I often question my sanity...

Sometimes I fear that I’m losing it.

I am not my usual self. I don’t even know what my ‘usual self’ is anymore. Or perhaps I do and I find it rather worrying.

I start to wonder, not about my sanity (that’s intact, or rather it’s in far better shape than it used to be) but about whether the person I seem to be turning into is the real me and that the caricature, the ‘act’, the alter ego that I developed many years ago in order to combat feelings of inferiority and shyness, is slowly dying out.

Many years ago I decided that the only way to be popular was to play the fool, be the ‘crazy guy’, the Keith Moon, the nutter, the one that was fun to have around until things got out of hand, usually because there was alcohol involved. I was proud to be the one incapable of having a girlfriend for more than a couple of weeks (such a wild and crazy guy!) and although the reality was that if I hadn’t been locked into the crazy character I had developed, I was probably capable of being ‘the sensible one’, the person who wouldn’t crave a clockwork motorboat whenever he saw a large puddle in the street - but where’s the fun in that?

I suppose the bigger point here is that we all have on and off stage personas and the ‘crazy guy’ thing was my on stage thing; when I’m off stage I’m a different person. We’re all the same in that respect. Now, without the alcohol, I guess my off stage persona is also becoming my on stage one and I’m glad it’s not the other way around.

Did I have a drink problem? At some stage in my life, probably yes, but like the tee-shirt (‘I don’t have a drink problem: I drink, I fall over, no problem’) the issue was that I couldn’t really handle booze. I was fine up to around four pints, but any further and I’d start clowning around in some way, sometimes in a good way, but invariably, as things progressed, things would worsen, I’d start swearing and slurring my words and saying things I didn’t mean. In short,  I was often obnoxious. Occasionally it worked out fine: a few pints and then home. But I never knew when to stop (or perhaps I didn’t want to stop) and would often wake up with a hangover the next morning. A couple of days off the sauce would sort me out and all would be well. There were plenty of occasions when nothing bad happened, but there were also some bad hangovers, normally in hotel rooms or cabins on board a ship.

I used to laugh a lot too. I can’t remember the last time I experienced gut-wrenching, shoulder-shaking, uncontrollable laughter. There was a time in Berlin, back in the early noughties and prior to that there was the High Plains Drifter moment in Sutton Library, but outside of those two occasions and many, many earlier moments whilst under the influence of something or other, I can’t remember any recent situation when I laughed and meant it. Yes, I laugh now and then out of politeness at an unfunny joke, but there’s nothing to laugh about these days. I sit, sober, at family get-togethers looking forward to the moment when I can escape and return home to continue being the ‘new me’  (the real me?) without people wondering what the hell is wrong; and the answer to that question is: there’s nothing wrong with me, it’s just that I appear to be cutting out every avenue of fun, enjoyment and happiness and for no reason.

Perhaps I should start drinking again as that might be the problem. Not drinking cuts off many avenues leading to friendships and happiness and laughter. Stop drinking and certain people will avoid you because they distrust a non-drinker. Why would you go to the pub with a non-drinker and why would a non-drinker visit a pub? Being stone cold sober puts me on a back foot especially as those around me start to get a little light-headed and loose-tongued. Normally it’s me making the silly jokes, being the centre of attention, but nowadays I steer clear of get-togethers, particularly office events, because there’s no point in sitting there sober. When I was drinking, there was always the risk of making a fool of myself and jeopardising the job in some way, although the main problem was making an arse of myself  and not wanting to face the music the following day. I often put myself in a vulnerable position, which wasn’t good. I mean, let’s make this clear, I’ve been involved in many a drunken escapade, occasionally putting my life at risk, there was even a car crash, but I don’t particularly want to go back there. Let’s just say nobody else was involved, I was in the middle of Devon and, well, it was a really low point.

However, all the above aside, I’m most definitely losing something, or perhaps I ought to say that I feel as if I’m losing a lot of my soul. I don’t particularly want to go to the party anymore. I’d rather stay home alone and not have to make small talk with people I don’t know or care about. In fact, the only place where it could be argued that I am still ‘human’ is in the workplace where I’m still the proud owner of a sense of humour, even without the alcohol. Outside of the work bubble I am often a characterless, morose, joke-free zone where I can only really express myself like I am now, by writing something down; and let’s not forget that these words are not being broadcast on my blog, these are private thoughts that are hidden from view on the cloud, password-protected and out of harm’s way.

I might have to reinvent myself, recalibrate my soul and my sense of humour and perhaps things will change. What’s the alternative other than to simply wither away and metaphorically wander around in pyjamas and a dressing gown on the mental ward, the one where they sent me after the incident with the toy motorboat and the puddle. 

I often think about drinking again. I miss the pub, but each time I do I realise it would be pointless and futile, in the same way that I won’t ever smoke another cigarette, there’s simply no point in going back and let’s be honest, I am a better person for not drinking, I’m far more sensible, yes I am, but I wouldn’t say I’m the same person I used to be, although I’m sure there are people (I know one of them) who would say they prefer me the way I am: sober, sensible, together, perhaps a little more reserved than in the past, but still better, so perhaps I’ll put all thoughts of restarting my drinking career into Room 101 or somewhere I can’t reach it. Perhaps it’s best to accept the fact that going back is not an option and never has been.