Hangover Hell

My eyes open suddenly, and I’m temporarily lost--awakened from a black hole of oblivion--and I’m confused.  It takes several moments to get my bearings, and the very first thing I’m aware of is the terrible taste in my mouth, like chalk and sulfur. I smack my tongue against my palate a few times in vain; the thick, pasty coating remains.

Squinting to see the clock I notice my husband is sleeping peacefully next to me. It’s 2:11 AM. I don’t remember going to bed. I’m suddenly aware that I’m wearing only a tank top and nothing else. Did Tom and I have sex?  Fragments from the evening flash through my mind like faded old snapshots.  

I remember drinking early in the evening as I prepared dinner.  I was so nice and buzzed by the time it was ready to eat that I decided to sit and observe everyone else enjoy the meal while I continued to nurse my drink. I remember retreating to the office afterwards to listen to music, and hang out on Facebook. How much did I drink? A familiar dread washes over me, and I quickly push it out of my mind; I don’t want to know how much I drank.

Did I give my son his epilepsy meds before bed? Fuck, I can’t remember.  I try hard to come up with more details from the night. Did I ever eat dinner? A dim snapshot of me heating up the spaghetti and meatballs; did I clean up the kitchen, and get the kids clothes ready for school? I draw a blank.

Despite having just been in a dead sleep I feel completely exhausted and lay motionless on the bed, my eyes shut tight. Heartburn rages in my chest and throat and I try to cough it away. I drift in and out of a fitful, un-resting semi-conscious state.  In a dream I’m standing by my kitchen sink with the water running drinking cup after cup of ice cold water. It feels heavenly as it hits my dry insides, but I wonder why no matter how much I drink I still feel thirsty. My eyes startle open and I’m aware of a thin layer of sweat covering my entire body. It’s 2:36 AM.  I sit up straight and my headache roars.

“Here we are again”, I think.

Me and my regrets.

I stumble out of bed and reach for panties carelessly tossed on the floor. There’s a condom wrapper nearby. Yup—we did it last night.  But there are no fuzzy snapshots of that in my mind just yet. With one hand on my forehead and the other gripping the handrail, I hobble downstairs to the kitchen.

The water doesn’t feel refreshing like in my dream. It stirs up the chalkiness in my mouth and throat and feels like lead in my stomach.  How much did I eat last night? One look around the messy kitchen and I realize I didn’t clean a thing after dinner. I force more water down and walk back to my office. I hesitate a moment before I turn on the light, a little anxious about the things I won’t remember from the night before, but terrified of what I will remember once I flip that switch.

Empty beer bottles stand at attention on the credenza behind my desk.  I count 6, hoping against hope I don’t find more lining the floor. Napkins…Crumbs. Before I even check the garbage pail I remember—I binged on cookies while basking in my drunk. No matter how determined I am to eat right when I’m sober, alcohol never fails to completely break down my resolve.  Stashed stealthily alongside the pail I find 3 more empty bottles.

Why did I do this again?

Why do I do this to myself?

I down a handful of Tums and as much water as I can stand and creep back to bed. With some hydration and the fire on my insides put out I feel a little better, and I’m hopeful that sleep will take care of the rest.

If only I could fall back asleep. I keep my eyes closed but it’s pointless; I’m wide awake, trying not to think about what else I might have done that I can’t remember.  

By 7am I force myself out of bed, leaden and exhausted.  Though the pounding in my head has dulled in intensity, it spread to an ache of my entire body. My stomach feels bloated yet hollow, and I’m nauseous and hungry at the same time.  The thought of having to go forward with the day feels like a momentous task in front of me.  

I know my head is going to ache all day.  My eyes will be red, my skin dry and I’ll have diarrhea off and on until after lunch.  My stomach will be raw and burn like an open wound. I know I’ll be so tired all day that canceling some of my plans might be inevitable.

With a familiar dread, I sit down at my computer and wonder what I will find. Who did I drunk-message last night? I pray it wasn't my old boyfriend from high school. Again. How many classic rock YouTube videos did I post?  Oh my God I hope I didn't take a drunken selfie and make it my profile pic. Again.

I hate myself with a vengeance that only someone who abuses alcohol regularly can comprehend.