How I Quit Binge Drinking

I will start by saying that from the title of this post you may be led to believe I had a problem with binge drinking. Maybe I even had a drinking problem.

This is not the case at all. Binge drinking is becoming more and more commonplace around the western world. It’s a nightly occurrence on university campuses, and guess what – if you drink more than 10 units (men) or 7 units (women) a night you too are a binge drinker.

The exact meaning of binge drinking has somewhat changed over time, but in essence…

Binge drinking or heavy episodic drinking is the modern epithet for drinking alcoholic beverages with the primary intention of becoming intoxicated by heavy consumption of alcohol over a short period of time.

I barely drank at all until I reached sixth form, aged 16. Even then, throughout my two years of further education before attending University aged 18, drinking only came about occasionally.

The only times me, or my friends would drink would be at house parties, when their parents went away for the weekend. But as I say, this isn’t uncommon. None of us have drinking problems, and hopefully we never will. This has, unfortunately, become fairly normal.

It was the same affair at University, albeit on a grander scale. First year was the worst for binge drinking (or best, depending how you look at it). We would be on it pretty much every night, as it slowly but surely took more and more effort for our bodies to become drunk from the alcohol.

I remember a good friend of mine having a check-up at the time, during which the doctor asked her how many units of alcohol she consumed in a standard week, handing her a chart with measurements to place her tick beside.

“I drink more than most of those values in a day”, she said to me, with a rather worried look on her face.

So, this begs the question. If binge drinking is so common…

Why Did I Quit?

It all happened one night at an underground disco bowl in central London (all the best stories start this way).

I was having a really good time during a friend’s birthday, and I remember looking at my watch, seeing it was almost midnight and realising I’d only had one drink the whole time I’d been there. This was unheard of for me, and most of my friends, at the time.

I immediately made my way towards the bar, but before I could reach it I was struck by a light bulb moment.

I thought to myself “Hold on a minute. You’ve made it this far into the night, having so much fun you didn’t even realise you weren’t drinking. What need do you have to buy another drink now?”

I stopped in my tracks, did a u-turn and made my way back to the bowling lane, just in time for my throw. That night I left the disco bowl richer, happier, and much more sober than I had done in a very long time.

Dance Rules

After that night I didn’t drink for months. I can’t remember how long it was now, but it really wasn’t an issue for me.

It was tough explaining to people that “Oh, I don’t drink now”. Many of them didn’t get it, so I opted not to tell certain groups of friends at all. I’d get by on straight cokes for an entire evening, making up the names of all the potions I hadn’t put into it.

I discovered the best way to deal with not drinking in a club environment was to dance, and more impressively, dance as if you were drunk. It took a while to get used to it, but I finally found my sober-dancing feet on a light-up disco floor in Cardiff (apparently I was all about the disco back then).

I soon realised that if people thought you were drinking, and you acted like you were drinking (busting some crazy-hot dance moves), who cares! Dance was my saviour back then. I could act as crazy as I wanted, and far from becoming boring and sober towards the end of the night, I was up and wanting more.

When I eventually did tell more people, some thought I was doing some cool experiment – and in a way, I was. Except I knew the outcome of this experiment. I’d become bored of binge drinking. I was bored of destroying my body once a fortnight, sometimes even once a week.

The Aftermath

Now, two years later, things are very different. I’ve only been binge drinking a couple of times in the last year – and to clarify, my own personal definition of binge drinking is now three or more pints (6+ units) in one go.

I’m aware that many people could tolerate this amount in one afternoon and go back to work functioning perfectly. I could have done too, three years ago.

Quitting drinking drastically reduces your alcohol tolerance. Three years ago I could take anything. As I said, it was taking more and more to get us drunk. Now, I’m on my way after two pints. No kidding.

One of the only downsides I’ve discovered from quitting binge drinking is friends I’ve met since then simply believe I’m a lightweight, incapable of holding my alcohol.

Often somebody would try to encourage me to keep drinking (past my standard couple) to see what I’m like drunk. It’s patronising as hell, and I tell them so. It’s the exact sort of activity that takes place aged sixteen when you really haven’t been drunk before, but this time its grown adults who have never known you be anything else.

Less patronising, but still annoying, are people who encourage me to keep drinking with them. Hey, I’m drinking this pint slowly for a reason! I’ve had to physically push drinks away that people have taken it upon themselves to buy me, just because they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

It really is very hard to get across to new people that you’re not abnormal for not drinking (or rather, not drinking much). I often use the line “I used to drink, but I ruined it” as a joke to get the point across, but it’s usually ignored.

—

Despite this, I honestly think quitting binge drinking is one of the best things I’ve ever done. Not just for my health, but also for my state of mind, my productivity, and my bank balance.

I don’t dislike alcohol – buy me a Guinness and I’m yours. I just no longer binge on it, and I’m better off for it.

###

Tweet