Well, as much as I was enjoying my nice little run of being ‘(mostly) drug-free and loving it’, I fell off the horse in spectacular fashion on Thursday night and have been beating myself up over it ever since.
Backstory: I went to dinner and a concert with a girlfriend. I had a cocktail and glass of wine over dinner while drinking plenty of sparkling water. I had a can of cider and a bottle of water during the concert. Then my girlfriend went home and I met up with another friend for his birthday. While walking over to meet the birthday crew, I promised myself that I would drink lots of water and go home once the bar they were at closed at 1am. Cue cocktails, drinks and me not wanting to go home. Also, cocaine. Then me getting home sometime after 5am. Goddammit.
The one upside is that I didn’t have to work on Friday but the downside is that I fucking broke my promise to myself and bailed on all the social activities I had planned for the weekend (including a friend’s bday party). Add to this the fact that Friday was spent unable to move from the couch due to extreme nausea (and one turbo-spew containing buffalo mozzarella and raspberries, sorry TMI). I haven’t felt that (physically) bad after a big night in years.
Once upon a time, I used to spend the whole next day vomiting into my friend the big, blue bucket, even if I had no more than one tiny bump of cocaine. Somehow my brain decided that the high of the drug was worth the extreme low of the comedown (go figure). I had a whole bunch of tests to try and figure out what it was when the solution was probably as simple as maybe just stop doing cocaine, as one doctor flat out said to me. Ha. And then, one day, the vomiting-post-coke magically disappeared and I took that as a green light from my body to do as I pleased. Until now.
Maybe this will wake me the fuck up. I HATE feeling nauseous and throwing up. It’s the WORST feeling. I could barely move without feeling sick. I couldn’t eat. I had to beg Jared to bring me some pho so I could sip the broth until my stomach got used to it and I felt brave enough to try solid food. And then of course there’s the crushing depression and disappointment with oneself, which is actually worse. I let people down. I let myself down. I wasted two perfectly good weekend days. Days when I could have been writing or working on my assignments. In fact, I wanted to write but just couldn’t motivate myself to do anything aside from feeling sorry for myself.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe this extreme reaction is a good thing and now, when I think of doing coke, I’ll remember how shit I felt. But then of course there’s MDMA and I’m sure my brain will convince me that throwing up that time was just a one off. Hmmmm… No, I’m going to give myself the benefit of the doubt. I remember how good I felt all week when I wasn’t hungover or coming down and I remember this weekend and how that was exactly the opposite of what I want to feel. I’ll give myself a chance at redemption. Come on, Nat. You can do this.