Goodbye To All That: Alcohol

How an episode of The White Lotus brought back chaotic, drunken memories and reminded me why I stopped drinking

This is the first instalment of “Goodbye To All That”, where I explore the aspects of life I’ve let go of and what I’ve embraced in their place. This series examines what we believe we can’t live without and what happens when we release them.

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The last time I had an alcoholic drink was 2.5 years ago. It was late summer, at the end of August, and I was sitting on my friend's tiny balcony at her flat in London Fields. My final drink was a gin and tonic, one of my favourite drinks since I was a teenager. At 19, it felt subversive to choose a bitter-tasting "granny drink" as my go-to order. By the time I turned 35, it had become a routine choice.

I didn’t realize it would be my last drink; I just knew I was finished with everything. I was tired of the hangovers that spiraled into unbearable, days-long depression, of the dependence and bad habits. As one hand cradled the drink and I slowly sipped, the other hand stroked the silk-soft fur of my friend’s dog. In that moment, I felt the very beginnings of the end of it all.

A very cute witness to the Final Drink

Back then, I didn’t have to remember the feeling of being drunk. To be intoxicated, or at least tipsy, at certain moments in my life was to live in my secondary state right after living and breathing. It wasn’t unusual for me to empty my recycling bin, accompanied by the familiar sound of multiple glass bottles clinking together—bottles I often had no memory of buying. I didn’t need to hold onto memories of something I was actively experiencing.

Two years of being alcohol-free is enough time to feel distant from the world I once inhabited. Smell and memory are closely linked, and now, sometimes, I want to remember. When I'm out with someone who orders red wine, I politely ask if I can smell it. Other times, I've taken the glass before they even have a chance to sip and inhaled deeply (like any normal person would) to remember what it’s like. The smell hits me like a wave, and it’s as if the very essence of the colour red surrounds me as much as the now overpowering wall of wine that jolts my senses.

I can’t believe I used to drink this shit, I think to myself, grimacing as I recall how I once loved this shit, how I would skip the glass and drink straight from the bottle.

Two years may not seem like a long time, but it's enough for me to remember the details clearly. They say the body keeps the score, and I know my body’s kept the score for the consequences of being a former loose cannon. As if every bad decision made under the influence remains lodged in my body and only surfaces when my past confronts me.

A recent White Lotus episode prompted me to reflect on my messy history. It felt like an old friend sliding beside me and tapping me on the shoulder. I’m not the only one who found this episode tense and I can’t speak for others' experiences. Still, a new revelation of sobriety is the discomfort of watching fictional characters get fucked up.

And when Laurie took that dubious second shot ... I felt that

In this episode, the girls are out, and so am I. I'm right there with them as they bond with the slightly suspicious Russian guys over drinks and more drinks. I follow Jaclyn as she leads the way to the dance floor, where generic EDM plays loudly and the bright strobe lights distort my vision. As they gradually let loose and lose their inhibitions on the dance floor, I can feel memories slowly unfurling.

Can you feel tipsy just by watching someone on TV take shots? I can, and it’s like my body remembers the experience. It’s not just about observing someone down a shot; it’s being a sober witness to a rampage. The thing about being a former Queen of Self Sabotage is I’ve learned to recognise it in others. Laurie said yes to the night the same way I’d said yes, more, more, countless times before.

There was the night I slammed back a second tequila shot, fully aware that it would knock me sideways and obliterate my senses. I knew it wouldn’t end well, but I loved the ritual of it. Licking my hand and shaking salt, the fiery burn of my throat paired with the bittersweet bite of lime, ending with a performative pinched face. It was my friend’s birthday, and it was just the two of us. What started as an innocent celebration soon turned into “let’s see where the night takes us” and quickly escalated to “Shall we do shots?” before I found myself vomiting in my parents' shower, unsure of how I got home. The following day, I scrolled through my phone’s photo album, trying to piece together the night. I called the bar where my friend said we ended up, hoping they had my lost bag. I swore off tequila, knowing I’d sworn off it before.

Or the afternoon spent drinking rosé in Victoria Park. During the pandemic, restrictions eased, and we were all a bit feral; caged animals were suddenly set free. It was warm enough to bike to the park, and on those hot summer days, I often experienced an ominous sense of danger. Where would the day take me? I never had an answer to that question, knowing that a day involving alcohol meant an array of uncertain options lay before me, each one equally daunting.

That day brought me back to my flat, where I was with my friend and a man we’d met in the park. I remember lying on the couch with him, my friend watching with amusement. The memories began to blur into half-remembered scenes, from being in bed to suddenly feeling repulsed and yelling at this strange man dressed all in black to leave. The next morning, I woke up horrendously hungover and overwhelmed with shame. When my friend sent me a photo of the couch from her perspective, I replied, “Oh goddd lol” but I wanted to throw my phone out of the window and cry; I wanted to rip out my brain just to erase the snippets of memory I did have.

“Don’t worry,” my friend text back. “I’ve been there many, many times before.”

I wanted to stop but wouldn’t stop until I had to.

The episode of The White Lotus felt tense due to the threat of something sinister lurking in the background. Though it loomed, it never fully materialised. This reminded me of all the days and nights when I brushed against the edge of something very bad happening but never quite fell over. Watching the women drink made me realise that memory is as much a bodily experience as it is a mental one. I felt intoxicated watching Laurie because it triggered stored memories in my body.

Bessel Van De Kolk touches on somatic memory in The Body Keeps The Score:

We have learned that trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on mind, brain, and body. This imprint has ongoing consequences for how the human organism manages to survive in the present.

Young kids and animals instinctively move and shake to regulate their emotions, and I’ve started doing the same. While talk therapy has been life-changing for me, I now find myself more inclined toward ecstatic dance, somatic therapy, and hot yoga. Dancing at a sweaty rave frees my mind and body from all constraints, dislodging all the stuck emotions like nothing else. I dance to have fun and feel buried energy morph and shapeshift into something lighter, something I can eventually say goodbye to.

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When did I know that it was time to say goodbye? It was when continuing to drink became harder. Stopping felt like the easier choice. I promised myself I would take just one month off, but that month turned into three, and eventually, it became forever. In its place is everything that’s always been there. It's not so much about replacing alcohol with something else; it's more about peeling back the layers that were previously numbed by drinking. Now, I can see the quiet confidence and strength that I once thought came solely from alcohol.

So, I continue not drinking. I might sniff the wine occasionally, and it reminds me of why I stopped.

[Cover image: Marie Antoinette, 2006]