That thing when you drink too much and black out a whole chunk of your life. The only fragments that remain are disconnected, make no sense, and don't seem like they were you - like watching a film or reading a book, you feel sure you're remembering someone else's memories.
I remember the fire and making Ollie storm off, and proceeding to cry, because someone (either Henry or Rowan) told me off for trying to talk to Ollie about family things. Whoops.
I remember being in the maze and not wanting to lose sight of Ben. Like, I knew he was my beacon.
I remember throwing my wine down, knowing I'd had too much.
I remember Rowan kissing me.
I remember being in the toilet, and his face was completely terrified, and he told me he hadn't enjoyed whatever it was the had just happened.
I remember falling over. A lot.
I remember trying to run and running out of breath, and being angry at myself.
I remember yelling at Rowan. Screaming, yelling. I think I punched him. I think I was defending myself. And I think I told him to hit me back. I have lots of bruises, but I don't think he hit me.
I remember the dark cold road, and walking away from Rowan as fast as I could.
And I woke up, in a car, no idea how I got there, or who's car it was, or why it was even open, or what had possessed me to try opening car doors in the middle of no where.
Its messy. My family know and think its awful how drunk I was; they don't know how frequently I've been so drunk that I've blacked out the whole night and 'Drunk Laura' has taken over. Black Wednesday is the best example of this. And fuck my family ever knowing about that one.
I want to stop drinking, because its awful feeling like I don't know who I am or what I did. I know I shouldn't refer to 'Drunk Laura' as a separate person (an episode of Perception recently brought light on this) - but she is very different, she does stupid shit, she screams a lot, she cries, she sleeps with people A LOT (like, I've not had sober sex in A LONG TIME, and it hasn't been a massive amount, but its always drunken) - and worst of all, in the morning, it's me who has to deal with the shit that she does.
But, my need for alcohol is rooted deep in my psyche. Its almost hereditary. I can't scratch the feeling that succumbing to the wine means I'm accepting the fate of becoming my mother. I want to break bad habits, and try solve the problems that life throws at me in a sober, democratic, sensible way.
I'm not going to necessarily 'go sober for october', despite it being for a good cause - heck, I think people would sponsor just because they didn't believe I could do it - I want to go sober, full stop. One or two, yeah, but not two bottles of wine in less than two hours. Especially not in the middle of the night in a pitch black Maize Maze with a boy I barely know, when highly emotionally charged. Recipe for disaster, right there.
Here's to a new leaf. I hope it doesn't turn brown and rot half way through autumn, like the rest of them.