Life

The Lowest Points Of A Hangover

There are fewer things in this life worse than waking up after a heavy night on the drink. The sheer terror that hits you harder than a truck after the initial five seconds of blissful unawareness. Here's a step by step guide to not dying;

1) The Wakening

 

The inital earth shattering, shockingly sudden "I'M AWAKE BITCHESSS" brain-pain.  One minute you're just lying there in your fucked up dreamland and then BAM you're staring at the ceiling and for a mere few moments everything is OK and then, oh no,  you've just remembered that you ruined your life last night. What, no wait, WHO is spooning me? Turning around is far too much work and it feels great, they can keep doing that. Whoever they are.

2) The Rush Of Pain

 

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The next logical step in the programme. The pain usually starts around your head/ eyes and then it begins to seep everywhere else faster then chlamydia spreading though a first year science class. What in the name of Jesus did were you at last night? It feels like you did multiple rounds in the ring with John Joe Nevin and then tried to out dance Beyonce. If you're capable of moving you're likely to have more bruises than brain cells. Why God, WHY ME???

3) Desert Mouth

 

On the very slim chance that you actually haven't ruined your vocal chords (yes, you did think you were a Grammy performer last night, yes, you were so shite that people cringed) you summon up the energy required to croak out the only words that matter right now "water, WATER." Your mouth feels drier than a pot of sun baked clay in the middle of the Sahara, fuck it, why am I not a camel right now? Lucky humpy bastards. Why did I not think to bring some water to bed? You begin to inch closer to the edge of the bed, in the inital hope that you can make it. Stop lying to yourself, you're never going to.

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4) Product Panic

 

Oh fuck fuck FUCKKKKKKKKK where's my bag/ wallet/ phone/ keys. WHY DO I DRINK, I'M NEVER EVER DRINKING AGAIN IF I LOST MY...Oh there it is. That's ok.  Now I can drink again.

5) First Steps

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The overwhelming desire to go to the toilet/ rehydrate/ vomit means that it's time to vacate the bed. You can do it. Holding your head as you move makes the stabbing pain less horrific. Oh god what am I wearing you ask (if you've actually got clothes on you're doing OK, well done), oh there's an imprint of your face on the pillow, that's nice. Every step is another stabbing reminder of this self inflicted pain.  This is how marathon runners must feel coming into the 25th mile. You can finally, truly emphasise.

6) The Cleansing

 

The scent of yourself is making you feel even worse, drink plus smoke plus burger equals vom. It's time to brave a shower. The water hurts like fuck, standing up for five minutes is too much, its time to sit down and cry. Not to worry, the shower washes your tears too. Now it's time to cleanse your stomach, if you know what I mean. Get it all up there love, you'll feel better afterwards, just try and make it to the toilet please, failing that, stick your head out the window and pray to Saint Anthony that nobody finds you.

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7) Feeding Time

 

If you've got an appetite then consider yourself one of the lucky ones, think of your fellow soldiers, battling through, heads down toilets and out windows, losing what little pride they had by the stomach full. You must do your duty as a friend and stuff your face. Haul on down to the shop and load up on chicken fillet rolls, crisps, rashers, bread, more crisps and eleven litres of orange juice. Let the hunger games commence.

8) Couch Nest

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So you've make it back from the shop alive, you're loaded up with fantastic food, now its time to get fat. Get those tracksuits on, grab a blanket and turn on the hangover telly. What's hangover telly you may ask? 'Keeping up with the Kardashian's', I answer. In a nutshell, pure mindless crap. You won't have to think about anything other than bating the food into you faster than Kim married that giant man with the same name as her Mam (bit weird when you think about, here's hoping she didn't shout out his name in the sack.) Before you know it five hours will have passed and you'll be closer to the end of this hangover than you have ever been.

9) Needy Nancy

 

It's a been a tough day. You've had to get up, inflict the physical horrendous-ness of water upon your skin and then, as if all that wasn't bad enough, actually walk to the shop. Sheer shitness all round. It's time for a power nap you reckon. A lonely hangover is the saddest. You just want to be held, to be told it's all going to be ok. You ring all of the friends you most likely abandoned in favour of beer, praying that they'll answer the phone and not hate you for the shite you probably spouted from eleven o'clock onwards, keeping them on the phone until you run out of the energy required to hold said phone.  You look around in the vain hope that somebody, anybody will appear to spoon away the pain. They don't. It's ok to curl into the foetal position and cry under your sheets, the same sheets that smell of vodka and shame. You don't know it know but you'll do it all again next week. Can't wait.

Alison Keogh
Article written by
Alison decided to follow a sensible career route and chose to study Media. She happens to think of herself as a kind of Irish Beyonce after four Coronas, which usually results in her being deserted on the dance-floor by her loving friends. Her horrifically short attention span seeps into many aspects of her life, resulting in her half hearing important facts and hating people who walk at a leisurely pace.

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