By a show of hands, how many of you assumed I was talking about alcohol in the title?
That’s what I figured.
You’re right, by the way.
Why is it though that, “I don’t drink” is automatically connected with alcohol? In school, the teacher would call that an incomplete sentence. “Be more specific” is what they’d probably write on my paper, in their illegible handwriting. Yeah, that’s exactly what they’d write.
Oh, you can put your hands down now, if you haven’t already. Get some blood circulating.
I don’t drink coffee, either. But if this post were about that, I’d have to include the word “coffee” in the title.
Yet I don’t have to say, “I don’t drink alcohol”. You already knew that after just three words.
So, yes, I don’t drink. Never have. Not even a sip. Most of my friends know this, I think.
I went through University without ever succumbing to what was going on around me. Did I feel nervous going into first year, knowing that I would be in the vast minority? Yes and no. I was confident that it wouldn’t matter to the people that mattered. And I was right.
Some people asked me why I didn’t drink. Honestly, I didn’t have an answer for them. My “go to” answer was, “I just don’t.” That was the best answer I could come up with at the time. It might still be the best answer I can come up with, currently.
There was never a moment in my life where I sat myself down and told myself I wouldn’t. There was never an event that I witnessed that made me vow to never take a sip. I wasn’t scared straight by some guest speaker in high school who spoke about their addiction. No one ever told me not to. None of that.
Quite simply, I’ve never had the urge to try it. The thought has never crossed my mind.
I don’t care if I never find out what alcohol tastes like.
I don’t care if I never find out how it makes me feel.
I don’t care if I’m never able to answer the question, “what kind of drunk are you?”
I don’t care if I’m the only one in a group of people not drinking.
I don’t care. At all.
This isn’t a matter of beliefs. This isn’t a matter of me thinking I’m better than anyone else. It’s a choice. It’s a choice I have made for myself.
If something doesn’t interest you, you likely don’t do it.
Alcohol doesn’t interest me. I don’t drink. It’s really that simple.
I lived on the non-alcoholic floor in residence for 4 years. I’m sure people judged me for it. I’m sure some of you are judging me for it right now. Oh well. I met some of my best friends on those floors. I’d say it was worth it.
I have nothing against people that do drink. If I did, I wouldn’t have any friends. I’d also be a hypocrite. Just like not drinking is my choice, drinking is their choice. If drinking or not drinking a certain beverage is a deal breaker, then I probably don’t want to be your friend anyways.
If you’re paying attention, you have probably realized that I got through University without drinking alcohol and without drinking coffee. Is that rare? I think it’s rare.
Sure, I was exhausted 8 days of the week. What student isn’t? I tried coffee once; once. A sip, to be precise. Or maybe it was a slurp. Either way, I didn’t like it. I also didn’t need it. For some reason I was able to pull all-nighters with ease. I paid for it the next day, but who doesn’t like a good 1:00PM nap?
By no means am I a health nut. My grandmother wouldn’t let me be, even if I tried. Nevertheless, I’m still conscience of the things I consume and I’m aware of what the scale says to me. And from what I understand, alcohol can lead to weight gain.
If I want to gain weight, you better believe that I wouldn’t do it with a liquid substance. Oh no. I’d order myself a pizza and reply “absolutely” when the lady on the other end of the phone asks me if I want to add 20 wings and a side of cinnamon sticks to complete the combo. That is how I would go about gaining weight.
Also, I’ve seen enough of my friends pass out, act like someone they’re not, and puke as a result of alcohol, that it confirms to me that I never want to be in that situation myself.
I may once again be in the minority, but I don’t think puking my guts out is fun. I recently did so a few weeks ago and I thought I was one more hurl away from death. I’d rather walk barefoot on a long road covered in lego pieces, before I want to spend my night getting cozy with a toilet bowl.
Call me crazy.
Who knows, maybe I’m missing out.
I don’t think I am.
I don’t drink.