I’m still battling with my sobriety and while I’ve come to terms with feeling like this (desperately wanting to drink and not being able to), it’s still no fun. In fact, it fucking sucks balls.
I know “triggered” has become an ugly internet buzz-term with everyone being triggered by something, but I’ve come across something I’m really, genuinely triggered by.
My friend has a large recycling “bucket” in his kitchen. It’s where he tosses his discarded bottles. And those bottles tend to be “handles” of rum. Looking at them piled high like that sends me into a genuine tizz. It makes me feel dizzy and desperate. I know how it sounds like bullshit but it’s one of the few things that really triggers me. I haven’t felt anything like it since giving up the booze.
Of course, I haven’t told him. I don’t think I will. but I’m at his place at least once a week and it becomes really hard for me to focus.
It’s weird, not drinking. I constantly look forward to the day when I finally cave and drink again…but it just never comes. I feel genuinely angry towards those people that would be disappointed in me drinking again. I want to say “Fuck you” to them and not care what they think. But it’s hard. Taking up drinking again is becoming harder than not drinking, except it feels me with more resentment.
My girlfriend told me, a few weeks ago, that I sound less British than I once did. It’s preyed on my mind ever since and I can’t seem to shake it.
I came to the US with so little identity. I hadn’t really shaped a personality for myself, despite being twenty-odd years old. So I really held onto being British.
When you’ve had the life I’ve had you don’t really get to be proud of much but there was something about being in America and being from the UK that made me inherently proud. Maybe even a bit pompous.
Losing my accent means losing that part of my identity. And it gets on my tits, too. It makes me angry that people expect me to keep sounding the same, despite being in this ridiculous fucking country for over ten years. I tried my best. I really did. But things do rub off on you. There’s only so long you can get away with saying the quaint British things you first say when coming here. I can’t get away with it anymore. I’m not Russell fucking Brand.
But, deep down, every time I’m reminded, I feel my identity shift. I feel…well…less of who I once was. It hurts.
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