Saturday night I gave in to my addiction. I thought I could go to a party and be OK. I proved that I am capable of not drinking for six months. So I thought I could go to a party and stay sober. I was very wrong. I was there for about a half hour before I gave in and got a drink. I was OK, but I thought I would be better than OK with two. Then two became three and so on. In typical alcoholic fashion before long it was early in the morning and I was wasted. I thought about driving home but just slept in my car.
I’ve never been the kind of drunk to do overly embarrassing things. There would always been someone who was more drunk than me, though I usually had more to drink. This night was no real exception to that. It’s the day after that’s so terrible for me. This day after was exceptional, exceptionally bad.
The morning after I wake up hating myself. Hating how I feel. The lack of sleep, the hangover, the long list of people who will be disappointed. I hate every sip I took, every word I said. I hate myself. I hate the loss of control, the infection, the disease. My whole body betrays me and fights back. My guts are twisting and burning, my mind is spinning and torturing. Even my muscles say fuck you! It’s not just a hangover, a few aspirin can not make this go away. It’s a full on assault on my soul. It’s anxiety attacking from the front, depression flanking on either side and just straight sickness coming from behind.
There is no escaping it.