hangover drunk alcohol fear

I’ve got the alcohol fear.

When people say they’re afraid of falling, what they actually mean is that they’re afraid of landing. I have the same relationship with booze. The falling part is ridiculously fun, but then I undoubtedly land (with increasing savagery) in a pit of soggy, festering hangover. And it’s the landing that has made me very, very scared of the falling.

7 years ago as a university fresher I took my liver on a wild ride, and didn’t let it off. Much like a kid who tries to release their safety harness after a pant-wettingly terrifying go on Oblivion, only to find they chose the dud seat and they have to go round and round. For 5 years.

My liver chose the dud seat.

I can’t remember the number of times I woke up not remembering the night before. I’d spend hours trying to put the pieces of the rum-drizzled puzzle back together, only to learn 6 years later that you don’t actually make memories when under the influence, so I wasted valuable ‘feeling sorry for myself’ time scrabbling about in the far corners of my brain wondering why I had apparently replaced my heels with novelty Bart Simpson slippers at some point during the night. Then I would prop myself up long enough to get a 24 box of chicken nuggets down my throat, before slipping back into a coma until Deal or No Deal.

Suddenly, after years of blissful substance abuse (alcohol and worcester sauce Wheat Crunchies) I entered the real world; where there was a requirement to be mildly functional during the day. I learnt this the hard way, once curling into a foetal position on the toilet floor of my workplace and catching 15 minutes of sleep. My colleagues spent those 15 minutes with their heads out the window gasping for fresh air, before I came back in and breathed sambuca on everyone.

This experience, and several others of the same ilk, have slowly but surely conditioned me to be wary of the beast that is booze. I like to think of myself as the human equivalent of Pavlov’s dogs. If, of course, the dogs had been fed vodka jelly until they were convinced they were really very good at doing ‘the worm’.