From Fall to Fall

flashes of light in the haze of the binge

· It's October 26, 2018. Day forty-fifth, or forty-sixth. Can't remember. I've had two interventions by friends in two days. One was Mckayla telling me how she thought she vibed with me so well because she saw her future self in me and told me it was a wakeup call to her to slow down. That was the night when she was caught stealing bootleggers from sheetz for me to curb my alcohol withdrawals for just a few more hours – luckily she still managed to smuggle one out. Today I went and drove her to MedExpress and she surprised with me with a bottle of Burnett's vodka which is now ¾ empty. I just returned to my dorm after hanging out with Caleb – who brought up a topic from a week or two ago and I blatantly stated to him I can't remember anything specific from the past month, a week feels like two days and its just blended together in one massive long blackout. We were in the elevator when he told me was worried about me, and worried that I was going to reach the point where I wouldn't be able to stop. And I laughed and told him I was already there but there was nothing I could do – I can't go through that withdrawal. We reached his floor and he just gave me a look and asked me to just consider stopping. I told him I would.

o But little do both of these people know I've weighed the pros and cons, reviewed my behavior, and done more research about the effects. But I still don't care. I haven't stopped drinking since senior year of high school, since G killed himself, and veering to higher amounts of alcohol since Dominic. I was so irritable the other day. Pissed off. I hadn't had a drink in almost ten hours for the first time in seven and a half weeks. It was terrifying and not an emotion I want to deal with again any time soon.

o But as much as I want to fight the alcohol withdrawal and put it off I'm beginning to tell I can't. My head is constantly pulsing and fogging, not to mention the random sharp stabs of pain. My back and sides constantly ache. I average about four hours of a sleep a night. I have gone completely off of my medications. Sometimes I'll lay in bed and every inhale brings this searing stab of pain in my chest to the point it takes my breathe away. Couple that with those moments when I feel like my entire chest is weak and is about to cave in. The bruises appearing randomly on my skin. The near permanent bags under my eyes. My mental health has been obliderated along with any progress I had made. I spend my days constantly drunk and high at every opportunity resulting in a moment of piling responsibilities that just cause more stress which I numb with various drugs.

o When I started this bender it just kind of happened and once I hit two weeks, I wanted to know if I could do three, or four, or five, or six, or seven, and even now I want to know if I can make it to eight weeks. I haven't experienced a dependency on alcohol this intensely since senior year and I'm kicking myself for letting it happen – for not catching myself in the beginning. But I know it's time to start worrying when friends begin to come up to me to express their worry for me.

o All I know is. It is the forty-seventh day. And I am so deeply tired that my bones ache and my heart is coaxing me to collapse into unconsciousness for days. My thoughts are barely coherent. My memory lapses when trying to recall Snapchats from five minutes ago. I have no recollection of specific days, where I was last week, or specific events that occurred when I had already reached my blackout limit for the evening. I never realize how bad until I sit down with Mallory trying to retrace our steps and realized I hadn't been to her apartment in two weeks, but in my mind it had only been a few days.

§ It has been forty-seven days. Forty-seven days. And I am so very tired. I'd like to take a nap. I'd like to sleep. Forever.