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Monday, April 22, 2013

Adventures in Drunk Dialing

Remember what I said about drunk dialing...
I woke up with the taste of foot in my mouth this morning.

Shit did I drink way too much last night.
Depression and Alcohol are having their way with me.
It's overcast outside, the room is cold and in the distance there is a buzzing. I can't tell what it is at first, but its the phone.
My head throbs, my ears feel like Morse code.
I manage to not drop the phone or myself answering.
What time is it?

"Yeah." I manage to say. It hurts to talk, my throat is raw, my gums feel swollen, I must've purged last night.
It's noisy on the other end of the line, I hear birds squawking?
"How's the head?" a British accent asks.

Ugh I feel like hell.
I can't remember anything after midnight I tell him.
He laughs. "Blondie, you got some mouth on you."
What? I called you?
He proceeds to tell me the most embarrassing tale. I'm red just typing this.
Omg who else did I call, why did I drink so much.
I was so out of line, and I blabbed so much. I talked so much shit someone should be wiping my mouth down with a baby wipe.
*Face palm*
All I can do is apologize. I can't do anything else.
Fuck. What can I say. I'm a sad drunk with a hint of animosity.
He laughs again, "Hey I phoned you last time pretty sloshed, one drunk dial deserves another."
We laugh and I'm forgiven. Maybe I should just have alcoholic friends, at least we'd have embarrassing stories to swap.
Now to account for the missing time.
I sit up and Vertigo hits me. Ow my head!
It feels so heavy, I think it soaked up most of the wine. I stagger to the bathroom, stepping on the black fat cat who matches the black carpeting perfectly. The little grey one almost trips me running to the kitchen, yes kitty I know! the food bowl is empty, you have a horrible mother who hasn't fed you yet.
Stupid cat, you'll kill us both, almost hit my head on the TV stand. God how tragic would that be, I have the worst ensemble on to be found dead.
I look horrible. My skin pale, my face swollen. Now to pee and weigh.
Well I'm down a pound.
Ed pats me on the back.
"See Girlie, Discipline! It pays off. Keep it up, there may be hope for you yet."
Fuck. He's right.
Yes, evidence of purging, my sick all over the porcelain throne. I start cleaning it immediately.
It's 8:30 and my ex didn't call me.
He didn't pick up my daughter's uniform, I was at the laundromat still when he took her yesterday, said he'd be back in the am. I wonder if she missed school today?
I scroll through texts, yikes!
Well I see texts from my ex, cussing me out last night, going on and on about how I told my kid she's poor. Fucker. God this man is endless.
Every week it's something, why doesn't he plot to murder me already if hates my guts so much, cut the brakes in my car and..oh wait.
Nevermind.
Well he was drunk too so maybe that accounts for the no show.
I texted way too much. Oh shit my boyfriend!
Omg I spoke to him last night for a long time the call log says.
What did I say. I can't remember it all, I think I said I wanted to slit my wrists, or something like that. I probably broke up with him too as usual. I almost always do that, push him away.
He hasn't texted me or called, he must be so angry.
Well I won't call him today. I don't deserve him.


The poor guy must be just about bald, losing his hair in sheer frustration with me. I know he loves me but I can be too much drunk.
Not happy drunk lou, depressed drunken lou.
That's the lou nobody likes. The one that lets it all out, all that inner turmoil.
I can just imagine him on the other end of the line.

This Weekend with my boyfriend..
Last weekend with my boyfriend..

Usually seeing him every weekend makes the disappointing prior mundane days fade away.
My eyes prick up just thinking about never being able to talk to him again.
I hope he can forgive me, if you're reading this I'm very sorry. You're my boyfriend not a punching bag. Well, now ex boyfriend as I'm pretty sure I dumped you in my drunken rage.
I'm sorry again, you didn't deserve that. I love you.

I have a full bottle of wine in the fridge. I'm not touching it. I need to give the liver a break. I need to find another way of coping.
God I feel so embarrassed. I'm turning into my mother. She was a mean drunk, very mean. Drinking should be fun, not sad.

I miss my therapist. I have too much stuff going on right now.

Its early and I still feel drunk. I wash my face, brush my teeth and get dressed. I don't have time to shower its already nine. I reek of Alcohol, I spray myself down with perfume.

I grab the Manila folder on my desk and head out. I have to go to school.
Must try to enroll my daughter in this new school. I hurry trying to beat the clock, registration stops at ten. The walk feels longer, if I had to this everyday time needs to be calculated carefully.
My kidneys throb, my chest aches. Definitely need to stop drinking.


I make it in time and head into the office. The office is cold, staff in and out, trophy cases filled to capacity. Hmm, lots of Miami Heat memorabilia adorn the walls. I smile and think of my boyfriend.
Just as quickly I remember last night and stop smiling, my stomach is in knots.




This is an A school, Michelle Obama approved too. She lobbied for a salad bar here, that's great healthy eating, no more sloppy joes.



The woman who helps me out looks and sounds like this, I swear! I had to look down at some point. Her voice is so raspy, hmm a smoker?
Maybe I should cut back on smoking too. This could be me in a few years.

Actual Photo
I have all the right paperwork except her Physical.
FFUCKFUCKSHITASSFUCKMEBITCHMOTHERFUCKINDAMMIIIIIT!!!
*Lil Miss B. voice* "Seriously?"
I want to cry.
She doesn't see her Dr. until MAY 6!
The slot may be filled by then, I'm running out of schools here.
There's a huge lump in my throat and I nod to everything she says, I can't talk or my voice will crack and I will cry in front of her.
"Don't worry, she'll get in." The raspy voice says softly.
I give her a tight smile and bolt out the door.
This school is very close to McDonald's. I head straight there and order enough food to eat away the sadness, the frustration, the disappointment, my failures.
At home and I binge, when I've had enough, my stomach doubles in size, my heart hurts from the strain. I waddle my ass to the bathroom, and weigh. I've eaten 6lbs of food. Time to purge it all out.
"All of it, all of it out! Girlie, you can't do anything right, just look at you. Pathetic." Ed shakes his head in Disgust. "Why don't you just die already, useless fat cow. Purge harder, maybe your heart will give out finally, broken silly thing that beats, keeps you alive for what? Look at you!" he screams.
I do purge harder, so hard, urine runs down my legs.
When I can't anymore I stop.
My face is red, my eyes too. Little white dots cover my forehead. I blow the snot from my nose and wash my face. I wash my hands and mouth.
I hold the sink for support.
That took a lot out of me I need to lie down, but first laxatives.
I open a box and pop several little orange pills. This should get the stragglers out.
Now I'm done.
I can lie down and cry and continue to feel miserable.
If I feel better I'll workout.
To all my drunker dialer's out there, cut the phone off when there are cocktails present.
friends don't let friends drink and dial.

To all of the ones I dialed, I'm so sorry, please feel free to hand me my ass today, I deserve it. What I don't deserve is any of you fine people putting up with a sad, skinny, neurotic drunk.
Love you all.
Talk again soon.

I'll leave you with my what's currently on repeat via Ipod.
"This is what it feels like.." Armin Van Buuren




3 comments:

Peridot (G+P) said...

*Hugs you so tightly you can't breathe*

Ellie Belle said...

Hugs darlin' <3

Anonymous said...

I am always so excited to see a written entry from you since you're a succintly beautiful and intuitive writer, but I feel guilty because you write about your struggles and I don't wish this hardship on you.

Hangovers exaggerate emotional pain too. Hopefully you feel better tomorrow.

Your ex is an asshole. I'm sorry he changed so much from the person you once loved. He needs to stop using your daughter as a weapon if he truly loves her. You are poor. It's a reality that shouldn't be a stigma. Does he want to help or does he want to sugarcoat?

Other people listen to your words and think you're wonderful. I wish so many good things for you. what will it take to learn to trust yourself?