Love Doesn’t Pay the Bills

I struggled to open my eyes. I lay in bed with my head pounding, my body aching and my memory lacking all of the details from the night before. As I scrambled to connect the fragmented memories, I slowly sat up, and my head felt like it was going to explode. How did I get home? How much did I drink? I dragged myself to the bathroom, and after brushing my teeth, I drank a glass of water like I hadn’t had one in months. Dehydrated and tired, I reached for a bottle of Excedrin and popped two just like candy. This was my go-to recipe for hangovers. That, and the hair of the dog always worked. Two hours later, and I found myself at brunch with friends, ready to start all over again. “I’ll have a coffee and a mimosa, please.” Hardly a recipe for healthy living, I ordered a salty, carb-filled meal to soak up what was left from the night before. We all laughed and recalled the shenanigans from our wild night out in the city. Without them, I wouldn’t have known most of what I did or said. Blackouts weren’t uncommon for me. As the bill arrived, I realized I had left my credit card somewhere. My friend reminded me of where we were last, and without hesitation, we took a cab back to the club to retrieve it. With the card back in my hands, I suggested a cocktail to celebrate and keep the party going. At this point, I was completely unaware that my body was addicted to alcohol. Even if I didn’t want a drink, I sometimes found myself giving in out of habit, peer pressure and physical need. It would take another ten years for that knowledge to reach me, but once I understood the addiction, I was able to address it.