Drinking Is a Happy Man’s Game

I found this out the hard way when my marriage collapsed.

I’m a self-confessed party girl. The overly social youngest of five. I don’t need a cocktail to be fun, I grew up in a big Irish family. Okay, that sounds like a bit of a contradiction but it’s true.

I never met a party I didn’t like. And if I steer clear of beer and wine in favor of vodka, I might be the funniest woman you’ll ever meet. I mean like stand-up comic territory.

I married a guy who was the perfect wingman.

He never met a party he didn’t like either.

We were a match made in social heaven. The roar of a crowd, fun banter, and joy of being with those we loved. We were simpatico. What could go wrong?

Somewhere between college, newlyweds, and the Jersey Shore…

All hell broke loose.

My ideal wingman became disgruntled. On account of the marital problems, we were having. I thought he was experiencing some sort of mid-life crisis. His dad passed away and he discovered some old family issues that had never been disclosed.

He now deflated not inflated the party.

Especially by the end of the night when the guests were long gone.

It’s when I coined the phrase, “Drinking is a happy man’s game.” If you don’t deal with what’s making you sad, it’s going to share a drink with you.

And then it’s going to ask to come out and play.

Beer and wine will expose unhappiness. Liquor will make it evil. An otherwise alcohol-tolerant individual can become extreme with liquor. Either in the best or worst way.

Hence, why vodka renders me hysterical and makes me believe I missed my comedic calling. It can also make people angrier than they would ever typically be. Even if they aren’t struggling through a bad time.

It’s like a flip that is switched.

Not a good one.

At first, I couldn’t make sense of it. Where was my man? The one who could make everyone at the party laugh, especially me. The gracious guy who’d always been consistently happy while imbibing.

My Irish compadre.

When we sat before a marriage counselor, the psychologist told my husband he didn’t have a problem with alcohol. He was angry and it was coming out while he was drinking.

I knew this. Because while I might have been the trademark party girl, I had no tolerance for alcohol abuse. My father had been an alcoholic. I had gone to great lengths to make sure I married a man who did not have this issue. Which made it harder to tolerate this turbulence in our relationship.

My husband knew this was my Achilles heel.

I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t address what was bothering him.

The party was no longer fun for me. Our marriage didn’t survive. For reasons that are far more complicated. My wingman’s misadventures have left me potentially more conflicted than my father’s illness. It increased the love-hate relationship I already had with alcohol but in my younger days had overcome.

But what is simple?

Alcohol exaggerates emotion.

In times of distress, whether it be job loss, grief, marital, financial, or any other unwanted trauma, it’s best to have a cautionary relationship with alcohol.

If not, it can take hold and never let go. It’s difficult enough to transition to the other side of pain and loss. If you choose a crutch you might not make it. Because it steals your strength. Even those who have never had an issue with alcohol their entire life can succumb to it if their despair is deep enough.

Go to the party happy, if not stay home.

I won’t just point a finger at my now ex-husband.

I cried through some divorce wine-laden nights. And as I rebuild my life, I still have a sensitivity to tears. Not because of my failed relationship. But because I have struggled to like myself again. I beat myself up over the choices I made, how my children ultimately paid the price, and how I lost the girl I liked.

In favor of one who made a lot of mistakes in the name of love.

A party girl who used to laugh until life became uncertain.

And she realized, “Drinking is a happy man’s game.”