I tried to prove I wasn’t a poor little disabled girl by binge drinking

If my friends ever got to the pub before me, there would be a gloriously delicious pint of beer waiting for me when I arrived. It had got to a point where my pals had stopped asking me what I wanted, because my answer was always the same: “Lager, please. Any lager.” I am a five-foot lady who thrived on the fact that I could drink anyone under the table, including men who were twice the size of me. “Where do you put it?” they would ask in awe. “Hollow legs!” I’d jest. I wore my beer drinking skills like a proud Brownie who’d just earned her first badge. My regular drinking crept up slowly without me really noticing. Life as a stand-up comedian means that most nights are spent in pubs, clubs and any other venues where alcohol is encouraged and celebrated. But I was secretly not the heavyweight lager lout that everybody thought I was. I managed to hide this fact from even my closest of friends because I had my post-pub routine down to a T. I would leave friends drinking away in the pub, get an Uber on my own, shut my eyes as quickly as possible to block out the suddenly spinning world, get home, strip naked, yank the “sick bowl” (a bowl specifically bought for this sole purpose) from the cupboard and cradle it in bed. I’d spend all night in a half-sleeping, half-puking state. And repeat two or three days later, with different friends. Because nobody knew that I was sick, I didn’t see it as a problem. My girlfriend, however, did notice. It turns out that my Irish exit-Uber-sick bowl, friends-none-the-wiser routine only worked well when I was going home alone, and not when there was suddenly a woman that I was very much in love with plopped into the mix. Apparently, it’s not sexy to go home with a new beau who throws up three out of five times you go out with her. My wonderful partner didn’t say anything about my drinking for the first few months that we were together. And then one Saturday afternoon, six months into our relationship, we had planned to go to my friend’s birthday at a local pub. Beforehand, we had excitedly talked about popping to the party, having two drinks, coming home early, getting a takeaway and watching Doctor Who. As much as I loved my friend whose birthday it was, we were deep into the Matt Smith seasons of Doctor Who, and this was my kinda Saturday night! However, as soon as I got to the pub, I lost all of my inhibitions. I was surrounded by my friends (comedy friends, no less!) and I wanted to show off. Every time somebody went to the bar, I downed my pint and I said, “Another pint for me, please!” When it came to my round, I not only bought everybody a drink, I also bought a round of shots, too. Of course I did. At the end of the night, my understanding girlfriend (who had stuck to our plan and had two drinks), put me in bed, next to the sick bowl. No takeaway. No Doctor Who. The next morning, my girlfriend wasn’t angry, or upset, but she was disappointed (why does that always feel so much worse?). I felt awful. “I don’t know why I do this.” I admitted to her, “I don’t even like feeling drunk!” I was bored of being a lager lout, and that morning I decided to stop drinking alcohol for three months. Although my girlfriend didn’t make me stop drinking, she supported my decision and did express a sense of relief that we wouldn’t be sharing our bed with a sick bowl for the foreseeable future. I won’t tell you all of the benefits I experienced when I stopped drinking. I lost weight, I slept better, my anxiety reduced significantly, my skin looked infinitely healthier blah blah blah. These are all things that you already know happen when you reduce your alcohol intake. But the greatest thing that I took from my three months off the booze was reflection. I realised that I used to strive to be the biggest drinker of the pack to prove that a disabled person could be a big drinker, a lager lout, and the life and soul of the party. My internalised ableism constantly feared that if I didn’t drink alcohol in a context where others were, people would assume that it was because of my cerebral palsy. I was constantly trying to disprove something I assumed others thought: that I was just a poor, little disabled girl who couldn’t handle her drink. And essentially, that is true. But my disability isn’t the reason I am a lightweight. It’s simply because I am a tiny lady whose body cannot cope with eight pints of strong lager – and that’s science! These days, I am only drinking one alcoholic drink a week, and I am loving it. I choose my drink of the week carefully. Because drinking alcohol is now an active choice rather than a default, I feel so much more in control of my evenings. I also now have a massive love for a non–alcoholic beer and you’ll be pleased to know that I am celebrating the fact that I have written this article with a nice, cold bottle of Lucky Saint. Cheers! This week I have been… Reading… The Year of the Rat: Undercover in the British Far Right by Harry Shukman. It tells the real story of Harry, a researcher at HOPE not hate who spends a year undercover in an attempt to expose right-wing extremists. This is not an easy read, and reading more into the inner workings of the far right is frankly terrifying. For a lot of the book, I realised that I was reading it and forgetting to breathe. I urge everybody to read this book. But please have a nice book ready for you to read after… perhaps something that makes you feel warm and cosy inside, like The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson? Watching… The Devil Wears Prada 2. My girlfriend and I went to see this on the weekend that it came out at the cinema and we had such a great time. I cannot believe that the first one came out 20 years ago – where the bloody hell has that time gone? This sequel is everything you could possibly want from a sequel. And then there’s Meryl, queen of my heart. She can do no wrong in my eyes… even when she wears a very questionable multicoloured tassel jacket that looks like she has just cut up a pair of curtains. Listening… to Harry Styles’ new album. Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally is not only a great name for an album, it also includes some of my favourite Harry songs. I must admit that it took me a while to get on the Harry Styles train. But now I am on it, I am all steam ahead, and refusing to get off any time soon, choo choo! My favourite track on this album is “Pop”, because it has a very eighties edge, and it feels so fun, and naughty. I also think that Harry is the best-styled man in the world right now… in my eyes the boy can do no wrong. Rosie will be at the Edinburgh Fringe with I Can’t Tell What She’s Saying. Tickets & info: rosiejonescomedy.com