I have never felt like I was dying before. Not in the physical sense. I mean, I've been sick before, doubled over in pain, crying and praying to God to make things stop hurting. But I never actually thought "Oh God, I'm dying!" I've never cried "Please help me!" in that meager voice one uses when one doesn't even have the faculties to scream. Until I got messed up on Saturday night, that is.
Truthfully, I don't know what happened. I hadn't done anything over the top. A Smirnoff and a mixed drink in the span of a couple hours. I've had more in thirty minutes before. But a little while into the night, something happened. At first I just felt really tired. I asked where we'd be sleeping, but the room was not yet available. Colbie offered to let me crash in her room until time was right for me to take my rightful place on. . . the floor of the living room. Which was totally doable.
But I never quite made it to her room. I stood up, but I couldn't walk without someone holding me. That was fine. I'd just go to the room and crash and everything would be all right.
Problem: never got there. I was standing in the kitchen because my sister (who was the one helping me to the room) stopped to talk to my friend's dad. And suddenly, I wasn't standing anymore. I was on the kitchen floor, probably with my eyes rolling into the back of my skull, mind wandering into some dream that I can only guess lasted a few seconds before Samia started screaming for me to wake up.
I was hauled to the couch, where I stared at Chance's dad while reminding myself that falling asleep, no matter how nice it sounded, would not be a good thing. As I was being carried to the car (it had been decided I would go home), I remember begging for someone to help me, help me. I was dying, and someone needed to help me. This, while apologizing for getting messed up and not even knowing how (Chance was happy to remind me that he'd seen people worse off and this was no big deal; thanks Chance).
The funny thing was, I started feeling better as soon as I sat down again. And even better than that after I threw up. It was as I was sitting in the car that Katy asked me "What did you eat today." Maybe that was the problem. What did I eat that day? Some toaster strudel. Chips. Some cookies.
Oh. Whoops. My bad.
I have a disturbing penchant for not eating some days. That thing is, I had only woken up a few hours earlier. I was barely ready for dinner when we got to Chance's place. So it just didn't occur to me to eat. I briefly thought of joining Katy to grab a bite when she said she was ready to get some food, but I didn't feel hungry enough to actually get up and go somewhere to eat, so I didn't say anything. But I guess I should've taken an inventory of what I'd had that day. It wasn't that I hadn't eaten anything. I just ate a lot of crap.
So now what? Well, between proving to my sister that I'm not anorexic (because she always wants to be believe that I'm anorexic, which is not now, nor has it ever been anything close to true) and proving to my dad that I'm not on the fast track to being an alcoholic, I guess I'll just get really fat stay at home playing videogames all day, everyday, so as to eliminate the possibility of being a "party girl."
Although that constitutes the majority of what I do already.
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