As I sit here, still hungover at 4 p.m., typing this letter, I think of you, Drunk Self. You selfish, ignorant human. Why did you do this to me? How could you be so careless? How could you possibly think that beer before liquor wouldn’t make us sicker? You always do this. I mean, come on. You’re 21 now. Get it together. Start with shots, end with beer. Not the other way around.

You’re not a kid anymore. You’re not the same bright-eyed teenager that drinks from a water bottle filled with off-brand tequila that you found stashed in the back of your parent’s liquor cabinet. That girl, she could drink. She could do whatever she wanted. Hell, she could get alcohol poisoning and wake up the next morning and be perfectly fine.

You, 21-year-old Drunk Self, cannot. Now you’ll have three sips of red wine and wake up with a thumping headache in your temples. Binge-drinking? Oh, my God, please. You can’t do that anymore. Your body is literally revolting. These hangovers are hurting worse and worse. They’re trying to tell you something: Stop it.

And you know, it definitely didn’t help matters when you decided to go to Subway past midnight with your even drunker friend and order an Italian BMT. An Italian BMT, are you serious? Have some taste. I understand that Subway is a 15-second walk from the bar, but damn. Resist the urge. Thank God it was only a 6-inch. At least you were being fiscally responsible last night.

Eh, scratch that. Just because the drink special on Wednesdays is “$3 You Name It’s” doesn’t mean it’s an all-you-can-drink liquid buffet. I’m sure you didn’t think of me last night, halfway through your third whiskey sour. I bet I didn’t even cross your mind. You slurped down that sugary beverage without a care in the world. You paid no mind to the consequences of the next day.

And today, while I sat in my fiction class, tasked with reading aloud a portion of a short story I wrote, I had to pretend like I didn’t feel like I was going to puke all over the table in front of me. I had to play it cool. Do you know how hard it is to “play it cool” when there is literal bile bubbling in your esophagus?

Yeah. I was so hungover that the headache and nausea in my stomach were the least of it. It was the burning in my throat that really got me. Everything still tasted like whiskey sours. I had to take incremental sips of water every couple minutes just to prevent the vomit. My hands were so cold and clammy. I was shivering, but still managed to have pit stains. It has to be over soon, I thought to myself, it can’t last all day, right?

But it did.

A true mark of a good night is how long the hangover lasts throughout a day. I can already tell that this is one of those days where I’ll fall asleep still hungover tonight. Drunk Self, you did me dirty. I hate you. I understand why you did it, but I won’t forgive you. Not tonight.

Sincerely,

Hungover Self