Lucy Rocca - Glass Half Full

GLASS HALF-FULL

Lucy Rocca

In April 2011, Lucy Rocca woke up in a hospital bed with no memory of how she had ended up there. After accepting that her drinking had spiralled out of control, she made the decision there and then to never touch alcohol again. However, the early days were a challenge, and Lucy began recording her journey in a blog as a way of helping herself move forward to a happy and sober future.

For someone who defined herself by her love of drinking for over twenty years, letting go of the booze crutch was initially a challenge, but over time, Lucy began to realise how much happier she was living alcohol-free. Glass Half Full is the story of her journey from hopelessly devoted wine fiend to sober and truly happy for the first time in her adult life.

As the founder of Soberistas.com, Lucys blog also provides motivational and inspirational support for those seeking an alcohol-free life.

Copyright Lucy Rocca 2014

The right of Lucy Rocca to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN 9781783754458

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN

The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

In at the Deep End August 1st 2012

Heres where Im at: sixteen months ago I had my last drink. I didnt particularly want to stop drinking but rather felt that if I didnt, I might die. You see, for me, alcohol has never been a substance that I could consume in moderation, and on most occasions when I made the unwise decision to crack open a bottle of pinot grigio (or chablis if I was feeling posh) I proceeded to get horribly drunk.

Drinking has landed me in no end of trouble over the course of the last two decades, from initiating belligerent arguments to making unwise choices in boyfriends to engaging in regrettable episodes of public dancing and wild, unfettered flirting with people I most definitely should not have flirted with.

These are just some of the reasons behind my decision to end my relationship with booze back in April last year. It hasnt been all bad, this sober living business, but I have to admit there has been many a moment when I would have killed for a cold glass of white wine, or willingly run naked through a busy city centre for the chance of a secret rendezvous with a bottle of red but I havent. Something inside stopped me: fear maybe, or perhaps merely a will to change that has overwhelmed my long-standing desire to self-destruct.

I know Im not alone in this, my internal battle against the cravings and lusting after that old favourite, the self-medicating liquid that promises so much and dangles glamour and relaxation before our very eyes, only to veer off wildly to a place far more sinister once a few glasses have slipped down. It cant just be me, who never knows when she has had enough and should call it a night, brush her teeth, and sensibly imbibe sufficient water to ward off the evils of the hangover the next day, can it?

I desperately want to understand myself and undergo a mental shift which will see me transported from where Im at now (grudgingly accepting the fact that I am, all of a sudden, a boring non-drinker who fears the word fun is no longer a part of her vernacular) to someone who is happy and confident and devoid of the urge to drink away her emotions at the drop of a hat.

There are numerous elements of alcohol-free life that I love; the hangover-free mornings, the level mood, the brighter eyes, the lack of car-crash situations that spin out of control and impact on so much, and so many, around me. But in the background there is always the niggling worry that Ill never be able to let my hair down again and that, somehow, this pace of life just isnt me. If only I could learn to drink responsibly, to moderate, to sprout that elusive off-switch. However, experience, unfortunately, has taught me this will never happen.

Im thirty-six years old, engaged to Sean, and mother to two lovely girls. I dont know if I am an alcoholic or not Im not sure I even know what an alcoholic is. I dont know if I will ever be happy to be a non-drinker, and I have no idea of how I will turn out without my beloved crutch of wine. What I do know is that there has to be a better way than spending the remainder of my days gritting my teeth and obstinately rebuffing alcohol while inside Im desperately craving a drink. In writing this blog, I want to work through my feelings and help myself find where I want to be who knows, it may just help others too.

This, then, is my journey.

Biscuits v Pinot Grigio August 2nd 2012

About twelve months ago I became pregnant, and from the moment that I peed on a stick and witnessed the blue cross appear in the window I began to eat and eat like there was no tomorrow. Happily morning sickness wiped out the cravings for booze. However, in their place came the most impossible-to-ignore desire for pizza, bread, cheese and pickle, lard (not really, but my hips and arse wouldnt have known that for their dramatic increase in girth), ice cream and BISCUITS. Lots of biscuits. Faster than you could say bun in the oven I had clapped on about a stone and a half, and it only got worse from there.

Before I became pregnant and sober, I hardly touched sugary food, choosing instead to consume the bulk of my weekly calorie intake in alcohol. Somehow I managed to maintain a reasonable weight of nine and a half stone (I attempted to counteract the booze problem with a bit of running, fooling myself into believing that it would negate my being an ardent boozer), but then again I picked at food like an old woman and had an unnatural ability to control my cravings for fatty and sweet foods. Alas, now that the booze has been eliminated and the bun has been cooked and served fresh from the oven, the sweet cravings have not subsided one jot.

I was led to believe that one of the more pleasing side effects of saying sayonara to booze was that the pounds would drop off rapidly, leaving a newly sober person to reap the rewards of her impressive rejection of alcohol by way of a svelte, fat-free figure. I have to be honest this has not been the case. Yes, I did have a baby a few weeks ago, and yes I stuffed my face like a fat-camp escapee at a pie-eating contest for nine months, but still I had kinda hoped that a satisfying amount of post-pregnancy weight loss could be achieved with minimum effort in the gym and by refusing that second packet of chocolate digestives, simply because I was no longer getting sozzled several nights a week. Not so.

It would unfortunately appear that biscuits and chocolate have replaced my addiction to alcohol. Definitely not as damaging to myself, my liver, family, and society at large, but if I want to shed this last stone and a half before our family holiday to Mallorca in four weeks time then I have to get my biccie-munching under control. Pathetic as it sounds, those sweet treats have become one of the few remaining vices in my life (actually, my only vice). Would it be possible to live happily with no vices at all? Now theres a thought

Relight My Fire (starter) August 5th 2012

Since Lily, my youngest, was born, I became (all at the same time) babysitter, washerwoman, cleaner, and general dogsbody, while getting paid virtually nothing (Statutory Maternity Pay is pretty shoddy). Simultaneously, I have been attempting to tone up my sadly neglected body and maintain my relationship with babys father, which has most definitely been put on the backburner since her arrival. And Im not just referring to sex we have barely spoken in weeks. This has not been through want of trying, or because we hate each other, but because any exchanges that have occurred between us have generally taken place as we run between rooms clutching dirty nappies/armfuls of laundry/a baby/our dinner, or as we lie comatose in bed, relishing the silence and the lack of demands that are being placed upon us. Neither scenario is supportive of a healthy, vigorous sex life.