Hanging on Hungover? [Video]
Updated: Sep 3, 2020
Consciousness approached like a terrifying nightmare waiting to begin. Before I embarked on the dreadful task of opening my eyes I first needed to make it past the sound of my heartbeat pulsating through every blood cell in my brain.
My next task was figuring out how to present myself to the world. It was a process, and I had to start somewhere. My eyes slowly came apart like a dungeon door being pried open. It took more effort then I had just to unglue my eyelids from each other.
As difficult as it had been up to this point, now I had to navigate the presence of light piercing my eyeballs like daggers through flesh.
Waking up after a night of blackout drinking with a hangover that feels like you are flirting with death, is a lonely place. Darkness seemed so much more comfortable than that piercing light, light meant exposure.
As the light punctured my eyeballs and instantly dilated my pupils, my mind was intimidated by the fact that night had passed and day had birthed.
My head tried to process what was happening as I tried to figure out where I was, but the word "headache" didn’t even begin to describe the pain my head was experiencing. Explosive pain radiated down my neck and my body felt like cement was drying in my veins.
The pain and the sickly sluggishness were more then one could fathom enduring. I tried to talk, but my saliva was like dried Elmer’s glue coating the inside of my mouth.
As discomforts of drastic proportions manifested all over my body, I began to feel pain in my right hand. I tried to move my fingers but it was like trying to unthaw tree branches in sub-zero temperature. The slightest movement of my fingers and hand sent wreathing pain up my arm.
It was then that my brain tried to rouse my memory into retracing my steps because I had no clue what I had done the night before and why I was waking up in a cold and lonely jail cell.
An officer eventually made it to the door and explained that I had been arrested while driving under the influence the night prior. It jogged my memory and the last retrievable thought was a vague recollection of being pulled from my car at a gas station.
Then punching the jail cell door...
I never would have thought that the “fun” of teenage drinking would have pulled me to the pits of hell on earth. Addiction is a venomous beast with death as its goal, and it starts slow.
It starts with a smile and a joy, albeit a counterfeit one, quickly followed by a sucker punch to the soul.