Just One.

I’m pretty sure anyone who’s quit alcohol in the history of the world EVER has been subjected to someone asking “…but can’t you just have one?”.

There are some alcoholics who point blank could not have one drink. It would set off a reaction in them that would only end up in blackout, or passed out, within a matter of hours. Before they knew it they’d be starting their day with the cracking open of a can of Strongbow again and wondering how on earth they got back to this place where alcohol was the be all and end all of their existence.

However, when someone asks me if I could have just one drink, the answer is a little less clear. I have to play the tape forward, not just to the end of the night, but to the months and weeks after that one drink. This is what I think it would look like:

I’d order one drink, and in trying so hard to keep it at just the one, I’d spend the entire evening concentrating on the drink. I’d barely be paying attention to those around me and wouldn’t be able to relax for even a second for fear of getting carried away and ordering a round of jaeger bombs (are they even still a thing? They were 2 years ago). I’d go home early and I’d be relieved and pleased with myself for sticking to the one drink. I’d probably feel a bit more tired than usual but would wake up in the night and struggle to fall back to sleep, even just from the one G&T. So in answer to the question, yes, I think I probably could have just one.

But what happens after that?

The next time I’d go out, I’d be a little more relaxed. The little voice in my head would be saying “I managed it last time, didn’t I? And anyway, what’s the point in one drink? I’d better make it worth my while and have two. Two’s a nice number, enough to get a warm buzz but still not be a complete nutcase.” And so I’d have the first drink, and then I’d have the second, and by the end of the second drink, my inhibitions will have been warped enough to think “Fuck it! I’ve broken my sobriety now anyway. May as well have the whole night off.” And before I know it, I’d be in blackout and drunk texting the entire contents of my phonebook.

From there I’d be back on the merry-go-round. The compulsion to drink would be back. The shame and embarrassment would be back. The horrendous Sundays spent solely in bed feeling dreadful would be back.

So yes, I think I could have one drink. But I think I’ll pass, thanks. Anyway, to this day I have never seen the point.