My Last Drunk

I recently attended my first AA meeting. Reading the AA booklet,
we're urged to remember our last "drunk" as opposed to our last
"drink." I very well understand this concept because I understand how
pleasant alcohol can seem. But undoubtedly my first drunk began ages
ago with one too many filched Budweisers from my parent's stash.
But the actual incident started on a pleasant, sunny afternoon. I was
doing well in school. I'd recently been spending some time with a
couple girls. Everything was all right. Almost out of habit, I started
asking myself how I could get a beer. So I collected my cans and
bottles and went to the nearest grocery store. In the cart I selected,
there was a lost wallet. I returned the lost wallet to the cashier,
without even looking to see if there was cash inside. Then I put my
bottles through the machine and got two dollars. Looking at my
selections, I saw a 40 of Lucky's, a light beer, or Steel Reserve, a
malt liquor. I chose the Steel Reserve.
Well, back at home, the thing went down reasonably quickly. And then
everything wasn't all right. I tried to cook up some eggs and they
ended up barely edible. I didn't do the dishes but hung around on the
internet. I called up a friend and all but tricked him into taking me
to the bar. We drank a pitcher but he didn't want to buy fries, even
though I promised to pay him back(I had always paid him back in the
past.) But eventually he did buy fries and another pitcher of beer. He
started talking to a friend of his, who was a boxer. My friend seemed
to think that this guy was of a higher social status than I was and
this bothered me. Well, we played some team pool and I played
miserably. I kept drinking until we finished the pitcher. I also
solicited and smoked two cigarettes. My friend didn't want to drive me
home drunk so I crashed at his pad. His room-mate generously offered to
drive me to class in the morning.
I woke up around 5 in the morning very sick. I tried to stumble to the
bathroom but I only made it to a table where I vomitted like I have
never vomitted before, spewing out those fries, spewing out my very
guts. I went back and lied down for about fifteen minutes, feeling like
shit. And then I barely managed to crawl off the couch and hacked a
good deal of watery vomit on the carpet; I was in hell. I heard someone
get up and go to the bathroom.
I thought over my options. I was very sick. If I didn't get to a
comfortable, quiet bed soon, I knew my illness could get much more
serious. I could be sick for weeks. I decided to split, without telling
my good friends about the vomit. I stole a sweatshirt as I went out. It
was terribly cold outside and I wasn't even sure I could make the walk.
As if I were being provided for, I saw a bike-path that led home
without facing the side-walk and street crossings. The path was frosty
and I staggered along home, feeling bad about what I'd done. And I felt
resolve to quit drinking. I felt that this was my last chance. And it
crystalized in my mind that I couldn't use other substances either
because they always led me to alcohol and then to the hell I was in. I
saw frozen deer tracks; I felt I was being hunted, especially
economically. I saw a frozen bench and realized that it's impossible to
survive without material stability. I dreaded someday trying to sleep
on that bench.
When I got within half a mile of my home, I tossed the sweat-shirt on
the off chance my friends would call the cops. I felt bad about it but
I was going to survive, damnit. When I got home, I did my best to sleep
off the sickness. It's difficult when it's that bad. I hacked up some
watery vomit right on my futon and went back to sleep. Eventually, the
sleep was decent. I was back in the arms of sanity, somewhere in the
proximity of God. Around one o'clock, I got up and got ready for class,
though I still felt like shit. A piece of flesh in the back of my
throat kept falling into my mouth and I would feel the urge to spit it
out. But if I tried, then it would nearly choke me to death, seeing as
it was a valuable piece of my throat.
I got to class and I had to do some literary exercises on Henry James.
My group didn't seem up to it so I did the work, consulting them when I
could. I read the exercises out loud, though it hurt my throat. I
stumbled over a couple words... I could tell the drinking had hurt my
brain. I told my friends I was going to join AA. After class, I went to
an art exhibit. The foods were peculiar, and in my hung-over state,
bothered my stomach. But at least I had something to eat and the art
was stimulating. I had a conversation with a Southern artist and his
mother. His mother gave me some sweet-tea, saying it was representative
of Georgia from where she traveled for the show. I enjoyed the tea and
it was a positive experience.
Then I drove to my Mom's where I had a nice nap. My Mom got home and
we had a nice time together, drinking Cokes in the jacuzzi. I felt bad
for abusing myself as I'd done because my mother is so devoted to me.
The next day, I drove to my friend's house. No one was there, much to
my relief, I left my bong and my pot-pipe in front of their door as
compensation. I hope I never desire them again; I hope I never desire
any substance again.