A few weeks passed after the whole Craig debacle, and soon, it was Halloween. She had forgotten how much she absolutely fucking loved Halloween. She hadn’t been able to spend it with her friends since 2012. Every Halloween spent with her ex was spent with his friends.
She always had a good time with his friends. They were all so nice and funny and generous. They had welcomed her with open arms when she first met them and now, even after the break up, she still keeps in touch with them and is grateful to still have them in her life. But they weren’t her friends, y’know? She missed celebrating this fun holiday with her closest girlfriends. So this year, even with the restrictions from Covid, she was so excited to dress up and have a good time with the small group of friends that had become her pandemic bubble.
She had gone over early to her friend’s place where the Halloween party was being held. She helped her friends setup up and decorate, hanging cotton cobwebs here, hiding fake, bloody plastic limbs there. The mood was set and she couldn’t have been more thrilled. Because of Covid, she hadn’t wanted to go all out for her Halloween costume, so she just recycled her cat ears from the year before, and wore a black tank top and black jeans. The only thing she had to buy was her cute little black tail.
She had blow dried her hair at home before going over, so all she had to do was straighten it and do her makeup. Once her hair was straightened, it was like she was looking at an image of her younger self. A thinner faced image, mind you. She hadn’t had her hair straight in what felt like years. Her ex always preferred her to leave her hair curly, so she was used to looking wild and frizzy, not sleek and coiffed. She then drew a little heart on the tip of her nose in black eyeliner, and added freckles and whiskers to her cheeks. Ta Da! Her cat costume was complete. She was excited, she felt good, and truthfully that was the sexiest she had felt in a really long time. By that time, she was down just over 40 pounds from when she had started losing weight back in May. She was ready to show it off and party hard! – a little too hard, actually…
Night fell, costumes ready, the spooky music blared and everyone was pumped for a spooktacularly fun night. The wine flowed.
And flowed.
And flowed.
All of a sudden, it was morning. Well actually, it was 1pm the afternoon of November 1st. She woke up naked in her bed. Body sore, head pounding. She guzzled the entire glass of water that she was surprised she had put beside her bed when she had gotten home. She felt like complete shit. Like she had been hit by a truck and then been run over back and forth, again and again. She had not felt that hungover in years. She shakily got herself up and headed to the washroom, then headed right back to bed. It was another five hours before she would be able to get up again.
She checked her phone which had been blowing up with texts from her friends. “How are you feeling today?” “Did you make it home okay?” “Are you alright?” She replied that she was okay and had gotten home safely, then noticed her Facebook Messenger window was open. A knot tied in her stomach as she knew immediately what she had done, and hoped against all hope she hadn’t actually done what she thought she had. Yet, sure enough, as she scrolled through the messages, she realized that at 9:43pm, she had sent Craig a drunken message. That’s right, she was already that fucked up at nine fourty three PM! The message read, “I was nver going to message you again, but here I am D.runk. happy Halloween!”
She could not have felt more mortified if she tried. She saw that he had seen the message, but of course he hadn’t replied. Who would reply to that? What could anyone possibly say to something like “I was never going to message you again…” She wanted to message him and explain, but she couldn’t keep looking at her phone. That Sunday was a complete write-off for her and she slept the entire rest of the day. She woke up the Monday morning feeling weak but overall, better. Except for the humongous bruise on her knee, and all the bruises up and down her arm. What the fuck happened to her that night?
She made it in to work on time on Monday, but she had a giant knot growing in the pit of her stomach. Whenever she had ever felt hungover like that, she knew the night before was a disaster. She knew she had gotten too drunk. She knew she had made a fool of herself, even if she didn’t remember anything. She knew her friends would have had to take care of her, so she knew she was definitely due to apologize for her behaviour.
She texted her two friends and asked how she got some of her bruises. Neither of them knew exactly how she had hurt herself, but they told her bits and pieces of how fucked up she was. She then texted them separately to apologize. Her one friend who she could always rely on to give her the god’s-honest truth, told her point blank how upset she was and why. And she had no argument, she knew she had fucked up. Throughout their early 20’s, this friend had taken care of her more times than she could count. There was absolutely no reason for her to be continuing to get that fucked up at this age.
She knew she wasn’t an alcoholic. She had known that during her messy early 20’s also. She didn’t crave alcohol; she didn’t need it on a day-to-day basis. She didn’t even need to drink every weekend. There would be weeks, even months, where she wouldn’t have a drop of alcohol. Her problem was, she didn’t have an off switch when she did drink. There was no in between for her. She was either tipsy or fucking hammered. And even with her friends advising her to slow down or to stop entirely, in her drunken state she would just ignore them. And then the rest of the night would be spent having her friends take care of her. How selfish could she be?? How is that fair? – to have her friends babysit her while she’s having the drunken time of her life and they’re left to pick up the pieces of her mess.
She wished she could just crawl into a hole and die. That feeling. That feeling of complete and utter shame and embarrassment. She hadn’t felt it in years and yet it was all too familiar to her. She had worked so hard over the last several years to not get fucked up like that. She knew no one, including herself, liked her when she was in that state. She was sloppy, she was messy, she was overly flirtatious and sexual. She was literally everything you wouldn’t want yourself to be. She was so angry at herself for getting that drunk. For ruining Halloween – not just for herself, but for her friends who had to take care of her, too. The shame spiral was starting and there was no end in sight.
Her friends were gracious and accepting of her remorse. But it didn’t change the deep seeded hatred she had for herself. She felt like she was 20 years old again, out of control and humiliated by her sloppy behaviour. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened. All she could do was vow not to let herself get like that again. Something she had already promised herself years ago. And yet, here she was…