For as long as I can remember, alcohol has been the main problem in my life. The one thing that prevents me from reaching a state of absolute perfection. If I could solve the alcohol problem, there would be nothing left to worry about. Without the alcohol problem, I would go to bed at ease with myself and wake up in a state of carefree happiness. Laughing my way from one joyful moment to the next.
If I think back on stuff that I regret having done in my life, nearly everything has to do with alcohol: The night my university class got back together after five years and I ended up throwing up on the sidewalk. The night my sister was visiting with her new boyfriend and I got drunk even before meeting them. During the night it got even worse and culminated with a loud discussion in our garden. I was the cause of it all. Or at my wife’s bachelorette party where I was invited for the party and had to be taken home. By my wife. And then all the many, many times when I just got more drunk than everyone else at parties and ended up stumbling around on the dance floor and getting to bed with vague or no memories of how I ended up there. All those memories I keep as a library of regrets, which I often open up in my head. I don’t really know why I constantly have to relive those painful moments. But I do. Over and over again. Every time I pause to consider how amazing it would be if I could return to this or that particular situation and redo it so that I wouldn’t have embarassed myself so massively. And let so many people down. That is probably the main feeling: That I have disappointed and let down the people that I care about. I have disappointed them, I feel, just by exposing a side of me that isn’t perfect; a side that is flawed, inconsistent and weak. The stereotypical situation (in my head) is me stumbling around half asleep while everyone else at the party sit around talking - completely sober - about important adult stuff and looking at me with an overbearing and slightly disappointed look. Shirts are still neatly tucked into their trousers. No grease spots anywhere. When they wake up the next morning, they are as cheerful and rested as on any other day. I will face a day of mental agony and explosive hangovers, which never really seem to fully fade away.
If the alcohol problem can be solved, such situations will not happen again and my life will be perfect. I will be able to take part in the late-night kitchen discussions at parties and never have to untuck my shirt again. And, in the morning, I will wake up humming 'Blurred Lines' while preparing breakfast for my children and then go for a run before visiting a museum with my loving family and close friends. It will be amazing.