palominocorn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
palominocorn) wrote2023-07-20 10:00 pm
palominocorn) wrote2023-07-20 10:00 pm
The story of how I got alcohol poisoning
I was eighteen, a college freshman. It was a floor party, almost everyone in our program went.
I was there with my best friend, who wasn't a very good friend in retrospect, but at the time she was my favorite person in the world. I was a little in love with her, I think.
I wish I could say I had some profound reason for downing twenty-five shots in two hours. But the truth is that I was upset about a perfectly normal interaction in which I didn't get what I secretly wanted and wasn't really counting.
The last thing I remember was feeling nauseous and approaching my best friend, intending to tell her I was sick.
The rest of the night I've reconstructed from other people's accounts. I told my friend. She brought me to the bathroom, where I proceeded to violently vomit. When I passed out, three of my biggest male classmates brought me downstairs, where another classmate had her car waiting. They brought me back to the dorm, where I remained unconscious and puking on my friend's bed. A friend of a friend of a friend came over and insisted an ambulance be called. My best friend took my phone and wallet for safekeeping but left my student ID, and the paramedics whisked me away.
When I woke up, I realized I was in the hospital. I saw that the clock read seven or so, and remembered that I was supposed to meet my mother at nine for a Cirque du Soleil show. I went back to sleep.
I woke up again in an hour or so. I don't remember the discharge very well, aside from the staff quoting me some obscene number for my BAC. I had to use the hospital phone to call my mother and explain. She picked me up, and while she said nothing, she was furious. When I called my phone using hers, she heard the whole conversation with my sleepy best friend and threatened me with her fist when she heard about the depths of my stupidity.
We picked up my grandmother and went to the show. I vomited in the park right outside the tents. I remember a surprising amount about it, considering it's one of the only two times I've been hungover. It was about a boy in a striped unitard thing who ended up in a land of adventure while flying his kite. The juggling act was impressive.
After the show, I showered and my mother dropped me off at the dorm. I eventually got my phone, wallet, and keys back, and pieced the story together from what people told me.
I had a cell bio exam the next day. I flunked. My classmates and professors never looked at me the same. I had to go to alcohol counseling to stay in school, and the counselor determined that my drinking was fine, somehow, but discovered that I had depression. I dated the friend of a friend of a friend and they turned out to be an abusive rapist. My mother never forgave me.
And yet, it all turned out fine.
I was there with my best friend, who wasn't a very good friend in retrospect, but at the time she was my favorite person in the world. I was a little in love with her, I think.
I wish I could say I had some profound reason for downing twenty-five shots in two hours. But the truth is that I was upset about a perfectly normal interaction in which I didn't get what I secretly wanted and wasn't really counting.
The last thing I remember was feeling nauseous and approaching my best friend, intending to tell her I was sick.
The rest of the night I've reconstructed from other people's accounts. I told my friend. She brought me to the bathroom, where I proceeded to violently vomit. When I passed out, three of my biggest male classmates brought me downstairs, where another classmate had her car waiting. They brought me back to the dorm, where I remained unconscious and puking on my friend's bed. A friend of a friend of a friend came over and insisted an ambulance be called. My best friend took my phone and wallet for safekeeping but left my student ID, and the paramedics whisked me away.
When I woke up, I realized I was in the hospital. I saw that the clock read seven or so, and remembered that I was supposed to meet my mother at nine for a Cirque du Soleil show. I went back to sleep.
I woke up again in an hour or so. I don't remember the discharge very well, aside from the staff quoting me some obscene number for my BAC. I had to use the hospital phone to call my mother and explain. She picked me up, and while she said nothing, she was furious. When I called my phone using hers, she heard the whole conversation with my sleepy best friend and threatened me with her fist when she heard about the depths of my stupidity.
We picked up my grandmother and went to the show. I vomited in the park right outside the tents. I remember a surprising amount about it, considering it's one of the only two times I've been hungover. It was about a boy in a striped unitard thing who ended up in a land of adventure while flying his kite. The juggling act was impressive.
After the show, I showered and my mother dropped me off at the dorm. I eventually got my phone, wallet, and keys back, and pieced the story together from what people told me.
I had a cell bio exam the next day. I flunked. My classmates and professors never looked at me the same. I had to go to alcohol counseling to stay in school, and the counselor determined that my drinking was fine, somehow, but discovered that I had depression. I dated the friend of a friend of a friend and they turned out to be an abusive rapist. My mother never forgave me.
And yet, it all turned out fine.