101 Days Since My Last Hangover
I don’t think about hangovers that often anymore, except when I wake up on a Saturday morning without one.
Nowadays, instead of waking up cursing myself for overdoing it on the vino the night before, I lie in bed calmly appreciating a clear head and an innocent conscience.
For me, the absence of a hangover on a weekend morning is enough to fuel another few days of sobriety. Right before I stopped drinking, it had gotten to the point where my hangovers would have lasted 3–5 days minimum. I used to think that it was just the physical aspect of my hangovers that were so severe, but as time went on, the psychological aftermath of a night of drinking was really what pushed me to stop.
Quantity of alcohol was of little importance towards the end. If I had anything more than a few glasses of wine, the entire next day would be a write off. And if I did only had one or two glasses of wine, I still felt the guilt and anxiety of having the whole bottle, but was able to somewhat function normally. The last few nights I drank were on Fridays during lockdown. I would settle down for the night with my bottle of red wine that I didn’t even like, but I knew it was a “safe” amount to buy just for myself that would get me drunk but not too drunk. The problem was that I would have this bottle of wine, then once I was drunk I wanted more. I would literally drink anything. Beer, rum, whisky, whatever we had in the fridge. I would start facetiming my friends who lived in the US, blackout, and stay up (allegedly) until 2, 3, 4, 5 in the morning doing who knows what.
Here’s what the following day would look like:
12pm: Jolt awake in a cold sweat. Mouth tastes like a trash can and is as dry as the desert. Head stings at first and then begins to feel like an Ibiza night club pulsing inside my skull. Lie back down for a few minutes to do my drunkenness quiz. How much did I drink? Am I wearing PJs or clothes? Who did I call? When did I go to bed? Fail the quiz and try to fall back asleep for another hour in the hopes that the headache will go away.
2pm: Look at my phone to check the time and nothing else. Don’t allow myself to look at any messages or notifications, because I’m not ready to face the music about what happened last night. I hadn’t even fully fallen back asleep and somehow now I’m even more tired than before. Get up because I feel guilty lying in bed this long. I’ll just lie on the couch and watch TV. As soon as I lift my head to get up, the whole world moves a little to the left and a little to the right. I walk quickly to the couch and hold my stomach, hoping that by physically cradling my belly its contents won’t notice we’ve gotten up and therefore hopefully won’t get upset.
3pm: Spend the next 3 hours focusing on breathing and not throwing up. Trying to drink glasses of water slowly, but even water doesn’t make me feel any less dehydrated. I am bracing myself for the anxiety that I know is coming.
6pm: Boyfriend tells me that I have to eat something or I’ll feel worse. I know this to be true so I eat one rice cake and resist the immediate urge to throw it up.
7pm: Can’t resist the urge anymore and throw up stomach acid and cry. Normally this is the part where I get angry and wonder why I keep doing this to myself.
8pm: Stomach feels a lot better now and an insane rush of hunger surges to my attention. I make something plain like a cheese pizza or some potato wedges. I’m able to chug water now so I try to drink as much as I can.
9pm: Boyfriend starts winding down for bed and the anxiety amplifies because now I am just waking up. I will never be able to fall asleep. I look through instagram and try to catch up on the day I’ve missed. End up feeling worse, and now disgusting so I take a hot shower.
11pm: Spend the rest of the night worrying about my drinking and swearing that this is the last time I’ll do this to myself. I’ll take a month off. I’ll start working out and eating healthy on Monday. Tomorrow I have to clean the flat and go food shopping and do fun things, because I’ve wasted an entire day of my weekend nursing this hangover. I stay awake crying and shaking from anxiety until the early hours of the morning. Sometimes even later than I stayed up drinking the night before.
The anxiety I felt after drinking never usually manifested during the day I was physically hungover, but rather the following day. I would wake up with my heart beating a mile a minute, my mouth dry, and my shame heavy. I’ve had a lot of hangovers in a lot of different places: at work, in the airport, on a boat, at a dinner. But it’s always the same feeling. I only ever drank one night a week (that was enough!).
During these hangovers I would promise myself the same thing over and over — I won’t do this to myself again.
I broke this promise to myself so many times that, in my head, my promises held no significance. I didn’t trust myself. I knew that I would let myself down.
The past 100 days have been spent rebuilding that trust and doing the important work of rebuilding my self worth.
Just because I haven’t had a hangover in 3 months doesn’t mean I don’t remember what they’re like. I’ve felt so smug waking up on a Saturday morning remembering everything I did the night before. It’s almost as if each morning I’m gifted this secret little feeling of being proud of myself.
People have asked why I decided to quit drinking, and I always mention that the hangovers had gotten really bad to the point where I was so anxious even after one drink. Some people understand and others don’t. I hope they never do, because it’s one of the most awful things I have ever put myself through.
I celebrate every absent hangover with a delicious cup of coffee that I don’t have to worry about throwing up in an hour. I’m relearning how to fill all the time I used to waste being hungover on the weekends. I feel pride when I lie in bed on Friday nights, knowing that I am safe here in my bed with my cup of tea and my book.
You could say that right now I live in partial fear of my next hangover. I can only imagine the amount of self-loathing that would arise after all this time of sobriety and then waking up with that enormous anxiety.
I know that if I drink again, I can use the experience as material for my next life lesson, but thankfully I assure myself I don’t need to worry about that stuff right now. Only worry about today.
