My Dry January: How the pressure to stay dry turned into a huge lie

I’ve been lying to my colleagues since January 17th  2014. Like many of them, I decided to take on the challenge of Dry January. Some were doing it in an admirable bid to raise money for charity, others because they needed to detox after an over indulgent Christmas break. For me, it was all about saving money and, to a lesser extent, an attempt to get fit.

Pre dry January, my drinking habits tended to revolve around going out most weekends, having the odd after work pint or going out for mid-week dinner with friends. And in London, this was costing me more than I cared to admit.

With money as my main motivation, along with the dismal failure that was Stoptober lingering in the back of my mind (I lasted six days), I set about not drinking for a whole month.

Like most New Year’s resolutions, things got off to a flying start. Yes, I missed my glass (or three) of wine in the evenings but I was happy to go without. I was determined to see this commitment through. The gym even turned out to be an enjoyable experience rather than one to be endured - and I can’t say I was wholly missing that groggy feeling I used to get in the mornings.

The first weekend of temptation also passed me by without a hitch – opting to stay in and watch The Voice rather than go on a night out with my friends. I even ended up going to the London Dungeon on a Sunday. What fun you can have without a hangover, eh?

As the month went on, one-by-one, each of my colleagues came into the office with their tails between their legs admitting that the temptation of alcohol had got the better of them.

I’m not ashamed to say, I felt quite smug about the whole thing. Especially when the compliments started flooding in: 'You’re doing so well!' 'Well done you' 'I couldn’t do it!'

And then it happened.

It was day sixteen of my dryathlon when a sudden relisation came over me. By abstaining from alcohol, I was abstaining from enjoying any semblance of a social life. Yes, admittedly this a depressing notion, saying a hell of lot about the current state of my generation’s drinking culture along with my obvious lack of will power, but I hadn’t actually seen my friends for nearly three weeks, all because I didn’t want to be tempted by drink. I’d cancelled plans in favour of the sodding gym, I spent hours at a time trawling through pictures on Facebook watching my friends' bleary-eyed expressions as they revelled in the joys of not quitting alcohol, and worst of all, I’d gone to the bloody London Dungeon for fun. Seriously, what on earth had happened to me?

At that moment I made a decision. I ditched my gym bag, make a beeline for a certain colleague who had been tempting me since day one and headed straight to our local haunt.

With my alcohol tolerance at a low, sinking two pints in less than two hours probably wasn’t the best-laid plan but man, did it feel good.

The next day, also known as ‘Day 17: The Birth of the Lie,’ I went into work ready to face my critics and reveal that I too had failed to stay dry. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work out that way. Yet again, people were congratulating me on staying off the sauce for another day. I didn’t know what to say. Clearly my torn expression gave away my guilt as my editor asked me if I was still going strong. At this point I had six pairs of eyes on me, all filled with admiration and the hope that one day, they too could take on the mountain and reach its peak like the hero sat before them. I couldn’t take that away from them, I just couldn’t. So I lied.

In a bid to make myself feel better about the lie, I went back to life without alcohol for the next few days – again cancelling plans. Unfortunately, going cold turkey from scratch once again along with the gym’s novelty now wearing horribly thin I became even more miserable than before.

Naturally, I did what any normal 24-year-old in need of a drink would do, I started going for more secret after work trips to the pub.

By this point, I felt like keeping up the façade was a pointless exercise and was ready to tell all about my dirty little secret. The guilt was too much to hold on to. Then another curveball careened my way, on January 23 I was asked to write an article about how successful my Dry January had been. On this very site. And in case you hadn’t worked it out yet, this is it. Oops.

Sorry, everyone.

But what did I learn from Dry January? Firstly, clearly it’s not for me. But secondly, I did save a substantial amount of money from the 16 days I went without booze. And on the days that I did drink, my tolerance was so low I really didn’t need to spend much cash anyway. In fact, by the end of the month I had still saved an incredible £378.

So, if you’re are planning on going dry for a month my advice to you would be this: starve yourself of alcohol for as long as you can cope for then get back on it - you’ll save yourself a bundle all without losing the will to live. I would also be honest from the off about your plans, lying is morally wrong and it will end up biting you on the arse. For example, someone might ask you to write an article about your momentous achievements in abstaining from alcohol.

Right, I’m off to the pub and I have a feeling the first round may well be on me.