During the hour before my guests arrived for my 30th birthday party, there was a blackout and I had to apply my makeup under the dim glow of a flickering candle. By midnight, long after the electricity supply had returned, there was another blackout – this one in my head. I was so drunk that I had to be carted off to bed with a bucket strategically positioned beside my pillow, leaving all my friends downstairs to celebrate my birthday without me. This was not an unusual occurrence, as I had perpetually failed to realise that I couldn’t moderate my alcohol intake, no matter what rules I tried to establish: no wine (too strong, made me fall over); no midweek drinking; no daytime drinking. Despite these self-imposed boundaries, I would frequently get absolutely hammered.
Related: I drink because I like the way it feels. That doesn't mean I have a problem | Rebecca Carroll
I felt as though I’d discovered a magic solution to all that had been wrong with my life: just don’t drink alcohol
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