites dedicated to sobriety are popping up every day. Internet recovery is all the rage, and what’s not to love about it? It’s safe, it’s kind, it’s wise, it’s warm, it’s real. From the safety of your own home, you can reach out and connect openly and honestly with others in a similar position—worrying about and facing up to alcohol problems. Anyone can join in. You can read other blogs and comment, you can start your own blog and share your journey, you can use your real name or a fake one, or you can just lurk (read privately and never comment). It doesn’t matter how you choose to participate in online recovery, so long as you know you are welcome.

I set out to get sober alone, and perhaps that was foolish—I’ll never know, because I didn’t stay alone for long. Support came to me through my blog fairly early in the process. Boy, was that exciting! I grasped that support with both hands, lapped it up, and fed it back at every opportunity. I took and I gave. People propped me up, I propped other people up. It may be (mostly) faceless and virtual but it is real. It is tangible and real and powerful and good and it has got me to this place of solid sobriety.

That’s where I am now, firmly grounded in my new sober lifestyle. I don’t live in fear and misery. I don’t walk around worrying that in a weak moment I might decide to have ‘just one’ and suddenly find myself falling back down into a boozy hell-hole. I know I can never have ‘just one’ and, frankly, I don’t want ‘just one’ anyway. Even if I were told today that I could suddenly, magically, be a moderate drinker again, I wouldn’t pick up alcohol. If I were told today I have an incurable illness and only six months to live, I wouldn’t pick up alcohol. Why would I bother bringing alcohol into the picture again after having done all this hard work in order to experience complete freedom from it? I don’t want alcohol in my life; don’t want it, don’t need it, don’t miss it. I don’t think it has anything to offer me that I don’t already have. I have fun, I have laughter, I have sadness, I have joy. I have real, authentic actions and reactions and that . . . that is bloody awesome. I am truly free from my alcohol addiction.

One of the best things for me in getting sober has been realising I can hold on to the parts of my personality I thought drinking was vital for—my sociability and my desire to be upbeat and have fun. Not drinking alcohol doesn’t make me a geek. It doesn’t make me boring. It doesn’t mean I’m a loser. Not drinking alcohol doesn’t mean I can’t go to parties and dance all night or partake of long, lush lunches. It doesn’t mean I can’t talk crap with friends into the wee small hours or dance around my kitchen to cheesy pop tunes. It doesn’t mean anything other than I don’t drink alcohol.

I choose to not let the fact that I don’t drink alcohol change the way I move and interact in the world. By and large I do everything the same as I did before, except I do it without drinking a brain-bending liquid. Okay—sometimes I might leave a party earlier than I would have before, or not go at all if it’s an event I’m not particularly attached to. But for the most part I move and interact in the world much the same as I did before September 6th, 2011, except for the glorious little secret I have tucked away of how fundamentally improved I feel. It really is a big turnaround for me to be at this place after having been tightly locked in a habitual drinking habit.

I don’t think my high-functioning boozing story is uncommon. I believe there are many thousands of people like me who are doing well in their outward life but in truth are regularly sinking far too much piss and always feeling guilty about it. Constantly through my online interactions and in my own circle of life, I hear from people who secretly worry about their own drinking. No doubt I’m hearing this because I’m openly sober and honest about why (‘I don’t drink because I can’t control it’ is my oft-repeated line), but my anecdotal evidence is matching up with the official line being touted. A new report called Women and Alcohol in Aotearoa/New Zealand confirms we’re experiencing a significant shift towards heavier alcohol use among women and a rise in alcohol’s harmful effects. The list of harmful effects isn’t pretty: ‘Alcohol-related harms for women include financial vulnerability, diminished physical and mental health, an increase in the severity and prevalence of violence directed at them, unplanned pregnancies and compromised parenting, family breakdown and erosion of cultural values and wellbeing.’

That’s a short list but, holy shitballs, look at it again and read it slowly. It’s actually a ginormous fireball of harmful effects. And so much of it I can relate to. Financial vulnerability? Can’t believe what I used to spend on wine each week. Diminished physical health? Yep, and it only would have gotten worse if I’d kept guzzling. Compromised parenting? I’m sure there must have been a lot of that—hard to give your best at 7 p.m. when you’re blurry with wine, or at 7 a.m. when your head is throbbing. Erosion of wellbeing? Oh yeah, I had that in spades. That term actually makes me feel like crying. That’s the clincher right there. Towards the end of my boozing, when I was at my lowest ebb, my state of mind was shit. My wellbeing was well and truly eroded. That’s what was killing me.

My steady, heavy boozing over years and years had slowly chipped away at my sense of wellbeing. One drink at a time I was shafting myself. I had no idea that’s what I was doing. I thought drinking was cool and fun! I couldn’t see what a negative impact it was having on me. It happened so gradually it was impossible to step back from the situation and see it for what it was. Only now that I’ve taken the alcohol away and experienced the incredible improvement to my life can I clearly see.

Today my sense of wellbeing is sky high. It’s like the little fire inside me that I’ve been dulling for years with wine is finally being allowed to burn bright.

So why are we boozing so crazily? Why do so many of us rely on ‘mum’s juice’ to get us through the days, itching for ‘wine o’clock’ to roll around so we can reach for our beloved liquid cope-all? The Women and Alcohol report offers a possible explanation: ‘Women today balance the stresses of multiple roles, including family and childcare responsibilities, paid employment, and community and voluntary activities.’ The pressures on men are just as great. But is this why I drank? Was I the classic example of the stressed-out, multitasking, high-achieving woman running herself ragged to try and do it all?

Here’s another possible explanation for me from the report: ‘Some young women perceive drinking as a sign and result of gender equality, as well as a way of restricting traditional constructions of femininity.’ Was this part of the motivation for me when I started drinking at fifteen? Did I want to feel strong and equal? I always did like to prove my independence. Was drinking a way for me to feel powerful? If so, then how deluded I was.

Alcohol doesn’t make you powerful. It diminishes your power. Particularly in situations where every inch of power a woman has, she needs. Consider these devastating lines from the report: ‘Women who are sexually assaulted while affected by alcohol tend to blame themselves more, drink more and have more alcohol-related problems after the assault’ and ‘If the woman was drinking at the time of the assault, it can lead to guilt or self-blame, inhibit access to justice and increase her potential for alcohol abuse.’ Diminished power indeed.

I doubt I’ll ever know exactly why I became a hopeless boozer. There were so many contributing factors: my personality, my desire to keep things fun, wanting to appear ‘cool’ and strong, my dislike of negative emotions, my physical constitution, my fondness for inebriation, my inability to moderate, life events, environmental factors, this, that, the other. Whatever the reason (or reasons), it actually doesn’t matter. The fact is, I am a hopeless boozer, and what matters is that I take full personal responsibility for that. It had to come from me.

If someone had tried to talk to me about my drinking being a problem before I’d owned up to it myself, I would have told them to go jump in the lake. No one could have forced me to stop; I had to dig deep and be brutally honest with myself in order to drive change.

I drove that change by taking 100 per cent personal responsibility for my drinking problem. I didn’t look to blame anyone else, I didn’t look to change anyone else. It was all about me. And because I took full responsibility and owned my truth, I was able to own the decision to remove alcohol from my life. Just as I take 100 per cent responsibility for my drinking problem, I take 100 per cent responsibility for my sobriety.

Here’s the brutal truth: I am an alcoholic. I’m one of the many millions of people around the world who cannot control the drug of alcohol. It’s a bit of an unfair fact about life but there you have it, some people can control alcohol and some people can’t. I can’t, and so I don’t touch it. That’s just the way it is. For those of us who cannot control it, there is no option but to just take it away. Just stop drinking alcohol and accept that you can never drink it again.

Well . . . I suppose there are other options. Us hopeless boozers could keep the alcohol in our lives and spend years angsting about why we can’t drink normally, feeling guilty about hardly ever being able to rein ourselves in, trying a variety of techniques to control booze (limiting drinks per session, abstaining for periods, fixed days off, etc.), worrying, feeling like shit, not respecting ourselves and just thinking, thinking, thinking about alcohol all the time.

Or another option could be that we decide to just live as boozers and booze, booze, booze until the day we die. That choice is also available.

But for those of us who are sick of the boozing, and sick of the angsting and the guilt, we just have to be honest, take the drink away and learn to live without it. I did it, and thousands of others have, too.

I used to look at sober people and want to ask: ‘What’s it like? What’s it like not drinking alcohol ever?’ And now I can see how that is such a difficult question to answer. On the one hand, removing booze is monumental, a hugely life-changing, revelatory move to make. On the other hand it’s just another decision made, change implemented, choice taken. I’m oversimplifying sobriety massively here but, at its most basic level, this is the truth.

I think if we make a decision to do something like remove alcohol from our lives, if we work really hard to follow through with that decision, gritting our teeth through the excruciating challenges, slogging away sluggishly through the lows, then adjusting and coping and managing to do it, over time we start to realise we have the power to direct our own lives (and that we’ve been lied to all these years and alcohol is not a necessary ingredient for a fun, full life).

And as long as we keep up with the not-drinking, slowly but surely we will experience an uplift. It is guaranteed.

Whatever your level of addiction, or the extent of your dependence, or your chosen path in attempting to live sober, know this—we can live without it. Regardless of what the liquor industry wants us to believe, we can live without alcohol—it is not a vital part of life, it is not the golden ticket to fun, it is not your friend. If you are sick of the boozing and sick of the guilt, know that it is entirely possible to take alcohol away and learn to live without it. If I can do it—me being completely convinced that booze was a necessary part of life—anyone can. Get whatever help you need. Find your community. Do whatever you need to do, but get rid of it. We can live without it.

I’m not ashamed of my drinking problem. Alcohol is addictive, everyone knows that. I’m not weak or a bad person because I got addicted to something that is addictive. I’m not going to hide my addiction and, more importantly, I’m not going to hide my recovery. If I can show what it was like for me learning how to live without alcohol, hopefully more people will see what the road is like: rocky at first, but beautifully smooth after a while. If one person stuck in a boozy nightmare instigates their own amazing transformation because of what I’m sharing, I’ll be a very happy camper.

So here it is, here’s my story. Here’s what I went through as my drinking escalated to the point where I had to stop, and the amazing ride I’ve been on since that point of change. Step inside my mind, strap in and prepare for a bumpy ride, because it did get very bumpy . . .

1

December 2007

Holy shit, we’re relocating! My husband Corin has landed a fabulous new job at TVNZ as the morning business presenter so we have to move to Auckland, where the studios are based. It’s crazy busy and I’m flat-out organising everything. I’ve got lists for Africa. We’ve got a tight timeframe and Corin is already frequently flying up to Auckland to learn the ropes, so he’s out of the picture. But that’s okay—I’m an organisational whiz!

I’m wrapping up our lives in Wellington with ruthless efficiency. Doctor and dentist notes are being gathered. Belongings are being sorted and packed. Affairs are being ordered. Beloved caregivers are being bought gifts and showered with praise. Barbecues are being held to farewell friends and family. Tears are shed, but not mine—I’m too busy nailing it! Everyone is most impressed with how well I’m organising everything. But it’s par for the course. I manage everything in my life extremely well. No one would expect anything less.

I’m drinking my way through the relocation, of course. Lots of red wine or chardonnay (anything but sauvignon)—a bottle a night, give or take. But hey, I never start before 5 p.m.(ish) and goodness knows I need it; I’m so busy and stressed. Anyway, it’s normal, nightly drinking, and everyone does it, don’t they? Five o’clock is wine o’clock, right? Okay, so I’m not sleeping a great deal, and kind of dealing with hangovers all the time, but so what? I’m a caring mother and a supportive wife, there’s no problem here.

The hangovers aren’t actually that bad, to be honest. At this stage in my life my body is a fine-tuned wine-processing machine. And so it should be by now, it’s been used as such for the past twenty-odd years.

I first got drunk on Marque Vue aged fifteen, sitting on a beach in Banks Peninsula with a friend. We scoffed marshmallows while glugging the sweet bubbly wine. I later vomited up those marshmallows, whole, into an empty bath. It’s one of the enduring memories of my youth—those undigested marshmallows, globs of pink and white spread across the bottom of the bath along with the rest of the contents of my stomach. Did that put me off booze? No way!

Nothing about the experience of that night, or any other days and nights that I drank through my teens, deterred me. Right from that first drunken night with the Marque Vue and the upchucked marshmallows, alcohol for me is like a fun challenge. It makes everything more interesting, more sparkly, more gnarly. Alcohol cranks up the dial, ups the ante, shifts the parameters of whatever is in front of me. I love it. I absolutely love it.

I love the fissure of excitement that passes around the room when alcohol is introduced. I love the anticipation of the fun and silliness to come. I love the dangerous taste of alcohol, the warmth of it as it slides down my throat, and the feeling as it spreads around my body; first in my belly, then snaking up my back and reaching into my head. I love the sensation of alcohol fizzing around my brain and sparking my nerve endings. I love how it loosens my thoughts, loosens my limbs and shifts my reality.

I’ve spent all of my years from the age of fifteen until now practising the fine art of getting pissed, navigating the boozed space in my mind, and having fun. I’ve drunk my way through journalism school and a career in TV news, travelling the world and lately settling down with Corin and having children. I’ve always managed to take a break from drinking for pregnancies and breastfeeding, but aside from those times drinking is an entrenched part of my lifestyle. It’s what I do; I’m a drinker! Alcohol makes me feel comfortable and confident and naughty and (best of all) fun. Life is all about chasing the fun.

And luckily for me, even though I regularly drink, always steadily and sometimes heavily, rarely do I have black-outs and seldom do complete disasters occur. I manage to dance just inside the line of respectability, succeeding at jobs and managing relationships.

So now here I am in my mid-30s, married with two boisterous young sons aged just two and three years old, working part-time as a TV news producer, studying (a post-graduate diploma extramurally) and drinking my merry way through life. I’m a high-functioning, habitual boozer yet I consider myself a normal, ordinary gal with a normal, ordinary attitude to wine. Five o’clock is wine o’clock and, of course, five o’clock happens every day.

For boozy housewives like me 5 p.m. is a magical, mystical, crucial time of the day. It’s the moment at which I open the bottle and escape the monotony. The kids’ incessant demands become more bearable. I feel a little bit glamorous, a little bit naughty. I feel like I’m still part of the grown-up gang.

I never in a million years consider myself an alcoholic—god no! I’m not one of those people, those smelly derelicts lying in the gutter or scratching through rubbish bins. I’m a lovely, suburban, middle-class housewife, thank you very much! I don’t hide vodka in a coffee mug in the morning; in fact, I rarely drink spirits at all. I don’t stockpile booze (I buy on the day what I will consume that night). I don’t get the shakes and need a drink to make them stop. I don’t black out and forget what happened. I don’t wet my pants or sleep in my clothes. I’m well within the respectable line of drinking.

I think.

Lately, though, I’ve had this annoying, nagging realisation growing inside of me that my wine-drinking is getting kinda full-on. I’m sort of annoyingly aware that I’m always buying it, that I’m always drinking it. I’m annoyingly more aware that my hangovers are getting worse, and that yet again I feel sick in my guts from having had too much wine the night before.

This annoying awareness, this nagging knowledge, is forcing me to try and exert some control over my intake. Just lately I’ve been trying to limit the nights I drink, have regular dry-days or long periods where I abstain completely. I’m starting to have to put some effort into controlling my intake, and it’s kind of annoying to note that it’s bloody hard. I don’t want to control my drinking. I love it! I love my nightly wines. I don’t want to question my habit or dwell on the negatives; it’s normal, I’m fun, I’m hardworking, I deserve it!

I try very hard not to dwell on the fact that I’m wobbly most nights. I try very hard not to dwell on the truth that my drinking habit is slowly but surely becoming quite serious. I try very hard not to admit the fact that I have a very determined, intense, obsessed and unhealthy dedication to wine . . . No, bugger that! No time for dwelling—onwards! I’ve got a relocation to organise. Corin’s career is on the up. ‘Get a bottle of red on the way home, would you, honey? Actually, make that two.’ Yee haa!

I feel like this move to Auckland is a good thing for our family at this point in time. Our boys haven’t started school yet and don’t really care about much outside of their train set and toy cars, and of course that’ll all move with us. Anyway, change is good. I embrace change. I’m easy-going, low-maintenance Lotta! Nothing really gets to me. I’m a cruiser, cruising my way to a new life in a new city. Let’s go!

2

Three years later

Corin’s been promoted! He’s now one of the lead anchors on Break fast. Every weekday he’s out the door at 4.20 a.m. heading for the TVNZ studios to go live on-air for three hours. It’s a very challenging and exhausting role but he loves it and we’re all so proud. The boys and I are used to him not being around in the mornings and we’re cool with that. I’ve got my routines down pat and everything runs smoothly. Of course it does. I manage everything extremely well, remember? Super-efficient, high-functioning me.

The mornings go like this: wake up, jug on, mug of instant coffee, painkillers, breakfast eaten, lunchboxes packed, kids dressed, me dressed, pack schoolbags, sunglasses on, out the door and into the day! I’m smiling and happy, even if my head aches. I breeze along. There’s no problems here. I’ve made some fantastic new mummy friends in our community and our neighbours are all super-lovely. Life in Auckland is good.

We’ve produced another son since we’ve been here (three boys, can you imagine the noise levels in our house?!) and now he’s one year old I’m back working as a TV news producer two evenings a week and have also recently enrolled to do a Master of Arts thesis part-time. Mostly, however, I think of myself as a housewife, and I love it! I care for the kids and Corin, I run the house, I manage the budget, I cook, I clean, I ferry everyone around. I even manage to exercise occasionally. And of course all of this crazy busy activity is accompanied by wine. I am busting my chops to be superwoman and do it all—be a wife, mother, worker, student, and a domestic goddess (ha ha)—all while maintaining a regular, steady wine-drinking habit. High-functioning to the max!

Every day at 5 o’clock the wine is opened. Like every other house in the country, right? We drink at least a bottle a night—to be fair, Corin usually only gets one or two small glasses but he doesn’t seem to mind. By 8 p.m. the work is done, the kids are asleep and Corin’s struggling to stay awake himself. The promise of a 3.45 a.m. alarm clock lures him toward bed and off he goes. Lucky me gets to sit up alone and indulge in as much reality TV as I like!

And more wine.

I’m vaguely aware that our new routine (with Corin now a shiftworker and usually heading to bed before me) is resulting in my wine habit becoming a little bit heavier. The wines I have while preparing dinner carry over into wine with the meal. The tidy-up-the-kitchen process that should really finish with my wineglass being put in the dishwasher doesn’t. Instead I leave the glass on the bench and have another while bathing the boys and getting them into their PJs. Sometimes I carry my wineglass into the bedroom when I’m reading them a bedtime story. Often I’m filling up yet another glass when Corin is taking himself off to bed.

My part-time TV production work is carried out on Thursday and Friday, which is lucky for me because the ‘Friday drinks’ routine that was always around in my younger days is still in force and I get to load up for free in the office and kick-start my weekend. Bonus!

But as the months have passed in our new Auckland routine, I’ve been finding that one bottle of wine per day isn’t ever quite enough. Lately I’ve been buying two a day on the murky pretence ‘it’ll last a while’. But it doesn’t. Once I’m on the sofa in the evening in a quiet house with everyone else in bed, the TV on and a few vinos already in me, I find it very difficult not to keep heading to the kitchen for more. It calls to me—the wine—it calls my name; ‘I’m over here, Lotta . . . there’s a few more glasses left in me, Lotta . . . come and drink me, Lotta . . .’ I find it very hard to say no.

So I pour just one more, just one more, just one more. My drinking habit is now a very quiet, private drinking habit. The blinds are down and no one can see me. I watch TV and make trips to the kitchen and the bathroom. Sometimes I make toast and eat four pieces at 10 p.m. like a freak. Eventually I slowly make my way to bed and crash out asleep. At this point, when I’m at my most sloshed, there’s no one about. The family is all in a deep slumber. I don’t need to form sentences. I don’t even need to think very much. I’m not sure that I even realise how boozed I’m getting.

I keep painkillers in my bedside drawer and make sure I have a glass of water beside me so I can neck a couple as soon as I need to. I wake at 3 a.m. with my bladder full, my head pounding and guilt bouncing around my fizzy brain. Did I really need to have those last two glasses? Why didn’t I stop earlier? Am I okay? Is this really still normal everyday drinking? Sometimes this fizzy 3 a.m. brain keeps me awake for a couple of hours. I don’t want to, but I feel quietly miserable in those dark lonely hours.

For the most part all this drinking of mine is a solo pursuit, and as a result my growing concern is also mine alone. I try to talk to Corin about it but he doesn’t seem to understand what I’m saying. He says things like, ‘Yeah, I noticed you finished that second bottle after I’d gone to bed last night’, and ‘Just don’t touch it during the week if you’re that worried’. To be fair I’m a bit like Jekyll and Hyde when it comes to discussing my drinking. I can be completely open, vulnerable and honest about it one minute (usually in the morning when I’m hungover and feeling miserable) but if he tries to bring it up when I’ve got a glass in my hand I become very flippant, defensive and hostile to the whole discussion.

And, quite honestly, I really don’t think he understands what it is I’m trying to tell him. He can listen to me, but he can’t relate. He doesn’t have the same twisted thinking that I do. His approach to alcohol seems fairly normal. Mine is not. I have a sick part of my brain that thinks about alcohol in a very obsessive and unhealthy way. I’m not what you could describe as ‘breezy’ about it. Mine isn’t a ‘take it or leave it’ attitude by any stretch of the imagination.

I think about wine all the time. I’m concerned if there’s not enough wine in the house for the evening. If we’ve got visitors I watch what other people are pouring and worry that there won’t be enough left over for me. I tend to fill my glass to the top and slurp a bit down straightaway. I flip-flop constantly, feeling guilty one minute then planning to buy booze the next. I drink it in the evening with little regard for the fizzy 3 a.m. brain or hangover ahead.

My wine consumption is constant, but not always consistent—there are heavy phases and lighter phases. But the heavy phases, they’re pretty bloody heavy and a lot goes down my throat. Here’s what a typical heavy-drinking week would look like: