A buddy once told me to embrace the hangover.  He was famous action sport athlete with a ton of attitude. He said it in a dry, scratchy hungover sounding voice. At the time, I laughed and tried anything but embracing the hangover. Rather i tried to block it out. Distract myself from it.  Instead I’d load up on coffee, aspirin and greasy food.

 

However I think he was onto something. Maybe not what he intended but i agree, embrace the hangover.  Even now,  I make sure I completely and totally embrace the hangovers I once had. I often find myself writing in my journal about how terrible they were. Even after not having one for ages (because I’m rad and sober now).

 

So here is a look at what my hangovers often felt like…

 

First the sleep. The sleep was fake. It wasn’t sleep. It was a pretend sleep. It was a sick sleep. It was trashy. Not real. I drank till I couldn’t stay up, then crashed into my bed in an anything but restful experience. I took a bed made for bliss, comfort and dreams, and turned it into a sweaty, stinky, rats nest of fake sleep. I tossed, I turned. I zombie slept, getting up to piss. Back down stressed. I didn’t dream. I snored. Instead of peace, I worried. Waking up feeling completely horrible. Terrible. Putting together the night before. What did I do? How much did I spend? Where is my phone? My car? Did I drive? Did I say something rude? How many fucking smokes did I have? Yuck.

 

This is all pre hangover.

 

Next, I start to dread it. I need to get up. How the fuck am I going to get up? I need real sleep. I need to feel rested. I am not. My whole body aches. Something around my left kidney inside feels weird. My throat, I can hardly swallow. Its so dry and scratchy. My eyes burn, everything is so blurry. The light, its way too fucking bright. I can’t focus on anything. Hurts to try and look at anything. My skin, its so pale. Its so dry. I’m so thirsty. I’m so dehydrated. My stomach feels terrible. I feel like I got beat up.

 

Then my head. Ohh my fucking head aches so bad. There is a pulse inside my head that woke me up like someone is in the room pounding a drum. WTF. They say the pulsing is because your brain is dehydrated and shrunken. Something like that and its not good to think about but I always do. Actually I can’t think. It hurts my head too much to try and think. Its like my brain doesn’t work. Its slow. Its like an engine running without oil. Its thick and foggy. If I sit up, when I sit up, its going to hurt even more as the blood rushes out. Leaving me horribly light headed. Ugh. Move slow. Sit up slow. Stand up gently. Use your hands to help guide.

 

I make my way to the bathroom. I try and rinse my face, shock myself awake. I brush my teeth. My mouth is disgusting. Cotton mouth, no taste, just a bunch of wretched almost tastes of nasty smokes the night before. I smell.

 

The mirror. Oh no, not the fucking mirror. Don’t look. Just the bare minimum to make sure you don’t have toothpaste on your face. Or a random black eye, cut or injury from the night before. It’s a sluggish peak. Then you see it. Sort of. Your eyes, they are so swollen. So puffy. You look horribly aged. Pale. Wrinkled. Fat. No features of cheekbones, or chin. Just a round soft sad face.

 

Which brings on the worse. The shame. The guilt. Who are you anymore? A lost soul. Broken. Sad. Scared. Dejected.   Why do I do this to myself? Why do I continue to let myself down? I hate me. I hate me so much. I’m ruining my life. My wife, she is leaving me. I’m a loser. I’m a failure. I’m a drunk. Another pulse of headache interrupts. Reminding me more of my mistakes. I am so shameful.

 

Then anxiety. How the fuck am I going to work today? How am I going to manage the day? Hating me. Hating the way I feel. I have work to do. But I can’t think. The anxiety builds. I’ve got to stop this, but I can’t seem too. I’m scared. I hurt so bad. I can’t seem to get through this moment. Let alone a full day. Help. I need help!

 

Wait. Maybe a drink will help? Just to calm me down. And just get me through a bit. Or something to look forward to this afternoon. If I can make it through till the afternoon. Then I can have a couple drinks. To relax. That should work. I have a plan.

 

I dress. I go. I know I’m not right. I push it down. Block it out. This plan, it’s not right. But I have no choice. Its not like I can just stop drinking. That makes no sense. As my brain is still not working… The insanity cycle starts to click in. I am on auto pilot. A robot that is charged by booze. I move on.

 

Coffee. Bad food or no food. My diet is not important right now. I continue in zombie mode.

 

I hate myself. I’m scared. I seem to not be able to control my body, my mind.

 

Then deep down I hear it. It’s quiet, its inside. It’s my heart and soul. Inside sending me love. Asking me to reconsider. Telling me its not too late to change. You can love yourself. I hear it. I really do. But I already made a plan. Made my decision. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow. There is always tomorrow. I’ll try tomorrow.

 

And I continue. I embrace the hangover. I hate me for it.  Hoping one day to change that hate to love.   To love me instead of hate.  Luckily.  i have and it starts without the hangover.