Fall.

Drop.

Fly.

Call it what you will. I did it. And I survived.

Talk about the ultimate full-bodied salute to life. It is a feeling that words cannot do justice. It is a feeling that brings with it fear and excitement at the same time. It is a feeling like no other.

My final thoughts?  Not prayers to God/Allah/Buddha (I’d already spoken to them), but a small chat with life.

Hey Life,

You’ve been good to me so far. I haven’t had a drop alcohol for three months so I think you owe me. I’m about to test you in a way you cannot imagine. No, I won’t be attempting to drink the king’s cup; I will be falling through the sky.  Please win for me. I’ve been so good to you lately. We’ve got such a good thing going, it would be a shame to see it end.

Yours forever,

Emily

And hey, life did win. It was a victory celebrated with good friends, Eagle Boys’ pizza and a stoned hippie trying to sell a Jim Beam watch for $5. It was a victory that did not require booze. And it was amazing.

To fall 14,000ft, free-falling for just over a minute gives one an adrenaline rush to be rivalled by no other drug known to man.

Adrenaline Rush: the body’s natural reaction to a threat. It is a physiological process that prepares the body for battle or escape, often called the “fight or flight” reaction.

Falling to your death is one hell of a threat, and yet, I found myself taking in the amazing view rather than worrying about becoming an Asian style pancake.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m taking life by the balls. I’m not worrying about whether the parachute will open, or what I’m going to eat for lunch. Life is simply too great to worry and waste. Jumping out of a plane will generally give you this perspective. And it made me realise so much more.

Yes, I am fresh from the end of my three month drinking ban. My HSM experience is all over red-rover.  That first drink was divine. The only thing that could have made it better was more of it.

So I had one gin drink, two jagermeister drinks and one fruity shot. That was the end. Like a fifteen year old at a back yard “gathering” sipping Smirnoff double blacks and whatever other canned goodness they could rummage, I was feeling hot, like my skin was one fire. I felt wobbly on flat ground. I had to look twice at things. Try a lot harder to maintain a sense of normalcy. It was strange. My stomach lurched, the more booze I fed it. And all I wanted was a McDonalds Chicken Deluxe Meal, medium sized with extra sweet and sour sauce.

Laugh away. My tolerance to booze is no longer there. It disappeared about the time I realised I the only good thing to come out of drinking is…?? Tell me, what is it again??

Oh sure, I have a few dates written on my calendar where the intention to get right royally boozy will be high on my priority list. But until said dates, I would prefer to have a nice dinner. Sip a cocktail (or two) and actually have a Sunday morning.

Lo and behold, I think she’s got it!! It only took three months of sobriety to make her realise.

Hello Sunday Morning!

Where have you been? Oh how I’ve missed you! We should hang out more often! There are some markets just near my place you and I should go to! And maybe we could have breakfast one day! I make some mean waffles!

Hope we can hang soon!

Sincerely,

Emily

That first sip of gin was amazing yes, but maybe it felt even better because of what it meant that I had achieved. Urgh! Vomit! Tell me to shut it! Next thing you know, I’ll be using words like journey, emotions and feelings. But seriously, this Saturday just gone was a day to be remembered. I got a certificate for the pool room. I got some photos for mum. But more importantly, I got a final understanding for why I did this HSM challenge.

I used to drink. Drink a lot. Not too sure what I drank, where I drank it or who I drank with. I assume it was fun though. And this, I do not deny. Drinking is fun. By a most basic breakdown of its chemical components, alcohol will make you feel good. But other things can make you feel good too. I’m not suggesting that you jump out of a plane every weekend, but I’m sure you can think of a million different ways to spend a Sunday, rather than lying in bed all day.

I thought I would get right back on the drinking wagon on May 1^st. I thought I would start drinking again like these three months hadn’t really changed me. But there are some things you just can’t unlearn. One of them is how to say Hello to Sunday Morning.

I’m having an identity crisis.

Spawned from the place in my mind where Disney stories still reign, I find myself personally identifying with both Peter Pan and Captain Hook.

Yes, these are both men. Yes, they are both fictional. And yet their greatest behaviours and beliefs transcend simply into the real, non-fictional world that we live in.

Like most people, the Peter Pan in me is desperate not to grow up. I have been living in Neverland for 22 years now, with new forces trying to drive me out daily. In my Neverland, this lost island of waterfalls and dreams has been replaced with Fortitude Valley, nightclubs and booze. The only similarity being found in the “Lost Boys”… commonly found in my Neverland roaming the Valley streets at dawn.

Enter Bi-polar disorder, for I also believe I’m Captain Hook. This unwavering “TICK-TOCK” follows me… taunts me. It won’t go away; stalking my every move. It has become my sole mission to hunt and destroy the origin of these repetitive ticks and tocks. And although a crocodile has yet to eat my hand for breakfast, I feel like the tertiary education institution better known as QUT has definitely eaten the last five years of my life like a sweet, sweet dessert.

So you see I’m clearly in a crisis; trying not to grow up in a time where the world is telling me it’s time to leave Neverland and never come back. The world it would seem, is against Peter Pan, and without a Tinkerbell to help me out of a sticky spot, I fear the world might just win.

Sobriety has kindly opened my ears to this ticking; opened my ears to the irritating nag of the “grown-ups”. So could it be said that alcohol is our ticket to Neverland? Is it our way to ignore the woes of the real world and stay children forever?

Yes, it’s hard taking the leap from dream to real world and I should know. Three months sober has made me face my fears and slowly realise that some day in the near, near future, I will have to hang up my green feathered hat and sword, to be replaced with pants, blouses and sensible shoes. HSM has helped me learn that, despite feelings of personality similarities with fictional characters; the lease on my tree house is nearly up. I haven’t left yet, but the path has been laid.

With only two short weeks left until the glorious taste of gin can once again pass over my tastebuds, I have realised that Neverland, like any other travel destination, is to be visited only occasionally. One should not take up permanent residence there as the dreams and fantasy so blissfully advertised on their website, is simply one elaborate facade.

Confused? I’ll explain.

Let’s see, you finish school and you are suddenly catapulted back to the Darling house with Wendy and forced to face the real world. It is dangerously commonplace for people my age to simply move with the crowd; not questioning it, just doing what they are told is right. And so we study and study and study some more. We get a job. We make some money; all the while painfully desperate to return to Neverland whenever we can. And so we do and we build up this image of Neverland in our heads. It advertisements tease us with pleasure and fun, most commonly found in the form of Smirnoff or Bacardi. We are drawn to its mountainous peaks of enjoyment, rivers of sugary alcoholic goodness and the promise of an escape of the mundane. We are drawn to what we can’t have. And all of a sudden… BOOM! We are going to Neverland about as frequently as we do the corner store.  We make friends, we fight enemies and half the time we think we can fly.

So is this some sort of Disney fraud? As with all creations of Disney, we must take away our lesson, and leave the rest. Disney’s Neverland exists for approximately 2hrs on a small DVD in numerous homes around the world. Whereas peoples real Neverland, although fun for a minute, promotes only a blissful ignorance and momentary escape. Our Neverland is a fleeting reminder of youth, of the carefree, non-stressed, simplistic days of yonder. I don’t blame you for wanting to go.

And so, to the point of this tragically long Disney/Real World metaphor. HSM has given me an opportunity to understand why alcohol is such a huge part of our lives. I knew early on, that alcohol was like a shoelace tying us altogether. I thought that this might have been enough of an understanding. I was happy with that for a while. I got angry at people for knocking my choices. I criticised an industry that has given me more than a fair share of friends, fun and fortune. I have tried my best to grow up. I have fought against a cultural belief, so commonly ingrained in us. And now, I have used a children’s story to finally get my head (and hopefully yours) around what I see to be a very common thought process in the scheme of drinking and youth today. I knew alcohol was an escape; something to help us leave behind the everyday. But I never knew where it was we escaped to. So I call this place Neverland. And warn you, from the mind of a sober one, that this Neverland will never change. It will always be the same. So why go every day? There is so much more to this world than just a fantastical place in your mind.

I still like alcohol.

I will continue to drink alcohol.

Despite currently being on an extended hiatus from each other, alcohol is yet to return its half of our “Friends Forever” heart necklace. I take this as meaning we are still friends; friends with extraordinary benefits.

After my last post, I fear that a misconception grew as to my view of this brain-altering, confidence-boosting, make-you-dance-like-Madonna, hangover-inducing substance.

I still like it. I’m just not drinking it for three months. Is it really that hard to fathom?

I am now 2 months down; successfully making it over the hump and into the home stretch. With one month to go, I fear that I have not said all that I want… and so I begin:

After my first post here on HSM, I believe people began to realise I was 100% serious about sobriety. The thing is, most also took this as me becoming a different person. Not drinking alcohol should not affect the perception of who you are to the rest of society. I am still the same Emily. Why do certain people insist that I have become someone they can no longer associate with or ask to join in? To these people I say, “Screw you”. I have, in no way taken any steps closer to entering a nunnery. I haven’t started reading the AA Bible before I go to bed.

I’m.   Just.   Not.   Drinking.

And so, I find myself battling with this need to satisfy two somewhat opposing groups. Simply put, there’s the good and the bad. Every day, these two sides of me battle it out for my affection.

Side One: The good side

- Including: HSM, my mother and my slightly less bulging belly.

This is the side that doesn’t drink. This is the side that, on a recent trip to the Barossa Valley, was quaking in its boots when given some wine to taste. I’ll let you in on a secret: two sips of Peter Leihman’s 2008 Sauvignon Blanc blissfully titillated my tastebuds. Watch out! Call the Chaplain!! She’s out of control!!

But seriously, I kid you not, the fear that overtook me as a tasted this beautiful wine (of which I bought 3 bottles) was a great surprise. It was as if I was committing some cardinal sin. HSM Gods, please forgive me! The Barossa was simply too much! It got me thinking however, what was I going to be like when these three months were over? Had this extended stint in the realm of sobriety scared me into taking up permanent residence in the non-fun, go-to-bed-by-7pm, nanna-friendly world of no alcohol?

I like to think that my attitudes to alcohol have changed. My mother is over the moon. Some of my peers have even expressed an interest in sobriety too. I am content with the fact that drinking no longer rules my life.

However…

Side Two: The bad side (Commonly referred to as the “Fun” Side)

- Including: Everyone else.

As human beings, we possess an innate desire to fit it; to be cool; to have friends. With my friends ruling this side, it makes it difficult to for the opposing side to win. To fit in; to be part of this club is very much a part of my identity. Despite some members failing to realise why I am now somewhat of a sobriety advocate, I know what once I have a drink in my hand again, all will be back to how it was before. I will fit right in. Old Emily was a high ranking official in this club, and let’s face it, her dignity was only recently found. So am I that desperate to fit in that I am willing to once again check my dignity in at the door? I want to have fun times again… Can’t these people understand I can still be the same Emily… perhaps just with some minor changes?

So what do I do? Fit in? Be cool? Drink? Get silly? OR somehow, take whatever it is that I have learnt in these two months, and make it cool too?

As the battle continues to prove I’m still the same and yet a little bit different, I say to you this:

I am still fun. I go to bed way past midnight. Sometimes I even cut off nannas at the supermarket checkout. Do not assume that people who say NO to alcohol are any less than what they were before. My take on HSM is not of a group of people who intend on wearing sobriety like some medieval chastity belt; it is about people not drinking for an amount of time and seeing what they learn.

What happens at the end of three months, I do not know.

Speculation is a time waster.

One thing I do know:

Hendricks’ Gin, Cucumber and Tonic tastes good no matter which side you’re on.

So let me have one and we’ll see what happens from there.

Some more learned than others.

As my status is life teeters on the verge of being “alcoholic”, I share with you some lessons I should have really paid more attention to.

  1) 21 shots for your 21^st birthday is NOT a good idea. Taking a shot every time someone wishes you a happy 21^st birthday, is also NOT a good idea. Hedge diving, the inability to walk and  public displays of affection (with strangers) will generally ensue.

 2) Stealing the 2L bottle of Belvedere Vodka from the bar like a ninja is not as cool as you think. Drinking from that bottle like it was water is really stupid. Waking up in a strange hotel room, fully clothed (bag and shoes still attached to my body), to the sounds of a strange little mexican man playing a ukelele and some other strangers watching mexican cartoons, with NO clue of where your friends are; is probably how your night will end.

 3) Going from sober to drunk in less than an hour, stealing people’s shoes, throwing glasses of water at strangers, sitting of the bathroom floor to take of your shoes and tights for no particular reason other than to put them back on, passing out in certain VIP booths, being kicked out and mouthing off to security guards are all reasons why someone should recieve a three month ban from that particular nightclub. A great way to end my 22^nd birthday.

Hi. My name is Emily Yeo. I am 22 years old. I study Business and Creative Industries at QUT. I am in my final semester. I am supposed to be growing up. Instead, I am a bartender at the Monastery.

My job is alcohol. I live it, breathe it, and more often than not, drink it. I have been working in hospitality for three years. People’s reactions to alcohol or other various substances, no longer faze me. Where I work, we love our drink. Cointreau, tequila, makers mark and vodka apples are the bar favourites. No surprise to most. It’s a fun job. We rock at it. We pump out “piss” like there’s no tomorrow. Such good work deserves a pick me up.

In this culture passing out after a night of drinking is laughed at. Being hung over for the entire next day comes with the territory. Not remembering any of the previous night is cheered upon. In my job I am surrounded by these thoughts; this deep unfaltering belief that life is intertwined with alcohol.

I am a long standing member of this culture club. For years I have pledged my allegiance to the bottle and have been a full advocate for its misguided beliefs.

Or at least I was.

One month of sobriety for “Febfast”, spurred me on to do another two. Slowly, I am being drawn over to sobriety’s dark side and I fear my platinum membership status in that alcoholic culture may soon be revoked. I will use this blog as an explanation to those in charge; those who are yet to understand my reasons for doing this. I will use this blog to show them that I still deserve to be a part of their club; I can still be a member and not drink.

So why did I do this?

It was in the face of a three month nightclub ban, and one hell of a hangover, that I began to realise what lay at the root of our social construct. It was as I hung my head in shame at my own rancidness that I began see alcohol as not just a social lubricant, but more so a social glue. It holds people together; without it, people can find it hard to stick.  

As a bartender, it is perfectly excusable that we would drink and drink and be merry. However, despite my avid protesting against it, time has come for me to graduate and begin my life as a grown up. Boring? Most probably. Scary? Hell yes. Alcohol will no longer be my glue. I might actually have to talk to people… real words… not my usual alcohol-fuelled smack.

And so, of all the people in the world to take on a drinking ban, I, Emily Yeo, Mono bartender and deep lover of alcohol, have decided to say no to booze for three months. The things I have learnt in my first month, only make me curious to see what I will learn in the next two. Can such a deep, engrained cultural value be shifted towards a more healthy view of alcohol? Can willpower and determination win over such an unwavering temptation? Can society learn that the only glue they really need is CLAG??