I’d like to tell you about one of my top three breakups.

Last week marked the five-year anniversary of me saying goodbye and good riddance to a toxic relationship that did me dirty many times. But like a fool, I naively glazed over all the red flags that popped up from the get-go when we first met at 21. I told myself to forget the negatives and focus on all the good times, and there were some, I suppose. Nights of revelry and laughter and deep conversations. And the new experiences I probably wouldn’t have said yes to without encouragement from my toxic pal.

Never mind that the memories of those good times were often blurry before being deleted permanently, and those intimate conversations dream-like and forever lost once my eyelids fluttered to full mast the next day. And while some of the experiences granted me wisdom, some also left me with regret, and I’d probably choose to not have them if I could get a do-over.

And let’s not forget my screaming body, who tried to warn me about this toxic fling from the beginning. I ignored the warning signs and she was left bereft, beat up and sick many mornings, long after my sadistic beau had vanished in the night.

Your fate may rest at the bottom of a cup of Earl Grey | Live Well

It wasn’t until my early 30s that I began to question everything, including my malignant paramour, thanks to the natural aging process and also a passion for doing yoga in a hot, humid room that left me dehydrated, a state in which one should not ingest substances that further dehydrate you.

If you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about alcohol.

As I set about to write this, I saw some good news: Gallup, an organization that does analytics, reported in its annual survey that alcohol consumption among U.S. adults has fallen to its lowest level since it started tracking it in 1939, with 54% reporting they drink. That’s down 4% from last year and down 8% from 2023. It’s also below the previous record of 55% in 1958.

According to the survey, 24% of Americans had a drink in the past day and 40% went more than a week without, the highest since 2000. Average weekly intake dropped to 2.8 drinks, the lowest since 1996.

That’s amazing. Alcohol causes so much destruction. But, lest it seem like I judge anyone who has a drink, I don’t. It’s much like I don’t care if someone eats a burger in front of me, a pescatarian. Unless it’s apparent alcohol is messing up your life in some way, and then I might worry about you. Or you drink and drive, and then I’ll get very frowny with you.

I’ve long been frustrated with society’s reluctance to put alcohol under the spotlight, choosing instead to go after opioids and fentanyl, which are, of course, appropriate substances to vilify. But we’re so intent on the “opioid crisis” that we ignore the reality that alcohol kills many more.

About 105,000 died from drug overdoses in 2023, with almost 80,000 of those involving opioids. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, alcohol causes about 178,000 deaths each year. But goodness forbid we go without our culturally agreed upon social glue and learn how to have fun without it, which is entirely possible. And, I daresay, more fun with less negative consequences.

I first wrote about my big breakup after passing the one-year mark. The second time came after my three-year anniversary. This might be the last you’ll hear of it until it’s been a decade, and by that time, who knows where I might be. Living with monkeys in Costa Rica? Working as a tour guide in the Galapagos Islands? Holed up in a Maine lighthouse writing cozy mysteries? And all minus the red wine I once favored.

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I figure it’s good to mention my teetotaling journey every now and again, for those who might be sober curious, or for those who need to know a kindred soul exists. Not drinking in a world that often drinks can be challenging. In my experience, people are often noticeably taken aback and then baffled when you decline an adult beverage. I’ve never felt bad about it or felt the need to come up with a cover story about why I’m not drinking. And I’ve never faked holding a cocktail (cranberry juice could easily pass for wine), but I empathize with those who do.

I don’t miss wine, but I do have a lingering fondness for a very cold beer on a very hot day. I haven’t succumbed, but this is the year I discovered how good a non-alcoholic beer can be. And it doesn’t come with that tipsy feeling I grew to loathe.

If you weren’t aware, alcohol is a neurotoxin. That means poison. The World Health Organization says no level of alcohol consumption is considered safe. So pouring it down your gullet means you’re bathing your gentle, kind organs with poison.

I propose our bodies know this long before our brains do. I remember trying a sip of my mother’s red wine as a pre-teen, and it was the dreckiest dreck to ever dreck. I was in no hurry to become a child prodigy oenophile.

Later in life, I learned that feeling that abhorrence is your body’s natural response to a poisonous substance. Did I pay attention to my body? Nay. Wasn’t the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Wine still made me gag, but I was determined to develop a taste for it.

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At 21, after fulfilling my role as a law-abiding citizen and never procuring a fake ID or drinking in high school or even college, I set my mind to becoming a red wine drinker. My reasons are murky, but some of it had to do with what I perceived as the glamorous, romantic lives of famous writers and their love of a tipple.

I sat in my tiny apartment as twilight came on, a glass of wine and my laptop at the ready, enamored with the idea of channeling my inner Ernest Hemingway or Zelda Fitzgerald before I understood they had some issues. Surely a tiny buzz would unleash my creativity and the words would flow like lava. Alas, what worked for others flattened my imagination and motivation. I sat and daydreamed, not even one Great American Novel appearing like magic on the screen. What a rip-off. Retiring to the couch with a book and another glass of wine seemed more productive.

And now here we are. My brain cells are surely happier and my liver much more jolly. A lack of ethanol running through my veins means my propensity for saying and doing stupid things is lessened, though not eliminated. But I’ll take it. And I never have to worry about driving myself home from an event.

There are zero downsides to being alcohol-free. If this sounds appealing, try going for a week and just notice how your body feels without it. The proof is in the marrow.