Why I Have To Give Up Drinking, For The 23434th Time

I think I need to see a doctor about these hangovers I get. I am so jealous of people who drink 74 vodka tonics then wake up the next morning, clear their throat a few times, pop 3 Advil and head off to work slightly tired and sluggish but still entirely capable. Then there's me. I have 4 rum drinks Saturday night and that guarantees that my Sunday will be spent lying facedown on my bed taking deep breaths to try to steady my crazy erratic heartbeat while willing myself not to throw up...again. I don't even know if I get headaches. That nagging "Oh, I think I might actually be dying right now" concern sort of takes precedence. Around late afternoon I usually come back to life. It's the kind of situation where I know that if I eat or drink something I will feel better, but the thought of chewing and swallowing is so horrendous to me, such a far-fetched idea, that I remain horizontal and moaning.

This morning I woke up in my party clothes, clutching a piece of raisin bread and wrapped like a burrito in my comforter, because even in a drunken state I'll never put clothes that have been in direct contact with cabs/bars/smoking on my pristine sheets. Far be it for me to actually CHANGE my clothes. Goodness no. That thought at that hour is just a joke.

I sometimes wonder if I'm allergic to alcohol, or if there's some other reason my body just rejects it. I'm short but I've certainly got the meat on my bones to support a couple drinks. It just sucks that the amount it takes me to actually feel drunk is always an amount that will give me a kill-me-now, but-I'm-serious-please-kill-me-now hangover. There's no happy medium. 3 drinks and I'm stone cold sober and 473432 calories fatter and what's the point of that, but 4 and I'm passed out standing up at the bar and hating my sad, sad life the next day. I spent a year waking up with the man that I love; raisin bread, you do NOT suffice.

It's not like la di daa I'm just going to bed after I drink. Considering the fact that my favorite part of drinking is binge eating and all. I usually try to force a Poland Spring down too. I think a doctor would just tell me "You have an alcohol problem." Which is probably right. So now I shall suffer in silence, when perhaps this is happening because I have some strange form of pancreatic cancer that only manifests its symptoms in easy-to-come-by hangovers.

Talk about a waaap waaaa entry. Apparently, alcohol is a depressant.