Alcohol has been ranked the most harmful drug in New Zealand, according to new research from the University of Otago. It performs worse than meth, cannabis and tobacco across 17 criteria, including dependence, injury to others, crime and economic cost.
This is a story of why one person decided to make a shift towards a healthier future.
It's not the drinking; it's how we're drinking.
That clever line touted in advertising campaigns around New Zealand in 2005 would often circle my head after a big night.
It's definitely how we're drinking, I'd think. The consequences of alcohol, while varied between say wine or whiskey, are surely defined by how it is consumed. How much. How often.
At 30, as a millennial, I've grown up in an era where binge-drinking was at its finest. And by finest, I mean worst.
When I was at high school in 2007, 61% of all secondary school students were drinkers.
Did that early introduction pave the way for a place where 18.8% of adults admitted to living with a hazardous drinking problem in 2021/2022? Never mind the ones pretending they don't, or not realising they do.
It's hard to ignore new data indicating that Kiwi Gen Zers these days are spending their time online rather than soaking up a big night on the booze. And it feels like that 'sober curious' movement, helped by a rise of the non-alcoholic drink industry, is being picked up by other age brackets, including mine.
I had a relatively sheltered childhood. My dad doesn't drink. Mum keeps a bottle of wine cold in the fridge, but I've never seen her drunk. I suppose this made me wonder about alcohol as a teenager, but nothing outside the ordinary.
I paid my dues at a few skateparks, chugging down Blue Lagoon or Kristov when I was meant to be under the watch of someone else's parents. After I turned 18, I took a four-pack of KGBs or Pulse to a party here and there.
In my 20s, I was social. That's possibly an understatement. I shook free from the feeling of inadequacy bestowed upon me at high school and grew to love being around people, especially ones I care about as well as making new friends. It means catch-ups often take place over a cold one. By one, I don't mean one.
I've never drank regularly on weekdays, maybe twice a month for specific occasions, nor would I keep drinks at home in case I feel like something after work. I don't know that kind of urge.
“It's a rollercoaster. And I wanted off. So I decided to do something about it.
Weekends though, are another story. When meeting up with friends and heading out on a night out, something changes. Alcohol becomes like a fuel to charge my social batteries. Like I'm running on empty, and each drink revs me up. All the exhaustion, stress and mental toll from the week, remedied with each sip. It's not like it's necessary, I'm already an extrovert.
The times become so good, I don't want to stop. The problem is, putting myself in this situation, though as infrequently as it is, is becoming harder as I get older.
It's a roll of the dice to see what happens. Most times, if I roll numbers one through five, I am good. Lively - but more than that. Charismatic, entertaining, persuasive and so, so happy.
It's the sixes I need to watch out for.
When I roll a six, all bets are off. Decisions can be made that I wouldn't normally make. I pass a level of excitement. It's too much. Auto-pilot kicks in. Anything can happen. And sometimes, I feel like it does.
I don't think I'm harming anyone, except myself. But the biggest issue which comes from this is sometimes, things get blurry.
And that on any level, when I wake up in a panic, trying to find my phone and piece the night back together, triggers insurmountable anxiety. ‘Hangxiety’ they've called it. A state so common among people my age, it has its own nickname. Say it, and us millennials - born between 1981 and 1996 - will know what you mean.
Among my qualms, not remembering conversations leaves room for my imagination to generate the worst case scenarios. Also, growing up in the age of technology has also made me acutely aware that I could have been filmed in a most unbecoming state. Worse still, what if I walk one night I walk into the arms of a creep?
So that's fun. To be consumed by guilt, fear, shame and confusion all at once. To wonder, to cry, to nestle under a blanket and breathe while I consider if I want to breathe at all. Thoughts I fought so hard to displace a decade ago washing through me like the liquid I was pouring down my throat only hours ago.
Friends help. They understand. Some encourage, others justify. A few, I have felt, step back.
The terrifying feeling of knowing I've let myself down again. I'm not this person. And don't want to be. I want to change. Only to do it again two weeks later, but roll a four - memory intact, bit messy, nothing crazy. Late night though, but gosh, it was fun. See, you can do this, I think. A week later, the dice shows a two. You went home after three drinks. What a hero. Good for you. Proud of you, my inner-dialogue champions.
Two weeks later, six. What happened? You were fine, my friends say - I don't believe them.
It's a rollercoaster. And I wanted off. So I decided to do something about it.
The first step was admitting drinking was a problem. Maybe my problem isn't bad by others' standards. But this was a problem in my life. Wasted weekends crumbling inside, tearing myself apart, with regret, anger, sadness. Mourning the person I was before I started drinking, comparing it to the way I feel after.
If I want to see change, I am the one who needs to make that happen. Already I've found support in being around like-minded people who understand the anguish. The embarrassment. The frustration. The pain of knowing you're so much better than throwing yourself into the unknown and hoping for the best.
Talking to people about it is helpful, allowing me to understand that how I feel is okay. And I'm working through emotions in a safe place.
I've learned to say no, and it's so good. Each drink I decline is a buzz. I'm still able to socialise and I laugh just as hard. The difference is, I remember the joke the next day. I have a lot more energy, get better sleep and weekends suddenly have twice as much time.
From me to the person who relates to this, you're not alone. Making the decision to focus solely on the person you can be has been strengthening, gratifying and thrilling.
I used to think it was just how we're drinking but, actually, for me, it's drinking at all.
I didn't want this to be a part of my life anymore or wait to see what happens.
Being open is important. To my surprise, I haven't been judged by one person - not to my face, which is how I prefer it on a matter like this.
It's okay if people doubt me behind my back. Because there's nothing more motivating to me than someone who doesn't believe in me. But there's nothing more scary right now than leaving change up to chance.
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