Why Are My Memories of Alcohol Always Good Ones?

In My Humble Opinion
1

I’ve been an alcoholic pretty much since I was 18—forty years ago.

No excuses except to say that in my family, there was an accepted drinking culture—both my parents drank every day, my aunts and uncles drank every day, their friends drank mostly every day—but it was the so-called “genteel” way of drinking: only starting after 6 p.m. and always having a prescribed “one drink on the hour” with wine at dinner, then basically no rules when they went out, which wasn’t often.

Were they alcoholics? Definitely, in today’s definition of alcoholism. But back in their day, they were simply people who “enjoyed their tipple” as opposed to those who rarely drank at all—and we didn’t know many folk like that.

Of my siblings, I was always the heaviest drinker—the one who enjoyed the reputation as the straight-scotch-no-ice drinker and the one who very rarely seemed drunk at a party (or any time). I was not a surly or maudlin drunk; I was a life-of-the-party drunk, when I actually got drunk drunk, that is, which was increasingly rare in later years.

Long story short: although I luckily never crossed over to that unfortunate area of transgressing in the legal world, ie. I was never in trouble with the law for drinking/driving, I had had my share of issues, namely, being refused boarding a flight because of alcohol on my breath—unjustly, in my view, since I have never, ever become obnoxious or even remotely intrusive while under the influence in public—I’m the type who slams three large white wines and then gets on a plane and goes to sleep.

But if you add to that sometimes having alcohol on my breath after coming in to work—inevitable, since I would sometimes have my last drink of the night at 4 a.m.—well, I can imagine I lost my share of jobs due to alcohol. Or getting to work late because I was hungover. Or whatever.

But this time, I haven’t had a drink for six months. No program, no AA, no groups, no nothing. I did CBT last year but it was more for anxiety, although of course I lied to the therapist that I wasn’t drinking. And I wasn’t! Much. And CBT definitely helped with a lot of things, so it was not a waste of time.

But here’s my question . . . when the mind starts in, trying to persuade one to drink, which in my case is not often (but all you need is for it to succeed just once) why are the memories usually of the rosy rosé at a nice Italian restaurant or even a coke-fuelled evening with best pals and champagne and good scotch, and not the one of a 3-hour TGV train ride from Bordeaux to Paris during which I was desperately fighting vomiting all over the seat in front of me due to a four-day round-the-clock binge of pastis and white wine, my liver quite rightly screaming for mercy?

Or the seizure that night in Japan after having stopped drinking cold turkey for four days off a 2-liter-per-day saké habit for the last three months?

If I could somehow find a technique to only preserve the bad memories of drinking—and they are legion—and completely block out the good memories, it would reduce the faux-nostalgia my brain is always trying to summon in order to present alcohol in the best light, presumably in order to get me to have that first, deadly drink.

Psychologists have come up with ways to help PTSD survivors block out bad memories, but what if it’s GOOD memories I want to block out?

And when I read pieces like this one by a complete clod, I don’t start to say “Yeah . . . excellent reason to have a drink.”

I wonder if this is the case with others who have quit drinking, specifically. (I can’t imagine that one would ever become wistful about sticking a needle in one’s arm or losing at a round of blackjack. But a fine single-malt scotch in a cheery pub . . .)

2

With me, people seem to like “drunk me” more than they like “Sober me”.

Sober; I’m quiet, shy and have nothing to add to the conversation. Drunk; I’m more charismatic, witty, and outgoing.

I’m currently on day 16 of no drinking. So I don’t have a lot to offer.

3

Wow. Sounds like me! And there were many positives—I could write sometimes a lot better with a few ones under my belt. Sometimes some positively outstanding stuff (the Heminwgway Effect). I know that lots of people liked THAT me. I can be quite unsociable when I don’t drink.

16 days? That’s damn good. Not knowing your circumstances, take it one day at a time. For the moment, try to avoid triggering situations, although in the long term that will be impossible.

If you have buddies/relatives that you used to drink with, avoid them—for the moment.

For the moment, obviously, try to avoid having alcohol readily available.

You’re over any danger of physical repercussions from having stopped—only positive ones will kick in now. If you had trouble sleeping before, you’ll start to sleep like a baby.

No more tummy troubles. No more acid reflux. No more sweats, no more pounding heart, no more fatigue at odd times. No more nagging worry. Anxiety will slowly begin to recede as your normal dopamine levels, long chemically-manipulated, return to normal.

But best of all, you’re no longer a physical slave to alcohol! You’re free! No worries about cold turkey, seizures or any of that nonsense. Half the battle is over! Now, the lifelong battle begins. But you can work it so that they just become a series of minor skirmishes. None that you will lose!

I turned six months three days ago. Sure, it crosses my mind. But I’ve been through two or three situations in those months—flying, having my spouse be in hospital, other traumatic episodes–and weathered them without drinking. I figure the more day-to-day shit that I manage to get through with no alcohol, the more the neural pathways that were so deeply ingrained will start to be replaced with new, non-alcohol tainted pathways. Literally, every day that goes by, the stronger you will get and the less likely it will be that you will drink.

I just wish that I could keep reminding myself how truly BAD drinking was, how many times I WASN’T enjoying it at all, how many times that I was drinking just because I had nothing else to do and because I thought I couldn’t stop anyway, so why not have another?

You might consider creating a blog or something to document your progress and to look back on if things get dicey.

But you won’t let things get dicey, will you? =+)

4

The mind seems to have an inherent capacity for preferentially remembering good things more than bad things, and sometimes even putting an unwarranted rosy glow on the memory of times that really weren’t that good.

I once read a humorous (and mostly-true) definition of nostalgia: “The ability to remember yesterday’s prices, while forgetting yesterday’s wages.” In other words, people fondly remember being able to buy a hamburger for 50 cents, while simultaneously forgetting that their job at the time paid them $2/hour. This is also partly responsible for all the old people that reminisce about the “good old days” that upon close inspection often were pretty bad.

In your particular case, it might be worthwhile to compile a list of every bad experience with alcohol that you can remember, and then print it out and tape it to the wall.

5

This is the whole issue about bad habits, isn’t it? The good memories overwhelm the bad ones just long enough to reinforce the behavior. That’s all it takes.

Because that’s not your thing. It does happen. Man, I did cocaine exactly one time, and I still have dreams of rolling around naked in a dry snowbank.

6

Rather than trying to block out the good memories, maybe you should just print out your post to remind yourself that you’ve lost jobs, been kicked off an airplane, had a seizure, lied to your therapist, etc. because of your drinking.

And I’m willing to bet that the only reason you never got arrested for drinking and driving is because you didn’t get caught. How long do you want to keep gambling?

7

It may simply be an inescapable aspect of human nature.

Probably won’t happen.

But you could, for example, make a collection of 3x5 cards, each detailing one of the bad memories. When the good ones start to intrude, pull out a card at random and say to yourself: “THIS is where those good memories are trying to take me.”

8

I’m with everyone who says write it down. Make a list of every bad memory you can. Add the negative details. Most of all, don’t let your brain turn it into “I did this because I was such a rebel!” or “Isn’t it great that I can laugh at…?” Remember the embarrassment and shame of it. Get into the pain of it.

For example: I used to have a go to ‘funny’ story about how I got drunk and blew a guy on a balcony at a party. I’d tell it with a big grin on my face, like it was a fantastic memory of my wild youth, but the reality of it was nightmarish. I remember slurring humiliating things to the man in question in front of a dozen people. I remember the reason I started blowing him was because I was too drunk to get wet, and he was hurting me. I remember he pulled out his phone and started taking pictures of me on my knees. I remember, most of all, a sensation of ‘waking up,’ of looking up and seeing twenty party goers watching me. Filming me.

For me, and for a lot of alcoholics, getting honest with ourselves about such experiences can be an arduous task. Doing so is paramount.

I would also imagine that, with 40 years under your belt, you’ve tried to quit before. What caused you to go back? List your pitfalls. Think of a battle plan. I made a ‘strength of craving’ scale of 0-10, with ideas of what to do for the worst cravings. I turned down an open bar wedding invite. I even avoided movies and TV shows with heavy themes of drinking. This is serious business we’re talking about here. You’ve got to have a plan.

Finally, as an agnostic/atheist, I would recommend AA. I never did 30 meetings in 30 days. I never worked the steps. I never had a sponsor. But I knew where I could find them, if all I needed was a reminder that I wasn’t going to drink today.

Small Hen, 3 years sober and counting.

9

Selective memory may be human nature, but alcoholics have it in spades. All of us remember that one time we had a single tumbler of whiskey,sitting in front of a roaring fire and feeling total bliss. Even if it never happened.

The selective memory problem is actually on of the main reasons people attend AA or other groups. It helps us remember the stuff our minds tell us to forget. There’s nothing quite like a newcomer looking like death warned over to remind us of the bigger picture.

ETA: And congrats!

10

I suppose one answer is that alcohol and/or drugs has the power to make doing “nothing” with people you don’t particularly care about seem awesome.

It’s like the opening scene of the film The World’s End where Simon Pegg recants a wild tale of drinking with his best pals right before graduating high school, saying how life would never be that good again.

“and it never was” he closes the story with, revealing that he is telling the story as a 40 year old in an AA meeting.

11

It’s called euphoric recall. Basically your brain’s pleasure center is triggered when feeling stressed or emotional, triggering a response where you remember good things about drinking, not bad things. Sometimes the good memories are decades old, with no connection to the present. But it’s what your brain remembers. I’m not explaining this well…

12

It’s alcohol’s superpower.
Seriously, alcohol interferes with memory storage-- that’s why it causes blackouts. You may not remember the good times as well as think you do, but rather recreate them. You say your brain is trying to talk you into drinking, so it literally makes up memories.

You should find out if there’s some way to double check your memory of the good stuff with what really happened. You may not have half a memory, but a false memory, or at least a very exaggerated one.

You’ve heard that women release a hormone that helps erase the terrible memories of childbirth? And yet, women still claim to remember in great detail the good parts? How is that? Probably because a lot of the memories are exaggerated or fabricated by prior expectations, and photos of the event. No one takes pictures of the mother writhing in pain, but they take pictures of her serenely holding the newborn.

When you are drinking, your friends take pictures of you smiling and toasting. They don’t take pictures of you brooding in a corner, or massaging a headache.

I could go on, but you get the idea, and I need to go to bed.

13

It’s not hard to remind myself of the bad stuff, because so much of it was so alarming. I can’t help but think that I was the only person having all these symptoms . . . I rarely ran across any of them in my voluminous research into alcoholic liver disease (among other things).

One thing was rampant insomnia. Towards the end, when I was drinking only about 1/2 pint a day of vodka—what’s that, maybe 5-6 regular drinks? I just couldn’t sleep . . for months. I would be lucky to be able to sleep two hours in a row.

Then there was the constant feeling of high blood pressure. I’m not overweight and I had been controlling my sugars and fats, eating the right foods, getting a reasonable amount of exercise . . . but nothing helped. My heart always seemed to be pounding, even though the BP monitor said I was 120/80.

I would be woken up by a pounding heart . . . I couldn’t explain it. Even later on, when I’d have the occasional binge—obviously more than 1/2 pint a day—I’d wake up feeling as if I couldn’t breathe. And then, towards the end, and not for the first time, arrhythmia, something that is extremely disturbing, to say the least.

No appetite, vague feeling of unease, 24/7 . . . and of course, the insomnia. I would sometimes be awake for 24 hours straight and not feel sleepy at all.

I know that not to be normal for me because since I stopped 6 months ago, sleep is no longer a big problem. My heart no longer pounds. My arthritis is where it’s always been but in general everything is much, much better than it was.

Yet, the lure of the grape is huge . . . just one cold beer would taste so good, goes the reasoning . . . all the aforementioned bad stuff goes out the window. “Yes, but I don’t need to go bak to that level of drinking! Just one beer every couple of days! That’s all!”

Sigh as I know very well by now, that is NEVER all.

14

You know you’re an alcoholic when: you count your hangovers as payment in advance for your next drunk.

15

Basically, you are doing what you should. I quit a number of times before I was finally able to make it stick. Whenever I get tempted to drink again, I’ve gotten really good at playing the DVD to the end of the movie where I’m doing really stupid stuff.