The last time i drank alcohol was 1,024 days ago.
I wondered if i missed the taste of red wine, so i bought a bottle of dealcoholized Pinot noir. It wasn’t bad, it was even good, but i’ve had better grape juice. These last three years, i discovered that there were enough fresh juices, non-alcoholic apéritifs, coffees and teas to satiate my palate. More than enough: my tastebuds have never been sharper and i’m able to discern more complex and subtle flavours than ever before. A few drops of a random hydrosol in a bottle of carbonated water is all it takes to get a party going in my mouth.
Above all else, i don’t miss being a drinker. I was always the last one drunk, which is pretty much as fun as being the only one sober. Drinking is, as much as anything, a social custom. You drink because other people drink, you drink because drunk people are insufferable otherwise. I don’t go out much any more, and when i do, it’s with people who don’t drink much or at all. I’ve grown tired of having to explain myself.
No, i’m not an alcoholic, but i’ve got the genes for it. My grandfather self-medicated his depression with two litres of cheap red wine per day, and i’ve watched my father go down the same path, albeit with stronger spirits. My own consumption ebbed and flowed with my generalized anxiety disorder, to the point where it had all the marks of a coping mechanism. I chose the genuine alternative, which is not alcohol-free drinks, but therapy.
No, i didn’t stop drinking for religious reasons, unless you consider the desire for a long and healthy life a form of faith. There’s no safe or beneficial dose of alcohol. For all intents and purposes, alcohol is a poison. (Perhaps i shouldn’t have gifted my collection of Japanese whiskies to my neighbours.) I stopped because i should and i could, thanks to my wife’s and my friends’ support.
My last drink was an espresso martini. No wonder i stopped drinking.
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