Chapter 15: Carrie

“Steve and Diana invited us to a gathering,” Ernie told to me. “Do you remember them? They teach at Middletown High.”

My first impulse was to scream ‘No!’ A wave of dread washed over me. I couldn’t believe Ernie was considering this. I was having serious wobbles. I knew how much he wanted us to socialize again, but parties, people, alcohol-free drinks – it was all too much.

“Ernie, for a normal person, a party is just that. A party. But for an addict, it’s a situation where their drug of choice is available.”

“Are you going to hide under a rock for the rest of your life, Carrie? I bet your co-workers drink.”

“You know I don’t go out for a drink with them anymore. I also have lunch all by myself.”

“I think you are strong enough to face this. Talk with your sponsor and listen to what she thinks about this. If you say ‘no’, we’ll stay home. If you decide to go, I’ll be there with you all the time. Besides, most of them teach at Middletown High and know about your... ‘situation’.”

Of course, they knew. Middletown was a small town. Secrets had a short lifespan. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, a familiar sensation from my drinking days. But then, instead of reaching for a bottle, I had to face it head-on.

I had that squirming knot of anxiety in my stomach — the one that I would have drowned out with booze, back in the drinking days. Which was why I had pretty much stopped going to parties and gatherings since I quit alcohol.

I talked to Cindy about the gathering, and she suggested it could be a good opportunity to practice my coping skills. “Building tolerance to these situations is like building a muscle,” she said. “Start slow and listen to your body. From what you told me, it seems like a relatively safe environment to start.”

The day of the party arrived, and with it, a fresh wave of anxiety. I felt like a deer caught in headlights. Ernie, sensing my unease, squeezed my hand reassuringly.

The party was packed. People were laughing, talking, and clinking glasses. The smell of alcohol hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of my past. I clung to Ernie like a lifeline, moving from group to group, making polite conversation.

Ernie introduced me to his fellow teachers and their significant others. Everyone said I ‘looked amazing’. I thought at least some of them meant it.

I grabbed a soft drink and kept it in my hand all the time.

“It’s vital to have an explanation that will shut down persuasion, excessive questioning, and argument about your decision not to drink, at least until your friends have accepted it as your normal and shut up about it,” Cindy had advised me.

Each time someone offered me a drink, a surge of panic washed over me. I’d learned my rehearsed response— “I’m taking a break, trying to give my body a reset.” But with each refusal, a part of me felt more exposed, more vulnerable.

But this guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. As he insisted I try his wine, I felt a surge of anger. Ernie’s protective stance was a comfort, but I knew I had to handle this myself.

“I’m not drinking right now. I wasn’t enjoying it enough to make the hangovers worth it,” I said, with a plastered smile on my face.

“You’re drinking the wrong things – try this wine. I bought it myself,” the guy said, trying to take the soft drink off my hand.

“No, thank you,” I repeated.

“You’re no fun,” he grumbled.

Ernie grabbed the guy’s wrist and looked at him with murderous eyes. “The lady said ‘no’.”

I smiled at my husband, and gently took his hand away from the guy’s wrist before the situation escalated any further. The truth was, the guy was starting to irritate me, too.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I was screaming in my mind.

“I’m having a great time without alcohol, thanks. I’m making healthier choices, you should try it,” my voice was friendly but firm.

“Don’t you miss drinking?” he asked, with a puzzled expression on his face. His breath smelled like a brewery, and his eyes looked a bit lost.

“There are times when I miss it a bit, but my life is much better now that I’m not drinking.”