What's the point in having an hour's lunch? I never actually eat anything at twelve, my metabolism wants me to wait a few more hours, my body clock tells me I'm not really that hungry yet, and the idea of walking into town for a burger is almost repulsive. So, why an hour?

So I can spend an hour sat on this bench, of course. Now, I say that like this is a habitual thing, like I'm so used trying to pass hour long breaks that me and this bench have become familiar somehow, but that's not the case. In fact, this bench is a relatively new addition to my life.

An unwelcome one at that. 

The bench may as well be a fence to sit on, somewhere to consider my future actions and their possible ramifications, the most appropriate place to wrestle with my thoughts. Of course, this isn't due to the fact that all public benches should undeniably be used as places to shamelessly vent your problems, unfettered by the judging looks and harsh words of passersby. In reality, it's the geographic location of this bench that inevitably draws me to it as I walk, encouraging me to sit, the allure of the barely comfortable wooden planks almost too much to resist. Why? It's almost directly between where I need to be and the nearest pub.

I've been sitting for about five minutes now, smoking my cigarette. Long inhales, small exhales, playing a million scenarios over in my head, caught between two opposing thought patterns that seem to loop and switch sides of their own whims. One will win eventually, it always does, and then, my body's stuck doing whatever it tells me, great. Or, that used to be the case, at least. Small considerations, an act, as if I'm trying to put up some kind of fight, then conceding to let loose and enjoy myself, take the edge off, whichever overused line I prefer that day, whichever justifies my self sabotage most succinctly.

I must sound like an alcoholic right now. I laugh at that. I've been called that a couple of times, but my response has always been 'well, if I'm an alcoholic, then why are my drinking habits so unpredictable? I go weeks without a drink sometimes, and I feel fine, I'm not dependent on alcohol.' Besides, I've always imagined an alcoholic to be an older man, or even a pathetic waster who has completely nothing left in his or her life, determined to drown their sorrows day after day. Is this a subjective opinion of what alcoholism really is? Probably. Is this what in the closet gays do to pretend they're normal when they become complete homophobes? Maybe. Does having the occasional urge to go and have a few drinks make you drink dependent? Usually, I would say no, but when it's driving you this crazy? I'm not sure anymore.

I should clarify a few things. I have nothing else to do, just inhale, exhale, poison lungs, pollute air, repeat as necessary. Oh, look, another bad habit. This one, I'm definitely addicted to. But anyways, back on topic. First of all, I've been off the drink for a couple of months now, barely. In that time I've not touched a single drop of alcohol. I've not been a pussy about it either. I'll happily sit in the bar with my friends playing pool, or do whatever else in a social capacity, except now I'm the only one drinking a lemonade. God, I've drank a lot of lemonade lately. It's a good thing it's refreshing. 

Anyways, I suppose this raises another question. Does anyone besides a recovering alcoholic really use the term 'off the drink'? Even acknowledging how long it's been since you drank alcohol in my society (with the exception of including a tone of craving or longing in your speech) is considered strange. The funny thing is, I've gained some perspective over the last couple of months. I drink a lot less than quite a few people I know, really. Does this mean that they all have problems too? Their wallets do, at least. I've kind of just pointed out that I have a problem, unintentionally. Forget that.

Second thing is, this is where it happens most. When I go here, when I'm around my friends, when I'm in this environment, where I am now, I get that craving and desire so much more than I ever would at home. I could be sat in my house, bored out of my mind, and alcohol will rarely cross my mind. So, why here? Maybe it's because I'm away from my family, maybe it's because I'm convinced I have a lot of stress in my life, maybe it's because I happen to like pubs, and socialisation? I definitely like pubs.

But, my brain tells me, with its shitty logic, you can go to a pub and not drink? You know it isn't that simple, brain. Yes, of course I've managed that up until now, but that isn't exactly an easy task when you're so used to going about things a completely different way. I miss the taste of beer. You know how hard it is to miss the taste of beer? Beer isn't exactly a tasty beverage, but I'd kill to taste a Kronenbourg right now. Another consideration from my wonderful brain, alcohol free beer. You don't get it, brain, do you? I don't miss the taste of beer, not really. Well, maybe I do a little, but it's part of the whole article. Having an alcohol free beer would be the same as lying to myself, and I would know it the whole time. No endorphin, no buzz, no sudden desire to buy another, no loss of inhibitions, no arguments or silly mistakes, no fights or drama or hangovers-- --Why do I want a drink again? 

Oh yeah, the presentation. I've not been sleeping much lately, you see, and work like this has a tendency to creep up on me. I had great ideas for this presentation, including audio aids and even a prerecorded video of myself for me to converse with, a fun way of explaining the concepts I'm discussing to my audience. Of course, none of this came to fruition, and I have nothing but the script to present. Why didn't I do it? 

So, I'm sat on this bench, I really don't want to eat anything, and I'm due to begin my fifteen minute presentation in an hour. I don't even know if I've got fifteen minutes worth of material. Am I going to have to adlib any of it? There's going to be about thirty people there, I don't function badly around crowds, but this isn't exactly a routine situation either. Naturally, I'm shitting it, and what's my instinct in that eventuality? Dutch courage.

My head does this all the time, although I can't be certain it's my brain. It almost feels as if there's another entity fighting for control of my physical form, with no rationality whatsoever. This tempter likes to suggest simple solutions to complex problems. Tired? Have a drink. Angry? Have a drink. Nervous? Have two. Got crippling anxiety and know you're going to struggle to get through the day otherwise? Not anymore, but the drink helped then. Probably the only time that its actually served a purpose, really. 

But I'm not thinking that now. Christ, I've no idea how this would have turned out if I'd actually tried writing my feelings during this episode, I don't think it would have helped much. Writing in retrospect is much easier, my thoughts are clearer, and I'm not worried about what might happen anymore. Anyways, at this moment in time, I'm shitting it, and I've got this bloody itch to have a couple of pints, scare off my nerves, walk in the embodiment of confidence, and slay that presentation. Of course, my brain has a couple of things to say about this. 'Alcohol can cloud your judgment, you might forget to say certain things, you might make mistakes etc.'

Obviously, I know these are the smallest problems I need to worry about. The main issue? 'If you go and have one or two, you're not going to stop. You won't make it to that presentation because you'll be out for hours.' I know it's true too, it's happened too many times before to not be so. But if I'm going to just say 'no' and dismiss the idea, why won't it go away? Why is it that for the next hour I'm stuck sitting on this bench, on my fence of indecision where nothing can reach me, considering the potential benefits of imbibing a little drink or two and hoping for the best?

Why am I stuck here lying to myself? I know the name of the game now, though. Cigarette number two, and I've worked it out. If I can sit on this bench and just not move for the next fifty minutes, then I'll rush to my presentation regardless of how I feel, as it will be time to go up and do it, and there won't be anything clouding my judgment. If I get up and wander right now, I'll end up in a pub, and I know it. So, I'm sat on my bench. Yeah, that's right, it's my bench now. Sat here in my tracksuit and box hat, I probably look a little imposing, and no one has elected to sit near me in the last ten minutes, so I'll claim it for now. The person whose life it was dedicated to can reclaim ownership once I've left. 

What's a good way to pass the time? I ask myself. Music! Music is a great distraction, of course. I turn on one of the downloaded albums from Spotify Premium, I listen for about a minute, then turn it off. Why do I never download anything new? I've listened to each of these albums like fifty times now, I'm tired of them. I would download more on the bench, but I have no 3g, one of the problems with being on pay as you go and running out of credit. It's probably a good thing though, as it keeps me from calling up my friends, inviting them out, asking if anyone's up for a quick one. One of the things that holds me back right now is my dislike of drinking on my own. I know that if I could get hold of someone I like short notice, I'd have already lost, and I'd be on my second drink by now. 

I've probably been here less than fifteen minutes, but I'm now shifting around on the bench. I have ADHD, if you were wondering. It's not severe, but I have a short attention span, and I'm an incredible fidget, pretty hyperactive at times too. I notice myself shifting more in the direction of the pub, then doing the opposite, as if it's going to make any difference. They're both a good minute's walk from here, which side of the bench I sit on really doesn't matter. Then again, it could be seen as symbolic, I suppose? I'm not getting into semiotics now, not over this.

I give this bollocks too much power in my mind because I devote so much thought to it. That's a vicious circle though, isn't it? The more I think about it, the more I consider it to be a big problem, the more I think about it blah blah blah perpetual loop. Not very fun. In reality, I know this isn't all that important. Alcohol isn't intrinsic to survival in any way. I've never seen Bear Grylls bust out a bottle of rum in the coldest regions of Greenland or wherever. Nah, he drinks his own piss. He's always seemed like a conceited arsehole to me, but I'll bet he wouldn't be having the problems I'm having now.

This is where I start to think about my take on the problem, rather than the problem itself. I think about the gravity of the issue and how it really affects me, how important it really is. I conclude that I'm pretty pathetic, and start to wonder why certain people even bother to put up with me. Unfortunately, thoughts like this lead me back to 'I don't even drink that often, why do I even need to stop for months?' and again I feel trapped on my fence, unsure whether to take my chances and jump down on the right side, or just lay there till I fall off, in one direction or another. 

Hold on, I'm forgetting, which direction is the right one again? 

I sit and I sit and I sit until my arse goes numb, but still I persist. Despite everything, I still know I can't trust myself. I roll another cigarette. ADHD, cigarettes, good combo. It gives me something to do with my hands, calms me a little. Still, it's not doing very much right now. I start to wonder how long I'll stick at this detox, how long I'll actually manage to keep my head on my shoulders. I wonder if it'll even help in the long run. I mean, yeah, taking an extended period of abstinence is all good and all, but unless you've got a serious and real intention to quit permanently, what's the point, really? You're just giving your body a brief reprieve, delaying the inevitable dive back into the same habits, right? 

'You're at your highest point in a while now, head not cloudy, mind not in a constant haze, things are getting done on time, you're meeting most of your deadlines, your relationships are healthier, yet there's a big drop waiting the second you decide you're ready to do your thing again.' Reminding myself of that is one of the best ways to continue on. It's funny too, I see friends saying they want to drink less, go out less, leave certain vices alone, and it usually lasts all of a week. Until the next weekend pops up, to be precise. I, however, have been devoted to myself, out of respect for myself, and the others around me, more than anything, and how has it paid off? 

Well, I've got my bench, at least.

About twenty minutes into my sitting and refraining, I'm starting to feel a little sick. I'm not sure if it's nerves or if it's the fourth cigarette in a row that I'm puffing on. Did I mention that it's a hot day? It's not scorching, but it's still pretty hot, and I've got no water, or anything like that. Of course, cigarettes are only helping to dehydrate me further, wonderful. Of course, now alcohol sounds even more enticing, doesn't it? Who doesn't want a beer on a hot spring day, especially when the sun is out and their throat is parched? 

Me, that's who. I just want to sit on my bench. 

A few more minutes and I'm going stir crazy. I've never wanted to leave a place so badly. I think 'what could I do to kill half an hour?' abd three options pop up in my head: Bookies, pub, food. I'm not betting my money, I'm not drinking my money, and I'm not hungry, so none of those will do. I suppose I'll just resign myself to sitting for another half an hour. God, I wish I lived nearby.

Then, an unlikely visitor appears. It's Arryn. I know Arryn well enough, in fact, he's one of the other people that has to present today. He waves hello as he walks up and I nod in return, at which point he sits down next to me, long cardboard tube in hand. Thankful for a distraction, I ask him what it is, and he tells me that it's a large poster he's going to use during his presentation. He asks what I'm doing here on the bench, of course, and I lie, telling him I stopped to roll a cigarette, and then proceed to do so.

What? It's not like he knows how many I've had up till now. Unless, maybe he can smell it on me?

So I'm sat there, performing my familiar breathing routine, now with added smoke. After a few calming breaths, and a couple of minutes of discussing trivial things to do with the work we're doing and how we found it, I decide to say something.

I explain to him, in significantly less words, just why I'm sat here. I say that I was on my way to town, but thought better than to go there and be tempted to hop in the pub. He listens and nods, urging me to carry on. I explain that I haven't drank in a couple of months, and that it can be difficult for me at points, especially when it's a nice day, or I've got a bad case of nerves, or whatever. 

Arryn is surprisingly understanding, and has a fair amount to say on the matter too. He's about twelve years older than me, one of the only people I talk to who is that much older, but still, it helps him to know what he's talking about, I suppose. He tells me that he quit everything around seven years ago, electing to live a healthier life. I ask if he was a good drunk, he tells me he was. I blurt out that if I was a good drunk all the time, I never would have quit.

Oh, I neglected to mention that, didn't I? I'm a terrible drunk, quite often at least. If anything, that coupled with the fact that my main temptations to drink come with stress, exhaustion or upset, are probably what have led to my problem being so significant. He asks how bad I was, I tell him that I've got a very short temper when I've drank enough, and that I've also got quite a harsh sense of humour to boot. Also, it's quite hard to tell me 'no' once I'm half cut. 

He nods along, making a few comments here and there, but I consider that it might be easier to just give an example. I recount the last time I had a drink. It was roughly two months ago, I had just finished, and was on my way home when I decided to stop in a pub for one drink, I had earnt it. While in there, I decided to give my dad a ring. It's been a good while since we've spoken. I actually had credit back then so calling him wasn't an issue. Getting him to pick up was. I send a couple of texts afterwards, eventually sending one saying 'call me ASAP' which he actually responded to. He called me assuming that there was some big problem, I told him 'no, it's just that we haven't spoken in about five months, I wanted to tell you what I've been upto, and ask you how you've been'. He makes his excuses about being busy and talking to me about everything soon and hangs up. 

By this point, I'm pretty upset. I feel as if I've been disregarded. I'm also painfully aware of where I am, the fact I'm two of three pints in, and have a tendency to fly off the rails when I get drunk whilst upset. I decide it's better for me to just leave and go home. 

On my way to the bus station, I consider the fact that I've already been drinking, and despite not even being tipsy, am in a foul mood. If I go home like this, I'll probably get into a big argument with my mother. Probably best to stay out for a little, right? Well, it's past six in the evening, all the shops are shut, so what is there to do? Pubs are out of the question, so I settle on a bookies, stopping at a cash machine on the way. 

I lose thirty pounds. Angry with myself I leave, and go to get a drink to calm down. (Remember what I said about vicious circles?) Whilst in the pub, someone tells me that I should go and try to get my money back. I, in my inebriated state, listened. I spend another half an hour in the bookies, at one point being over a hundred pounds down, at another point being about two hundred pounds up, but eventually leave with a small, insubstantial loss. Again, I'm angry. Why did I go to lose money, then have to spend so long winning most of it back? Why didn't I give up when I was ahead? I go to buy and eat a burger, and before you know it I bump into a couple of friends. They're on their way to the pub and they're inviting me to join them. Of course, I accept. 

We get there, and they have a bunch of other friends with them. We have a couple in there, we go to the next place, and the place after that, I'm pretty drunk by this point, I keep buying drinks for others and having drinks bought in return, I'm really throwing my money around. Eventually, I'm sat in the last place, and most of the people I was with are getting ready to call it a night. My mum's already called me at some point and I distinctly remember explaining why I was pissed off and just wanted some time alone, and her asking me not to come back in a state. Looks like I'm not going to manage that at this rate, cause I'm really quite pissed by now. 

Everyone's leaving, someone's asking if I want them to walk with me to the train station, I assure them I'll get moving soon. The last train is quite soon. Of course, when I finish my drink, I find out that I've got another drink waiting in the woods, so I have that one too. Why not, I paid for it. So, I'm outside with my bluetooth headphones on, drunk as hell, smoking my cigarette and drinking my pint, getting ready to call it a night, or so I say. Suddenly, the bluetooth on my headphones disconnects. I'm sure they're not out of battery, so I go to check the connection on my phone. My phone isn't there, someone is walking off with it. 

Needless to say, adrenaline briefly sobered up my movement enough for me to chase the guy down and get my phone back. I also gave him quite a few kicks for trying to rob me. Like seriously, I kicked the shit out of him. Thinking back to this, this isn't my proudest moment. I've had quite a few fights in my life, not many of which were started by me, and I've never kicked someone while they were down, no matter how angry I might have been. However, it seems that with the right combination of built up anger and alcohol, I'm able to do so, and that's quite sickening.

And then, I had an argument with mum over the phone, who had been trying to call me when I didn't have my phone, coincidentally. Then, my friend calls me, and I argue with him too, when he asks me to go home. I stay out a little longer, until there are no more trains, and end up paying eighty-six pounds for a cab home. I clamber into bed, eventually sleeping.

The next morning, my friend calls me and tells me all the details about the night before that I may have missed out here. It'd take too long to go into absolutely everything, after all. I'm finding it hard to take any of it in, due to the terrible hangover I have. I check my bank account, there's about three hundred pounds missing, at least. Mum's pretty pissed at me too.

Oh, and to top it all off, Dad called me up, and decided to give me a big old lecture about drinking (during most of which I was silently blaming him for the whole situation.), he hasn't spoken to me since, but I can't be bothered to make an effort with him anymore.

Anyways, that was then, I tell Arryn, who nods, agreeing that this detox probably was the right move for me, and he understands why I've stuck at it until now. I check my watch, and what do you know? It's nearly time to get moving, so we do just that, exchanging stories about funny nights out we've had in the past, because it's fine to think back to the good parts every now and then, it's even okay to miss it a little.

Anyways, that was then. Nowadays, it's been good a while longer since I've had anything to drink, and I'm quite happy. My life's still on track, and that feeling of being high or low has leveled out. I'm content with myself, and also believe that if at some point in the future, I decided that I would be alright to occasionally drink again, I would be able to handle that without too many issues. One thing I do know is that I'm not going to have to sit on any more benches.

I shouldn't have to sit on any more fences either, if I'm lucky.