Why I’m Quitting Alcohol

Think Tank #109

Growing up, I had a very black-and-white view of addiction.

An “addict” was the kid on the street corner with a needle in his arm, or the guy wreaking of booze and stale cigarettes who loses his job then comes home and hits his wife.

Some people think the trajectory of addiction is simple. You get hooked on your substance of choice, then your life gradually gets worse and worse until you hit “rock bottom,” after which point you either die or get your shit together and quit the substance completely.

I’ve dispensed with this idea a long time ago.

We’re all addicted to something. The only difference is our habit of choice and whether we act on it. Your addiction can be to adrenaline or attention. Sex. Gambling. Food. Social media. And of course, there are the people who really like drugs.

Substances make things more complicated. There’s a chemical factor there that makes them physically harder to quit. But the fact that we can be addicted to basically anything proves that physical dependency is the tip of the iceberg. Where does it come from?

Some people explain it using brain chemistry—dopamine, serotonin and all that stuff—and I’m sure that’s part of it. However, the chemistry of our brain is only the physical process by which our mental ailments are carried out. It explains how addiction looks, but it doesn’t explain why it occurs.

Addiction is dissatisfaction made manifest. It’s the constant feeling that you need something, and that what you have is not enough. It’s the desire for distraction and cheap pleasures. For a way out of your own head.

That’s why some people are addicted to addiction. They give up alcohol and start smoking cigarettes. Give up cigarettes and start binge eating. The substance itself doesn’t matter much, so long as there’s always some crutch to fall back on.

It’s easy to kick a habit. Not picking up another one is the hard part.

You might be thinking of your own habit of choice right now. Maybe you’re thinking about how you’ve moved past it, or how you think you’ve moved past it. Maybe you’re dependent on something and have the vague idea that you should probably quit one day, or you’ve just accepted that you have a vice or two and it is what it is.

Some of us can live in that limbo state indefinitely. We’ve got it pretty much under control—we might get carried away a couple nights a year, but we monitor ourselves, for the most part. We reach for the substance when we’re sad or anxious or happy or bored, but it’s not going to stop us from going to work in the morning. We don’t drink every day—we make a conscious effort not to cross that line.

Most addicts will never reach rock bottom. Instead, we’re always in free-fall. We limit ourselves to two drinks (sometimes three or four) but more often than not, when we cut ourselves off, we still want another one. We say we’re only going to drink on special occasions, then suddenly start looking for excuses to go out and celebrate.

Alcohol isn’t going to ruin my life, but it makes it worse. I’ve done “Dry Januarys” before. When alcohol isn’t an option, I just forget about it. When I could have it but shouldn’t, I either give in and have one (or three), or refuse and then spend the entire night thinking about changing my mind.

I’m giving it up. Going stone cold. It’s not worth the hangovers anymore, and honestly, I just want the space in my head back.

I hate the idea of never having another beer in my life, but I love chocolate cake, too, and the thought of never having one of those doesn’t freak me out nearly as much. It’s an excuse.

It might suck, but it’s on the Internet now, so I kind of have no choice.

I’m starting next month, though.

Thanks for reading. I know this was more of a therapy session than an actual article, but I hope some of you were able to find value in it.

If you enjoy these posts and would like to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

If you’re feeling generous, you can also buy me a coffee.

I promise I won’t spend it on booze.