Ask a Former Drunk: How the Hell Am I Going to Handle Being Around Sober People?

“Let’s get a drink” had been my bridge to the world, but I had to burn it. So what happens next? You build new bridges.

Illustration by Angelica Alzona

by Sarah Hepola

“Ask a Former Drunk” was a five-part advice series that ran on Jezebel and then disappeared down the memory hole. We’re bringing it back. Read the introduction here and the second installment here.

Originally published June 21, 2016

I am a binge drinker, and have put myself in countless unsafe (and questionably consensual) sexual experiences. The first time I blacked out was the first time I drank. I was in Madrid and 18. I read your book, and your anxiety post-blackout is my same anxiety post-blackout. Your justification of one, or two, or fuck it four more drinks, is what I do all too often.

For me, it's all or nothing. Perrier or 7 drinks in a few hours.

I removed hundreds (truly hundreds) of photos of myself off my Facebook and Instagram. All the photos were at the same bars, with the same "friends," with the same glossy eyes and wobbly legs.

What I've decided to do next is really scary. I don't trust my will anymore, so I want to stop drinking. I have been in therapy for a year, but am truly starting my journey of sobriety ... today.

I have a question and would love to hear your advice. How did you deal with being around friends (and acquaintances, and family members, and strangers) who are drinking when you aren't? I find it really hard to be around drunk people when I'm sober. I get mad at people who drink around me when I'm sober (hence why I usually just joined them). Do you have any advice for this type of situation?

— V.

Dear V.,

You did a hard thing today. Before I address anything else in this letter, I want to congratulate you on that. Whether this change lasts for five days, two weeks, or 20 years, you stared down your own life, which is a bit like opening up three years of credit card bills in one sitting. It can be so hard to confront the messes we’ve made. It’s much easier to drink away the discomfort. I did that for many years. The problem with drinking away problems is that you often end up making new and bigger problems.

By the way, I can’t count the number of times a phrase like “questionably consensual sexual experiences” has shown up in letters to me. We’re going to talk about this in the next installment, so I hope you’ll come back. Sex and consent is a huge reckoning for women coming out of the drinking life, because one of the habits we develop over the years is to drink even more, hoping to ease the pain and guilt and shame of sexual trauma. It makes sense at the time, right? Numb those horrific feelings with some Chardonnay and tap back in to your own bad self. But getting too drunk can open a chute into new kinds of guilt and shame. I swear 80 percent of what I talk about with drinkers could be boiled down to this equation. “Problem + loads of alcohol = Bigger problem.” This holds true for sex, finances, work, relationships, body image, you name it. But when you are accustomed to using alcohol to fix your troubles, emptying those bottles can leave you pretty lost. The first six months after I quit drinking was me squinting at a new equation: “Problem — alcohol = What the hell do I do???”

Your question is about friends who still drink. That was a tricky equation for me to solve, because I’d spent decades relying on alcohol to ease my nerves and insecurities in social situations. Like you, I found it very hard to be around drunk people when I tried to quit. Mostly, because they were still drinking. It was like walking into a room where EVERY SINGLE PERSON was dating my ex. I’d accepted that I had to quit drinking, but I never signed off on everyone else getting to continue. Happy hours came and went without me. Couples sat on the patio of a sunny sidewalk cafe, enjoying a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and was it wrong that I DESPISED them? My friends posted blurry pictures on Facebook at 2am with glossy eyes and wobbly legs, and the child-like part of me that craves belonging would howl at the moon with anger and sadness. IT’S NOT FAIR! How come they get to drink, and I don’t get to drink?!?