How Alcohol Slowly Became My Only Hobby

One of the saddest things alcohol did to my life was quietly replacing the things I actually enjoyed.

It didn't happen with a dramatic crash. There was no moment where I looked at my hobbies and consciously decided to abandon them. It was slower than that. So slow that I didn't notice until everything I used to love had been hollowed out and filled with drinking instead.

Gaming Became Just Background Noise

I used to genuinely love computer games. I'd get lost in them for hours, following the story, appreciating the mechanics, feeling that sense of accomplishment when I figured something out or beat a difficult section.

At some point, I started adding drinks "just to relax while playing." It seemed harmless. A beer or two to unwind after work while exploring a new game. Nothing wrong with that, right?

But slowly, imperceptibly, the game stopped being the point.

I'd boot something up, barely pay attention to what was happening on screen. I'd die repeatedly in the same spot because my reactions were shot. I'd forget the storyline because I wasn't really processing anything. The game became background noise—something to do with my hands while I focused on what really mattered: the next drink.

I told myself I was still a gamer. I still bought games, still talked about them. But I wasn't really playing anymore. I was drinking with a game running in the background.

Friends Became Drinking Appointments

The same thing happened with meeting friends. At first, it was about the people—talking, laughing, doing stuff together. Going to events, having real conversations, making memories.

Over time, my mental planning shifted. When someone suggested hanging out, my first thought wasn't "what should we do?" It was "where are we drinking and how much?"

The people, the activity, the actual reason to meet—all of that got pushed to the side. Alcohol became the main event every single time. If we weren't drinking, I wasn't that interested. If we were at a place where I couldn't drink much, I'd be mentally checking out, thinking about when I could get home and really drink.

I started to avoid friends who didn't drink much. Not consciously—I just found excuses. And I gravitated toward people who matched my pace, which made the whole thing feel normal.

Running and the Gym Just... Died

And honestly, the same thing happened with running and the gym. Those were real hobbies for me—things that made me feel alive, strong, capable. I'd set goals, hit personal records, feel that runner's high or the satisfaction of finishing a hard workout.

Once drinking took over, even those died off.

I didn't have the energy. How could I, when I was either drinking the night before or recovering from drinking? The consistency disappeared first—I'd skip one day because I felt rough, then another, then it became easier to skip than to show up.

The desire went next. Working out requires you to care about your body, to invest in your future self. But alcohol makes you not care. It shrinks your timeline to right now, this drink, this moment. Why run when you could just feel "good" immediately with a few drinks?

So running and gym just faded away. I told myself I'd get back to them when things "calmed down." But things never calmed down—drinking doesn't calm down on its own.

The Slow Funnel

It didn't happen overnight. That's why it was so insidious. That's why it felt "normal" for way too long.

It was this slow shift where everything I liked—every hobby, every interest, every source of genuine enjoyment—turned into a stage for drinking. All of it was just scenery. The real event, always, was alcohol.

• Gaming? Just an excuse to drink at home alone.
• Friends? Just drinking partners.
• Going out? Just opportunities to drink in different locations.
• Staying in? Just drinking with more convenience.
• Exercise? Abandoned because it interfered with drinking.

My entire life slowly funneled into one habit. Everything else was stripped away or transformed into something unrecognizable.

The Worst Part

The worst part wasn't even the drinking itself. It was realizing that my life's main hobby had become destroying it.

Think about that for a second. The thing I spent the most time, energy, and money on—the thing I looked forward to, planned around, and prioritized above everything else—was slowly wrecking my health, my relationships, my potential.

That's not a hobby. That's not a passion. That's just addiction wearing the disguise of normalcy.

What I've Learned Since

Getting sober has meant rediscovering what I actually enjoy—or in some cases, figuring it out for the first time.

Gaming is fun again. Actually fun, not just something I do while drinking. I remember the storylines. I can play for a reasonable amount of time and then stop because I'm satisfied, not because I passed out.

Friends are people again, not drinking appointments. We do actual things together. Sometimes those things involve sitting around talking—but the point is the talking, not the drinks.

And exercise? It's coming back. Slowly. My body is recovering from years of abuse, and so is my motivation. But I can feel the old enjoyment starting to return, that sense of accomplishment and strength.

If This Sounds Familiar

If you're reading this and recognizing yourself in these words—if your hobbies have quietly morphed into excuses to drink, if everything in your life has been funneled into one destructive habit—I want you to know something:

You're not alone. And the things you used to love are still there, waiting. They didn't disappear; they just got buried under the alcohol.

For sure, I don't want my life's main hobby to be destroying it. And you don't have to want that either.

Recovery means excavating the person you used to be—or discovering the person you never got to become because drinking got in the way. It's slow work, but it's real work. And it's worth it.

Your hobbies are waiting. Your interests are waiting. Your life is waiting.

You just have to stop burying them.