This week marks one year since I last got drunk off my ass. I've had the occasional drink since so this isn’t a celebration of sobriety—but I haven't blacked out or been hungover, and that’s a cause for celebration on its own.

While I’m celebrating, I’ll talk a bit about my time with booze.

To be clear: this is about my experience. I know every person has a different relationship with drugs (as with life in general) so do not take anything I say as a statement about your experience.

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Back to me:

I wouldn't say I was an alcoholic a year ago, but I did have a problem—or several problems.

I'd have at least one drink every day, and by, "every day," I do mean every day—maybe 97 out of every 100. I wasn’t going hard all day everyday, but I never went a full 24-hours without catching a little buzz.

That was problem #1: I couldn't bear to be "sober-Johnny" all day; I needed to escape myself each evening. I rarely needed to numb myself into oblivion; I just needed to take one or two steps away from "fully-functional-Johnny" in order to breathe a little easier.

The root of that was chronically avoiding my shit. I had a lot of nagging thoughts I ran from from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed. Alcohol was just one tool I used. I also leaned on weed, podcasts, video games, YouTube, exercise—even WhatsApp group chats. Of all those things though: alcohol was the best. When I drank, I made a statement to myself: "it's time to chill; we're not dealing with our shit now." The first taste of whiskey sent a signal to my brain, saying we could relax. "Everything's okay; we're drinking now; you can officially ignore our shit ‘til tomorrow.”

That leads into problem #2: drinking made any situation okay—not, "better," just, "bearable." I could keep working, as long as I had a drink; I could be bored, as long as I had a drink; I could be uncomfortable, as long as I had a drink.

I had a thought once, that I'd be completely fine sitting through a three-hour church sermon—as long as I had a cooler of beer beside me. That right there says a lot about my relationship with beer.

My belief was: if I was drinking, I was doing something. It was almost...productive. That was the difference between a beer and a Coke. Sure, drinking Coke is enjoyable—but you're not getting anywhere with it. With alcohol though, you're getting drunk—something is happening!

That exploited a strange relationship I have with productivity. I live with a constant, “you haven’t done enough today,” in my head, so when something gives me that "productive" feeling—ooh give me more.

Leaning on alcohol to get through things started with random situations in university then kicked into high gear when my mom passed, which was a green light to self-medicate. It was then reinforced at work, where staying late meant free booze, and it slowly crept into more and more situations: long car rides, airplanes, chairlifts, hikes, dates, family gatherings and so on.

I found tons of reasons to start drinking (some more reasonable than others), and once I started, I couldn't stop.

Which was problem #3 (the most classic "problem," I think): alcohol was the only thing that could satisfy this craving I felt. I didn't feel urges all the time, but one beer was all it took for them to kick in. After that, I was parched, and the only thing that could quench the thirst was more beer. Water seemed irrelevant at that point—it was feeding the wrong itch, like drinking when you're really starving.

Layered on top of that raw “need” was a number of “wants” based on what I believed booze could do for me.

Which brings us to problem #4: I lied to myself about alcohol’s effects.

I have a bit of social anxiety. It's not crippling, but it's enough to make me overthink social situations and generally feel like an outsider when groups of people gather—even if they're close friends.

Drinking got rid of that. Enough alcohol blocked the part of my brain that says, "don't embarrass yourself," and allowed me to open up. Once I was eight-to-ten drinks in, I could finally join the party; I could get out of my own way; I could be like everyone else.

I know a lot of people drink to dance at weddings, or to feel more open with strangers, but I took that idea and ran with it. I drank to be more present, or "more normal." I couldn't go to a party without an abundance of booze, even if ninety percent of the people there were my friends. It’s an extremely lonely feeling to be stranded in your head while surrounded by others, and that’s what sobriety meant. Eff that.

Drinking was like a social supplement that only worked if I overdosed. Every drink past the sixth would get me more out of my shell (prison), bring me closer to those around me, and give me a temporary shot at normalcy and a good time. I needed that, so I OD'd every weekend.

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All this meant I spent a lot of my life hungover, which is where my issues with alcohol came to a head. I wasn't the best version of myself when I was hammered, but I was definitely was the worst when hungover.

I didn't just feel like shit—I was a worse person. I switched into survival mode, becoming way more selfish, lazy, and indulgent. My mindset was: "to hell with everyone and everything, let's just make it through this day."

I think I averaged 1.5 days a week like that—for years. That's over 20% of my waking hours spent walking around as “shitty-Johnny,” procrastinating on goals and generally being a dick, with much of the remaining time spent guiltily catching up on things I'd put off.

That made me feel a loser in the hours I wasn't drunk. It crippled my self-esteem, reinforced all the issues I had about being productive, and drove my compulsive escapism that much more.

That was what I couldn't live with anymore—the hangover-induced depression, anxiety, and self-loathing that existed in a never-ending cycle. I felt like I’d be stuck like that my whole life.

That's what triggered a panic attack a year ago after a heavy four-day binge in Ireland.

That's why I'm celebrating: it's been a year since a hangover has fucked up my day.

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I said at the beginning I wasn't going to go beyond my experience here, but I lied.

I know my experience is unique to me, and I won’t claim to know anyone else’s, but I do believe we as a society tend to ignore and even celebrate some of the darker sides of the drug.

We’ve normalized alcohol to the point where it’s hard to tell whether you have a problem, or just really like to drink. I personally couldn’t see (or could easily talk my way around) my issues for years because they were just extreme examples of things that are fully accepted. It’s okay to drink (a lot) to loosen up so you can dance at a wedding; it’s not okay to drink (a lot) to loosen up so you can have a conversation.

Maybe drinking is so normal because it acts slow and has mild effects at low doses compared with most other drugs.

And yet—excessive doses are also normalized, and effects aren’t so mild after six beers and two shots

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What’s all this to say? What’s my point?

It’s not that booze is bad. I don’t believe it is. It’s a drug with some obvious positives—plus it’s delicious (when done right).

I’m not here to advocate for sobriety. I’m not sober myself.

Hell—I’m not even advocating against binge drinking. If you’re looking for a drunken good time, have at it!

I am advocating for more honesty around what alcohol is and what it does to people, if only so more people like myself are given a chance to look at their own behaviour and ask if their relationship with drinking is positive.

I believe there are a lot of us out there who see listed symptoms of alcoholism and think, “well I’m not that far gone,” then see ads and social posts and memes on care-free drinking and think that’s our camp. A lot of us are somewhere in the middle—we’re not hitting rock bottoms, but we’re also not in control—but we can’t see it because the line between normal and abusive is blurry as hell right now.

So, let’s just be honest: alcohol is fun, it can make a first-date less awkward, relieve the stress of a long day, or just pair well with dinner.

But alcohol is also a drug, no matter how many ads make it seem less dangerous than Pepsi.

You can still drink—do all the drugs you choose!

But drugs are powerful things, and they often aren’t free.

So drink responsibly, friends!