Tag Archives: hung over

And, I’m back…

27 Sep

11:26 pm

I had to take a little break from blogging the past two days, mainly because I’ve been feeling a bit…overexposed. (And busy selling off the rest of my furniture, booking flights, running last-minute errands, working here and there as it goes). Oh, and I also drank. TWICE.


I guess I don’t really know how to explain my choice to drink twice this week except for one, I’ve already broken my count so why not, and two, I wanted to “see how it felt.” Usually when I drink, it’s in response to feeling horrible, depressed, and/or desperate! Actually, I can’t remember the last time I drank when I didn’t feel like that. Anyway, I didn’t feel that way Tuesday night or Wednesday night; I felt more or less like I could take it or leave it. (If I’m honest, I think I just WANTED to. BUT, I wasn’t desperate for it.) I haven’t drunk for so long in that mindset that I was like, Well, I wonder how it — drinking — would feel if I actually didn’t go overboard? (I had absolutely no intention of inducing the same kind of hangover I had last week, that I knew.)

Well? It didn’t feel good. In fact, it’s reinforced more my desire to not drink, and to build on what I’ve accomplished both mentally and physically over the past three months. I’m feeling the worst about breaking down, slowly but surely, what I’ve built; I work hard, and I hate to see good work go to waste. KEEP THE FAITH, I keep telling myself. THINK BACK, I say, to all those nights in [cold east coast city], all those days when you were detoxing and feeling shiteous, all those moments you had to fight so hard to not run out and get a bottle. THOSE DAYS ARE GONE. However, I can see them returning if I sneak behind my back and drink once, twice, now three, then four times a week… You can see where it’s headed; so can I.

The first night I ordered Indian food and had three glasses. I was REALLY drunky drunk after just those three, so much so that I could barely think clearly enough to book flights. It was weird; I felt more or less mentally compromised to the point of having no functioning thought process. Not fun. AND, I felt so gross that night. One of those nights where you don’t drink enough to pass out, but you drink enough to feel totally gross, toss and turn, and feel every single ounce of ethanol pass through every single cell of your liver…for hours and hours. AND, I was hung over before I even went to bed. Bleh!

The next night, same thing (with the spicy Indian food), but I downed a whole bottle. I was hung over today, and it was not fun. Not as bad as the other day, but yeah. What stopped me from overdoing it beyond a bottle was the conditioning after last week’s bender (where I blacked out and broke my glasses) — I am literally AFRAID of having a hangover like that again.

So, no, thanks.

I’m not that disappointed, as it’s just another step forward in further convincing myself — and strengthening my resolve — to not drink. If it doesn’t work anymore, there really is zero point in doing it. It’s almost like caffeinated coffee, which for me has become a distant (albeit sweet) memory: back when I had my first panic attack in 2005, I had to stop drinking coffee altogether. The panic attack seemed to have “rewired” my brain, is all I can say. I used to be a coffee FIEND, but now, it just feels like someone turned a radio station to static in my brain. I haven’t had a cup of coffee since that day in November, going on 7 years ago. I would love to, but it just doesn’t work the way it used to. I’d never go back, though, let me tell you. No more ups and downs; no more sour stomach; no more extreme hunger pangs. Sure, I don’t get to get buzzed, but that’s OK, too, especially when it comes to sounding NOT like a total meth-head when I’m talking, interviewing, and/or writing. ūüėČ

So, moving along. Starting over. Realizing that there are big things that need to be passed over and MUCH bigger things that lie in wait. This little hamster-depression-wheel can only whir for so long before LIFE, in all its actual glory, shines through and makes drinking grape water so…boring. (Although, there IS still a small(ish) pocket of brain cells whining in the background, But, maybe… Maybe it was this one time, or maybe it’s PMS fucking with the way it works, or maybe I just need to drink with people, or, I know, maybe I need to drink in a geographical location where the fog particles aren’t messing with the alcohol content…Huh?)


(What am I, Gollum? My PRECIOUS. Jesus, get ahold of yourself, woman!)

Why, hello, Sparkle Tooth…I see you peaking from around that bush!

21 Sep

6:36 pm

Aaaaaaand, I’m starting to feel better. As in, not drunk anymore and not on the verge of having a panic attack. Still shaking and feeling like throwing up (I don’t think I’ve thrown up the day after drinking for like, two centuries, so I’m pretty sure my body is giving me a huge middle finger after putting it through that after 5 whole weeks of no booze), but I can tell the “hang” part of the hangover is almost over! AND, I somehow managed to write the introduction to this “e-book” I’m working on — I have never had to work so hard at 500 words about a science-y thing. Jesus. I can’t believe I used to do this regularly; how did I manage to function, let alone highly function? Chalk it up to age, or simple exhaustion. Whatever, I’m not doing this to my body ever again.

(I feel lonely; I should go to a meeting, but honestly, I think I’m too shaky and shaken up. Better to just lick my wounds, maybe try sweating it out, and go to bed early. Killing this day softly, as it were.)

That is all.

Oh, and yes, my sparkle-toothed unicorn is there. I see her. She’s shy, and embarrassed — maybe I harassed her last night in my blackout; I definitely scared her — but she’s smiling. A little. It’s going to be great to see her running across the sandy beach tomorrow, mane flapping in the breeze, horn piercing the bright blue sky! ūüėČ

What’s it like to be that hung over, you might wonder?

21 Sep

4:44 pm

Well, let me tell you.

When it’s 4 pm and you just got out of the shower, that’s what it’s like. Or, writing is such a Herculean task that you’re afraid you might have permanently damaged your brain. Which thought makes you take a deep breath in order to calm your nerves — you are definitely still drunk and wondering if your body will do its thing and actually get you sober this time. You are not out of panic-attack zone yet, so eating makes you feel like you might slip into one, and walking on the street feels so surreal that it takes most of your focus not to totally crumble into one right there, in traffic.

Your hands are shaking and sweating as you try your best to write something for that deadline you missed, and your panic rises again when you realize that you really can’t find the words. That’s what it’s like.

You try to drink caffeine, but that only makes it worse. And, it’s a beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime day outside and you totally missed it. Again.

You’re sad, depressed, and glum. You have no idea why, but the thought of dying keeps coming into your mind and you gulp down the panic that rises again, sharply, like a swift vacuum being applied to your intestines. You’re still drunk, still dizzy, and it’s 4:40 pm now. You wonder if you’ll ever, EVER get sober and if not, what then? You wonder if you’ll ever be able to find the words, if your brain is, actually, permanently fucked and this time, THIS time, you’ve really done yourself in.

That’s what it’s like.

(As a note to self, this post, the next time I try to drink “normally.” It’s over; it has to be. I don’t think I can handle this hangover, let alone another one. EVER again.)

Falling off the wagon..so YOU DON’T HAVE TO

21 Sep

2:31 pm

For real. The only good that can come of falling off (where art thou, sparkle-toothed unicorn?) the wagon A THIRD TIME is so that you, my dear readers and friends, don’t have to.


I think I just felt overwhelmed by my cravings, the voice in my head, and the resisting. I felt tired of resisting. So, I hurriedly uncorked a bottle and drank it. All of it. I was barely remembering things (didn’t take much, which is scary — what is wrong with my brain if it only takes three (huge) glasses of red wine to black me out?) when I ran (literally, I’m guessing) to the corner store to buy another. I did not finish that one, mainly because I must have passed out. I don’t remember.

Ahh. LOVELY hangover. Yes, I remember this feeling. Oh, yes. Drinking two Diet Cokes and weeping about my upcoming death. I remember this feeling. Stumbling around, finding a demolished pair of (expensive) glasses on the floor, checking my wallet to make sure that nothing’s missing, seeing wine stains on my floor and table. Yes, I remember this! Crawling to the bathroom only to heave myself back to bed. Yes. Ringing bells? Oh, yes. Crouching over my stove as I make ramen, forcing it down because I know I need something in there but nothing fills the hole and nothing will the entire day. Check. Crying some more and whining and wailing on the phone to my boyfriend who, thankfully, thinks nothing less of me and even thinks I deserve better. Yup. MISSING my fucking deadline because I can barely think, let alone write what I need to write. Done and done.

Do you remember that feeling? Is it coming back? Oh, yes.

I don’t even care about the fact that I missed my second 5 weeks (would have been 35 days today) again. What bothers me most is that my brain is simply depressed — not even sad, just void of feeling or thoughts. And, all I want is for the day — and hangover — to be over with. Waiting it out is all and will be all I’ll be doing today.

Wow, drinking really fucks up my mental landscape. What was a lovely painting with serene (pink) clouds has now become a grey wash of confusion, suicidal ideation, and nonsense. ? WTF, drinking?

(And, why do I have a memory of the corner store owner standing next to me, helping me pick out my wine? Was I standing there, in my druken stupor, unable to do it myself? Or, was he just being friendly and helpful? NO IDEA.)

Key points of this latest round?

I realize now that I don’t need to go it alone, that I DO NEED HELP, and that I need to ask for it.

I realize now that I shouldn’t isolate myself to the point of mental breakdown.

I realize now that what I wanted last night was escape — from the obsession to drink, I think, more than the overwhelming thoughts and feelings about life and people, in general.

I realize now that I USE WINE to escape and that one, I need new coping mechanisms, two, wine is my vehicle/tool, and three, there really shouldn’t be anything to “escape from,” if I’m doing it right.

I need help. But first, I need to get through this hangover.

Readers, if you’re thinking of falling off, just come here and read this. I have done it for you so that you don’t have to! It’s like riding a bike — no, it’s like falling off. It hurts every time and the feeling is never different! FUCK THAT BIKE! STAY ON THE WAGON.

Grateful to be going to bed sober…

19 Aug

1:06 am

So, that’s over. I got the recap from my boyfriend, and apparently, nothing irreversibly horrible happened or was done. Yet, as he explained my bizarre behavior, it once again makes me wonder, what is a blackout? Is it me? I mean, really, is this person me? Is the booze shutting off my brain, or certain parts of it, such that I’m literally no longer me? Or is it turning certain deeper, inhibited parts ON such that I’m actually more myself?

I know I need to just forget and stop saying I’m sorry, but the blackouts and the shit I’ve done during them haunt me. I don’t understand them and therefore, can’t really put them behind me. Plus, when you haven’t really done it — if you don’t remember, it is like it never happened, at least to you — how can you gain any kind of closure?

I know I need to make some decisions and get back to work — what is “work,” though? — but I also need to focus on staying sober. Being around people who are drinking, while not innately bad, just doesn’t make it easier for me to keep on keepin’ on. It makes it that much harder to accept being sober, makes it even more of a pain to continue to resist. I know I need to embrace my fears, indecision, and lack of creativity, which is causing my depression. I know I need to embrace the transitions and changes in my life, a big one learning how to live sober. Like, I don’t know how to approach certain situations, life events, and feelings anymore without booze, whether that be actually drinking it or simply thinking about drinking it. I can’t turn to it anymore to ease my stress and/or insecurities surrounding working as a writer; I can’t turn to it anymore to “fix” my fears and/or uncertainties related to dating, love, family, and relationships/friendships. I gotta start from scratch, and that’s just…well, it’s all just a bit much.

Hence, the four hours of rather painful hiking I forced myself to do today, in my hung over state, through the 95-degree heat.

Anyway, I’m so tired and groggy and feeling like hungover ass, so I’ll sign off. My bf and I are going to an AA meeting at 8 am on the beach tomorrow morning. I’ll def keep ya posted on that…

Three strikes and I’m out? Fell off the wagon again…

18 Aug

1:10 pm

…and I’m seriously not happy about this.

Peer pressure. Fuck me! Well, peer pressure combined with a restlessness that I’m sure I’m blaming on everyone but myself. And I don’t mean to, which makes me feel quite sad with myself. It’s not you, it’s me. For real. Yes, I do feel restless and unsure about the next step(s) in my life, and this is NOT EASY to deal with sober, let alone drunk. Fuck me, though.

So, I don’t have many friends down here and/or a life of my own (if I move down, I think I’ll put more of an effort into seeking this out), so when two girlfriends of my boyfriend popped over and pressured me (Come on, just one glass!) to drink a glass of red with them, I caved. I caved! WTF? They don’t know that I’m trying to get sober, have NO IDEA what a mess I am when it comes to drinkin’, don’t understand (they seem to be still livin’ it up, drinking-wise), and were just trying to be friendly. I can’t believe I took the bait, though, especially after ALL the social gatherings of late (a wedding, for fuck’s sake!) I’ve endured sober. I must be seriously insecure… Or, maybe just searching for a sense of belonging here. But, yeah, that’s how easy it is to relapse, convincing myself that it’s OK to have “just one,” if, like, I really don’t feel like drinking anyway (yeah, right) and I’m at home and it’s safe and I’m with friends.

I might have cracked on my own, though, since I felt bored, bland, restless, lacking in creativity (i.e., have not accomplished much creatively speaking in a long time, which is grinding away at my conscience — more on that later), etc. I mean, I was in a bad mood and wanted to give the finger to it all.

Anyway, it was totally downhill after that first glass…might as well drink another bottle or two, right? Yeah, right. Now? I feel depressed, nothing’s changed, my boyfriend is pissed, I am crushed at my lack of discipline and possibly having let him down/hurt him AGAIN, and well, I feel hung the fuck over. Was it worth it? Of course, it wasn’t.

Suck it and see? Twice now. I don’t want the third time to happen. I just don’t. I guess I simply cannot drink normally. Then again, I always only seem to drink when I feel bad, depressed or frustrated with my life. Maybe it’d turn out differently…NO! It won’t. Like, I was already thinking about the second bottle (not glass, bottle) before I even finished my first glass. That’s just…weird. That’s just compulsion defined, that’s what that is.

I’m worried, actually, what I’ll end up doing these days. Apparently, I didn’t get crazy in front of the girls, but I know my bf is pissed, so maybe I gave him hell in the bedroom before I passed out? Or, maybe I just passed out? Ugh.

Need new coping mechanisms. Really, really do. This shit ain’t working anymore, especially when the drunky drunk time is not fun either (I remember feeling even more restless, pissy, angry, frustrated, sad/depressed while drunk than before I started drinking). Meh.

And, to top it all off, I’m hung over. AND, I have to start over counting days. Which is why this blog is about “getting sober” and not “being sober,” I suppose. Forgive myself and move forward is all I can do…

Drunky drunk girl says, My first sober wedding! Whew…glad that’s over!

5 Jul

3:15 pm

I just returned from a wedding in Seattle. ¬†AND…dun dun dun, still drink-free! ¬†WOOT!

(Granted, I feel like a truck hit me, and have been feeling like, TIRED as fuck, for the past two out of the THREE, yes, three, weeks of being sober, but I’ll get to that in another post. ¬†Who knew? ¬†I sure didn’t. ¬†Well, I know now — sobriety is like getting sick after weeks of running yourself ragged, amped up on adrenaline while the rest of your organs are crying out, Rest me, god damn it!)

Anyway, some things I learned at this wedding:

Old, good friends are the best sober buddies. ¬†So are former drunks. ¬†So are pregnant people. ¬†All in all, I had a great amount of support from the handful of friends who have known me for 15 years — and seen my drunky drunky ways in action, over and over and over again. ¬†The last time I saw these peeps, I: ¬†blacked out and went off at the bar about losing my “cool” black jacket, which I simply left on some barstool, which I was banging on and on about for several hours, I’m sure; blacked out and took the FREIGHT elevator instead of the one for hotel guests, ended up passing out inside the thing, and being woken up at 4 am (in my own piss, naturally) by one of the group who was the only member of its ad hoc search party who knew enough to “think like a drunk person” and realize that maybe I had taken the wrong elevator; blacked out during the baseball game and did who knows what, and then won the shirt (we have an annual “t-shirt contest” that involves vomit) by throwing up behind one of our SUVs in the parking lot after the game — turns out tailgating in the dark AFTER the game is not a good idea if you’ve been drinking PBRs since 1 pm that afternoon…

Guy “friends” who also wouldn’t mind getting in your pants WANT you to get silly drunk and don’t, actually, appreciate your sobriety.

Sitting around a table for hours talking with your friends while sober ain’t so bad. ¬†It’s nice to remember the conversations and it’s nice to not be the asshole stumbling out of the bar, who may or may not have hit on someone stupid, let someone stupid hit on her, said something stupid, or did something otherwise stupid.

Karaoking to “Don’t Stop Believin'” while sober ain’t so bad.

Flying cross-country while sober makes up for having to catch a 7:15 am flight. ¬†In fact, not having to fly either hung the fuck over or still drunk makes up for like, every morning flight I’ve ever taken. ¬†(There is nothing like passing through the AA terminal at JFK and realizing that the last time you did so, you were blazing drunk, having stayed up all night downing prosecco with a local guy “friend” (see above), and preparing to board an international flight headed to a post-disaster zone to volunteer for several months. ¬†Ahh, the memories… Seared into my mind and bloodstream — I can still feel that sense of impending doom/anxiety/pure anger that comes with being drunk for so many consecutive hours and THEN having to hustle to like, an airport.)

I’m sure there are other things, but those are what come to mind. ¬†I must say that I am proud (and bewildered) to be closing in on ONE MONTH sober. ¬†It feels…great/horrible? ¬†I’m not sure which, but it’s my own curiosity, I suppose, that’s keeping me on track now: ¬†What will sobriety surprise me with next?

More later!  Thanks for reading, whoever is out there.  It helps.  It really does.

Drunky drunk girl says, I’m still drunk!

14 Jun

This isn’t a blog about drinking.¬† I’m not going to list my top ten rock bottoms for you — crashed a car, went to jail, lost my job — in fact, I’ve done all of those already.¬† This is a blog about a *drinking life* and ultimately, the struggle to let go of that former life in being both a city dweller and woman.¬† So, a drinking life, then:¬† drinking and not drinking, getting shitfaced and drinking the promised “two glasses,” blacking out and feeling remorse beyond what even your closest friends/mother can empathize with.¬† It’s about staying sober *and* staying drunk.

Right now, I’m trying to quit.¬† For what seems like the millionth time, and which may very well be.¬† What I hope is that this blog will help both drinkers and their concerned friends alike feel less lonely and less alone in the process.¬† Because right now — well, for years, actually — I feel pretty much on my own.¬† Straight-up *alone*.¬† Dead-solo on this journey that feels like a desert trudge with a long lost beginning and no end in sight.

I woke up today hung over.¬† And it’s going on oh, about 48 hours or so since I had my “last” drink and I still feel like ass.¬† My belly is swollen and my liver hurts, which, this morning makes it hard to fit into my interview clothes.¬† My pants are too tight and my underwire bra is pressed so tightly against my aching liver that it makes me cry.¬† So now I am crying and I’ve got less than 10 minutes to pull it together and all I can think is, Fuck, I wish to Jesus on the Cross that I hadn’t poured out the last third of that “last” bottle of red that I had stored in the fridge two nights ago when I binge drank.

I also woke up feeling depressed.¬† Uninterested.¬† No glee, no glitter, no sparkle.¬† Just grey.¬† This, however, is not unusual.¬† The first few days of sobriety go like this (at least for me):¬† six hours after waking up from my two-bottles-of-red-induced blackout, I’m still drunk‚Ķand will continue to be for the next at least six to 12 hours.¬† Yes, it normally takes me *12 fucking hours* after my last sip to process the alcohol to the point where I don’t feel drunk.¬† During this time, I endure a plethora of awesome wine hangover goodness, which I affectionately call “full body gross.”¬† Lately, and this has made me take pause, I’ve felt rather‚Ķanesthetized, I guess is the right word.¬† I can’t think, can’t do math, can’t really make plans or remember things clearly.¬† I also sometimes feel depressed to the point of contemplating suicide (it really does seem OK to think that there is nothing to live for and no reason to be alive when I’m having these dark thoughts) and anxious to the point of having a panic attack.¬† If I’ve said or done something horrible, I’ll feel utterly remorseful for the next, oh, at least 12 to 24 hours, before my mind allows itself to ease up and move on.¬† Cuz, really, a functioning alcoholic *has* to move on, otherwise she’d be able to say, God damn it, I’ve had enough, when the urge to binge drink strikes again.¬† And it will.¬† It always does.

But, on day two, it’s easy not to drink because you’re still hung.¬† Easy to pass by the hundred bars on every street and think, Nah, I’m *so* over it.¬† However, I do feel anxious as a result, I guess, of coming off the booze, and instead of letting my mind discover what *likely won’t happen* if I just take a deep breath and wade through, I just want to shut the whole thing down with a drink.

But I’m getting sober, so I won’t, right?¬† I’ve had enough, haven’t I?¬† I’m sick of my weakness, sick of others’ judgments and quite frankly, sick of failing in their and my own eyes.¬† I’z gonna prove all y’all wrong, I think to myself as I go back and forth, amidst the puffs of unwelcome anxiety sneaking up from my stomach to my heart, wondering if I can’t just have *one little glass* to make it go away.


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