Such A Beautiful Disaster

Part 8

When I woke up, I was in my own bed, which was where I usually went to sleep, but for some reason it felt odd. Like there was some reason I wasn't supposed to be in my own bed. I couldn't pay much attention to that though right now though. My skull felt like it was cracking open, being pounded on, and having nails driven into it simultaneously. I had an extreme case of cottonmouth, my stomach was churning, and I felt dazed. Like I hadn"t just woken up but rather had been up for days on end. I had a Major Hangover. I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. I couldn't remember what day it was though. I started to panic, thinking that I had slept through my alarm and was late for work. Despite my sickly demeanor I shot out of bed and started searching for my phone. That's when I noticed three things in this order: I was dressed in a skirt, thermal, and stockings. It was dark outside. And there was a guy still asleep in bed next to where I had been laying. What. The. Hell.

I leaned over and looked at the guy's face. It was Jack. Suddenly everything came rushing back to me. I went to a party last night that Jack invited me to. I drank, what? Two beers? Oh, and the vodka. I remember being in his friend's room. Jack and I had been talking, about what I couldn't recall and...I had no idea what else. Did we hook up? How did we end up back at my house? Why did we end up back at my house?I wanted to grab Jack by the shoulders, shake him until he woke up, then berate him with a load of questions to figure things out. Of course, I would never do this. When I blacked out, passed out, or had lapses in memory that I couldn't account for I never asked someone who didn't know me to fill me in. I didn't want them knowing I couldn't remember a damn thing; that I had blacked out or my brain shut off for a bit because I drank way too much way too often and ingested enough drugs over the course of one day to kill a small horse. I used to speed dial RC on mornings like these and beg him to tell me I didn't do anything too insanely embarrassing, stupid, or something that would come back to haunt me. But I didn't want him to know about the drugs, drinking, and sex either. That would be a major red flag for him.

So instead I went into the bathroom and swallowed down two aspirin. I inspected myself in the mirror. My skin looked ashen, like all the life had been wiped out of me. My nose was red and irritated around the nostrils. My eyes were puffy, blood shot, smeared with mascara, and had bags underneath them. My irises were a flat, dull, green and my pupils had dilated back to normal. My hair was a mess of tangles and looked a bit greasy. I looked down at my arms and legs. The burns I got the other days were bright red and a little pussy. I had countless bruises in random places. Half I figured were from bumping into things and the other half were from itching my skin so hard I left marks. That was one thing about the drug, it made me itch like crazy after a while. I would try to ignore it but I that wouldn't last long. Eventually I would go nuts scratching myself all over, leaving bruises behind. I sat down on the toilet and sighed. I looked like death had warmed over. It was not good at all.

I felt like I was going to start sobbing and never stop, but I didn't want Jack to hear me and I knew it would make my headache even worse. I decided to get in the shower to calm myself down. Maybe once I was clean I would feel better. I turned on the water, took off all my clothes, and threw them into the hamper. When I stepped into the shower and the warm water ran over my skin, I instantly felt a little better, even though my legs were shaking and I was worried I might fall over and crack my head on the tub. I went through my usually routine: washed my hair, put on conditioner, shaved my legs and underarms, scrubbed my body, scrubbed my face, then rinsed the conditioner out. After I shut the water off, wrapped a towel around my hair and body, then got out of the shower I felt lighter. I felt optimistic, like maybe things could get better.

I tried to hold on to that feeling while I dried off, put lotion on, covered my burns with Neosporin and band-aids, and blow dried my hair. All the while I hummed any happy-go-lucky pop song that came into my head. I felt a smile cross my face, a genuine smile, and tried not to think about how this feeling would eventually come to end. When I was completely done I looked back into the mirror. My skin still looked pale, but I no longer looked like I was on my death bed. My eyes looked clear, not puffy or red. The bags under them lingered but there's not much I could do about that falling short of sleeping for three days straight to catch up on my rest. My nose looked normal; not red in anyway. My hair was shiny and nicely brushed. I smiled at myself in the mirror. It was strange, looking at myself with an expression of joy on my face.

I told myself I would turn things around. I would taper myself off the pills, avoiding a detox that would knock my on my ass and leave me completely immobile. I would smooth things over with Julie and start actually attending the 12-step meetings. I would stop randomly hooking up with guys and get back in touch with RC and Danielle. I would start telling them the truth. I would start telling everybody the truth. I would get better.

In the back of my mind, I knew how unrealistically high these goals were. I wanted to be positive though, and not doom myself right from the gate by thinking that I couldn't do it. So I kept the smile on my face, then went to my room where I got back into bed beside Jack.