Hangover

I woke up, my head throbbing uncontrollably. For a second, I laid on my bed, perfectly still. I was sure, as soon as I moved any part of my body, the pain I knew all too well would crush my body. 1

I sighed a deep, melancholic sigh. Then, with immense effort, I opened my eyes. The room blurred, taking a few seconds to slip into focus. My eyes were tired, even though I’d been sleeping all night. I tried, with great difficulty, to sit up. I let out a yelp of exasperation. Every bone in my body was in agonizing distress; my head swam slightly as I shifted position. I looked by my bed. Sure enough, a bottle of jack was lying on the carpet, its contents partially overturned on the floor. I groaned. It was quiet in the room, and dark.2

I looked wearily towards the half-opened window. It was still dark outside, but a sliver of morning was beginning to penetrate the horizon. I put my hands on my face, trying to shield my vulnerable eyes.3

Today, like yesterday, and the day before, would be torture. Hangovers make you autistic for a day. They turn every whisper into a scream, every touch into a punch. And the worst part, the head-splitting headaches. Indescribable, like a fire burning on the inside. Your brain goes into overload, and refuses to cooperate. You spend the day staring blankly, misplaced in the world around you. A dark cocoon surrounds you, leaving you barely conscious. I hated it. I hated it so much.4

I got up, swaying, from my bed. I navigated around my house, in the semi-darkness. I made it to the living room, before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. I crawled back to my bed, giving up consciousness for the bliss of sleep. 5

I awoke in the middle of the night. I had spent an entire day trying to escape from the unbearable consequences of the alcohol. Altogether, I felt better now. The headache had considerably lessened, and the sounds had reverted back to their normal noise level. I felt more refreshed, though my eyes still felt a little uneasy. 6

I walked slowly to the bathroom. I reached for the light switch, squinting for a moment at the burst of fluorescent lighting. I turned my head to the mirror. I nodded in recognition. The face in the mirror had drooping eyes, complete with dark circles, a pale complexion, and a slightly disoriented look. My long curls were tangled, their color opaque. I splashed water on my face, trying to recover the life which once colored my cheeks. I regained a little alertness, but the color didn’t return. 7

I nodded, ashamed, like I always was after my drinking. And though I told myself that would be the last time, though I vowed never to touch alcohol again, I knew the cycle would repeat. 8

I would come home, depressed and brimming with anxiety. I would look wearily towards the bottle of whiskey which my house was never devoid of. I would bite my lip; tell myself no. I would plead with my strength of will. But in the end, I would reach for that bottle; like I always did. 9