”Are you cracked lad? No chance. I give you two weeks. Hahahaha my arse”

I haven’t told my friends yet but I expect reactions along them lines. They haven’t known me any different. They know my vulnerability to The Fear, they find it hilarious. Sound lads. They also know my fondness for an ol pint of vitamin H. They’re probably right, I won’t last that long. That’s not the point though, it makes no odds if I last 3 years or 3 weeks. It depends when I reckon I’m ready again. When I feel like I can hack it and only time will tell when that’s gonna be. 

”Sure you’re only young once ya may as well enjoy it”. That’s spot on. For the last couple of years that’s been my mantra. I’ve been around the block, two J1’s and an Erasmus, I’ve done a lot. Toasted a lot. Whether it a birthday, an anniversary, passing an exam, failing an exam,  meeting an old friend or just a day ending in Y, I’ve celebrated it. I’m not enjoying it any more though.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not berating alcohol for a minute. I’m not shaming you for drinking, it’s great craic, sure how else would anyone ever find themselves on top of the big, looming gates outside St.Stephens Green. Thinking about it now, what other purpose do they serve, other than being a climbing frame after Coppers? It’s what they’re there for. Some of the funniest stories, the best friends and my favorite memories would absolutely not have come about were it not for a few Jagers. You know yourself, we all have a tale or seven. I still think back to last summer in San Diego where the police showing up on our doorstep or a chase from a fast food worker was almost a daily occurrence (Sorry again Tyrone, just really wanted some nuggets) and laugh hysterically at some of the shite we got up to. Sure we’re in a foreign country, who cares what we do – The Irish. Honestly, no one travels like us.

Life’s not really as enjoyable when you’re in bed at 4 in the afternoon viciously depressed cause you had four too many a night or two before. Take my word for it. The amount of time I’ve wasted in bed not just down to an ‘ol hangover, but the depression that comes with it. I can’t justify it any more. The time’s not the biggest deal, it’s having to lie there incapable of doing anything else, trying to recount what you did last night, messaging your most sympathetic friends (cheers Colours) hoping they’ll dress whatever you did up as nicely as they can, play it down or just put you out of your misery by claiming everyone else was just as bad. Nights out are supposed to be enjoyable. Not once in the last while have I said ”I really enjoyed last night” (not just because I didn’t get the shift). I just can’t hack it lately, it’s prob an after product of 15 months on the sesh (like I said, 2 J1’s and an Erasmus).

Just drink responsibly. Yeah I used to ma, swear, now I literally just can’t, two pints leads to four. After four pints there’s no point going home, you’re out now. Ah lookit, there’s your man from school, he looks thirsty, go for a jagerbomb with him. You buy the first, he’ll get you back later. He’s sound. You’ve finished yours, he’s nowhere to be seen. Fuck it sure I still have the change from that 20, I’ll get myself one. Ah there he is, quick I’d better down this so he’ll pay his dues. And that’s how it goes. We’ve all been there, it’s great craic at the time. But when you’re as soft as me and have a lower tolerance for alcohol than Donald Trump does for Mexicans, you’re mangled now. Sure what’s one more, I’m still pretty sober. Then you wake up at 1pm the next day with the fear of God in ye.

Who cares sure – we’re young. That’s grand, I can live with mistakes. I can’t live with despising myself, wishing I could just start over and being mentally fragile for the next few days, terrified of leaving the house, terrified of meeting someone who heard something about you, terrified of going downstairs to your own mother (What’s for dinner tonight?) cause the shame and guilt is just too much to look her in the eye. I’ve spent days eating nothing but an apple and a handful of vitamin C tablets cause I couldn’t physically muster the energy needed to eat any more. If you know this feeling, you know My Fear and I’m sure you can understand. If you don’t then I envy you with every fiber of my being and hope you never do. It’s the worst feeling in the world and I hate it.

If ye can’t hack it, get your jacket. Isn’t that what they say. Well I would, but I lost it when I was plastered. Today is Day Four. Still no photo.


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