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- 09/05/2017
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So Weeps the Willow - 2. Sobriety - Day 1
Sobriety - Day 1
Last night was a disaster. I thought this non-drinking would be a change, a challenge that I could meet without a problem. Boy, I was wrong, seriously, and plainly, screwed.
I couldn’t fucking sleep. (Yes, I know I’m swearing a lot. What with my vicious hangover and about two hours of sleep last night, my patience has worn thin, so FUCK YOU!!!). Sorry, but sometimes I get so pissed about things, and then I kind of ‘wake up’ a bit. Anyway, last night was a terrible.
Sorry. I guess.
First of all, the night dragged by so slowly. I had made plans with some friends to meet at a downtown bar for dancing and maybe, a nice, friendly hookup. Realizing that was a mistake, I canceled. They didn’t seem too concerned about my absence and that started the ball rolling.
My mind was racing, searching for a reason why Eddie, Steve, and Tim were so blasé about me not going. Was Tim still pissed I snatched that little twink out from under him? Did Steve still harbor annoyance at my beating his ass at pool two weeks ago? (I won two hundred dollars off the loser! So there, shithead). Were Eddie’s feelings for me still too raw after the breakup? Naw. We ended things quite a while ago. Nothing seemed to bother him these past few months. I guess I should get beyond that madness. Could it have been something with Steve? Or Evan, who they now got to go out with them?
I then started imagining other reasons they seemed to act like they didn’t care, or worse, didn’t want me along. Tim was always whining about how he couldn’t find a ‘date’ (they’re hookups, sweetheart. When you find them in a bar, bring them home and never get their name or number, they’re not dates). Perhaps someone can’t stand a little competition.
Eddie talked to other guys in front of me, but not all the time. He never seemed to do so if I was by myself. He was by my side whenever I wasn’t ‘on the hunt’. He never approached a hot dude when I was sitting at the table. It was when I was otherwise occupied that he pursued other men. I just realized, this was strange, wasn’t it? Was Eddie still caught up with me? He knew about the whole Steve thing, but I don’t know. What is up with my friends?
Tim and I competed. It’s what we did. Both of us would see a nice, innocent-looking, frat boy or even sometimes club kids and would go after the same one. I always got my man, er, male at least. Tim was a hot guy with a good job, much better than mine, and he had money. However, I think deep down, Tim’s priorities were screwed up. He was looking for something…more. I knew I wasn’t going to tie myself down with the kinds of trash we were picking up. When you’re trolling the gutter, you don’t find many diamond rings or silk purses. Mostly you find used condoms and pigs, if you get my drift.
Steve is, well, Steve, and that’s an entirely different kettle of fish.
Eddie. He’s special, but we weren’t good together. It ended a while ago and I hope he’s getting over it. Sometimes I know he watches me, kind of in a stalkerish way, but also, it’s sweet. Eddie is the guy I thought was maybe the one. Maybe not. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. These guys weren’t the problem.
I didn’t go out with them anyway, so I don’t know why I’m bitching about them. I stayed home, and I was good.
To make a long, boring night, shorter, I ended up watching a bunch of porn on my computer and drank diet ginger ale. I never did get to the movies I picked up at the video machine outside the grocery store. They were both dumb comedies about thirty-year-old losers, kind of like me, trying to find love and failing miserably, until the end.
I fell asleep on the couch for about twenty minutes. When I awoke, it was around midnight, still early for me, but I was sleepy, so I went to bed.
Bad mistake.
I hadn’t closed my eyes more than a minute when I started feeling jittery. My leg kept twitching like it needed to move. My heart raced a little. I felt sweaty and a little anxious. I don’t know about what; I just felt uneasy, like anticipation with a sense of dread looming in the distance.
I tossed and turned. It was a cool night, but I continued to sweat. I was thirsty, so I got up and drank a couple of glasses of water. That didn’t help. My mouth was still dry, so I drank another, which made my fucking stomach cramp. I began to worry a bit, so I plopped onto my couch. I turned my tablet on and started surfing. I was looking for my symptoms on WebMD when I came upon something that made my blood run cold and my sweating stop.
There on the screen was a diagnosis for my ailment. I had malaria. That was the only possibility outside, well, at least three dozen other ones. I tried to remember any bug bites I’d had recently, but outside of a bonfire party a month ago, I couldn’t think of any time I’d been in nature or even seen a bug, let alone a malarial mosquito.
As I perused the list, I checked off the possibilities. I didn’t have dengue fever. I wasn’t having hot flashes, though Nats would definitely accuse me of being ‘on the rag’ from time to time. (One thing about men, they weren’t as judgmental as women. Just saying…)
Okay, I’m obviously joking.
There were so many things it could be, and yet my eye kept going back to the same one. It was the same one I knew it couldn’t be, yet it must be.
The entry for alcohol withdrawal sounded suspiciously right. Since I wasn’t a menopausal woman, and I hadn’t been digging canals through any swamps, it had to be that. I quit drinking today, tonight, and now I was having the symptoms.
I spent the rest of the night searching for signs and problems of chemical dependency, withdrawal, the kinds of issues which occurred when a person quit drinking. The entire time, I got a dull, aching headache, acid reflux, and a growing sense this was not good. It was not good to read about how people died of the delirium tremens, which are not the shakes after a night of drinking. They are some serious shit. People died of these reactions. It made me sober up, which I didn’t need right now. I’d forgotten this stuff. I knew it, but not related to me, you know?
Recovery association, after-counseling sites, group therapy and self-help organizations; they all said the same thing. If you’re a heavy drinker and try to quit cold turkey, you could die. I read these things all night until my eyes drooped. I laid down and tried to sleep and sirens wailed and blue and red lights flashed waking me, from a goddamned dream.
I got back up. Like an idiot, I continued reading these symptoms and problems. I freaked as I read more about how this could kill me.
Finally, at about six in the morning, I fell into a fitful sleep on the couch. I woke up this morning exhausted, feeling leaden and drained, and about ready to take a drink just to get some sleep, when a thought occurred to me.
If I am this bad now, what if I keep drinking? It’s not going to get better. It will only be worse.
Those thoughts were bad. In the end, it took me quite some time to settle back into sleep. The words and photos of the website danced in my head, like some satanic Christmas story. I never did fall asleep completely, and so I got up. I went for a walk. I ate, blearily watched bad television, and finally my mind calmed.
I napped this afternoon, right before writing this and I feel a little better. I’m going to work now, a little red-eyed and foggy, but determined to make it through tonight sober.
Can you imagine if I can’t make it two days without booze? The thought scares me.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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