This is why I hate drunk women … And why I am so happy that I have used to alcohol: Julie Cook

I was recently looking for a meal with my husband and some of his friends. While the drinks flowed, the men talked and the women divorced themselves in their own group.

As more and more bottles were ordered, I noticed that their cackling laughed louder, their comments Bitchier – and suddenly I had a ‘headache’.

It was early and, really, I felt good. But I could never tolerate their company.

The reason? I can’t tolerate drunk women.

Don’t get me wrong. Drunk men are also terrible; They fight, fall over and get Lairy. But they don’t pull my anger because I can’t recognize myself in those men. With drunk women I see a mirror of a past that I prefer to forget.

You see, I was one of them once.

I stopped drinking in 2019 after a lifetime bingeing. I was addicted since my first sip of my father’s home brew at the age of 13.

I stopped drinking in 2019 after a lifetime bingeing, writes Julie Cook

Most people I knew were aware of their limits, but because of my teenagers and 20s I consistently took it too far. In my worst I could drink a bottle of wine myself. In my thirty I have succeeded in keeping it until the weekend, but noticed that I longed for Friday from Tuesday afternoon.

Finally, at 42, I stopped. It was the best decision I have ever made and I have felt healthier and happier since then. I am a better woman for my husband Cornel and mother for our children Alex, 16, and Adriana, 11.

But there is a disadvantage. Together with the clear head, lack of fear and better skin, the fact that you are now a social pariah is coming. Although austerity can be trendy under Gen Z, you will see that -I don’t drink a Puritan old boring under my forty.

And they are women who shun you most furiously for alcohol – usually with a glass of wine in your hand, waving over a dance floor. Maybe that is another reason why I hate them so much; I feel they judge me again.

At the age of the nineties my female friends and I learned that heavy drinks was a way to reach parity with men. I would drink competitive with colleagues and friends every Thursday to Sunday.

I really believed that alcohol made me more interesting, funnier, more attractive. And yes, friends thought I was funny, but I would always bring it too far

I especially loved the wine ceremony. The doll of the cork, the delicate Glug-Glug when it entered the glass, that first fuzzy embrace when the alcohol began.

In my 1920s I regularly drank until I was out and landed with horrible hangovers that would prevent me from working.

Yet I really believed that alcohol made me more interesting, funnier, more attractive. Paralyzed with social fear without, I would often have to fool a few glasses at home before an event ‘stepping into the zone’.

And yes, friends thought I was funny, but I would always bring it too far. Soon I would slurp, fall and say embarrassing things. My husband at the time (we have separated since then and I remarried) was often stunned by my antics.

It also put me in trouble. I was once worn a train, unconscious, by emergency services, after seven hours of drinking with colleagues and fainting.

After I met Cornel and had my children in my thirty, I deducted my drinks. It became ‘my treat’ on a Saturday evening as soon as the children were in bed – but I could still get through a bottle of wine in one go. The next day I would participate in a pounding head and nausea.

However, my mother friends were the same. We would text each other if: “Children in bed, wine time!”

After all, encouragement to binge is everywhere, under the excuse of ‘Girls’ Night’ or ‘Gin O’clock’. A glass of champagne in your hand is the key to elegance in an Instagram photo.

None of us saw a problem. But somewhere, deep inside, I knew it was. I hated it self -hatred, waking up at 3 o’clock with guilt and existential fear. And did I really give my children my best when I was exhausted the next day and ratty?

I now see how others ever viewed me – with pity and concern. I wish I could tell these women how dangerous it is, both for their health and for their personal safety

The decision to stop happened at night. I was in a bar in Paris with Cornel in 2019 and I didn’t want to have a hangover the next day. So I pushed my glass towards him and ordered a soft drink; It was the last alcoholic drink I have ever had. To be honest, I was surprised at how easy it was to go cold Turkey.

Now that I am sober, I can always spot drunk women in the wild. Cheeks Ruddy van Prosecco, waving on their high heels, loudly cackling.

And I realize that I hate them because they remind me of who I used to be. I now see how others ever viewed me – with pity and concern.

I wish I could tell these women how dangerous it is, both for their health and for their personal safety. I wish I could tell them how much they will regret their behavior. However, only the drinker can decide when to stop.

But I think another reason I cannot tolerate these women is jealous; Jealous that they have the ‘freedom’ to drink, a privilege that I deny myself after so many years of surrender.

I envy the fact that they can have ‘only one or two’. I am jealous that they have not confronted the existential fear that I did every time I had a hangover. Maybe a psychologist would tell me that I am really jealous of the oblivion they get from alcohol that I can no longer put down myself.

I would hope that that is not the case. Because, as self -satisfied as it sounds, I would no longer exchange my austerity and peace for a night on the tiles.