I’ve Got The Poison

On my thirtieth I met a friend Dave in Birmingham City Centre and we started drinking at 12 o’clock before meeting up with the rest of lads on the night at about 7ish back in Yardley, where we ended up in Yardley’s Ex Services Mens club having being signed in Alan and someone he knew at the club. Not the ideal place for a birthday but it had a cheap bar so it more than qualified. Towards the end of the night and being my birthday there was a round of southern double comfort before we made our way to a curry house to finish the night.

“That southern comfort has hit home”, said Dave a few minutes later after we had drained the double in a toast.

I looked across the table at him and it had, I could see it in his face. Southern mixed with lager had that effect at least on me, it was magnified, when it took a effect it was like hitting a wall out of nowhere by the time you realised you should not have drunk it and mixed, it was often too late. You were on a one way trip without a brake.

By the time we had left Yardley’s Ex-Service Mans Club Dave was hugging trees, stripped down half naked to waist, flashing his arse and was louder than a fog horn before he sat on the ground in a puddle and stated in drunken fashion that he had had enough and asked to be taken to Yardley Travel Lodge where he was staying.

We got him in the travel lodge past the night receptionist who sat behind the desk watching us and no doubt followed our raucous trail on the cctv monitor, up the stairs and into the room. After a bit of messing about and laughter which probably woke everyone up in the building, Dave was hanging his head over the toilet and being acquainted with his stomach contents.

“UHWWARRRWR!”

“Go on Davey ROAR!!”

“UHWWARRRWR!”

There was half muttering of “God I feel bad” in between wretches.

“UHWWARRRWR!”

“No man. I can’t stand people chucking up. Its getting to me”, said Alan putting his hand to his mouth.

“UHWWARRRWR!”

Daves roaring into the toilet bowl set Alan off feeling green so he who took up position by the sink and gazed down the plug hole for a bit trying not to join in the sick chorus.

“Not you as well!”, I said to Alan laughing.

Dave oblivious carried on decorating the porcelain.

“UHWWARRRWR!”

“Its not funny man”, said Alan holding onto the sides of the sink for grim death.

It was of course hilarious and out came the mobile phones for a photo opportunity.

Done for the night, Dave half crawled out the closet for a bathroom, stripped to his boxers, pulled out blankets, complained he was well pissed to the room and went to bed with a pillow and pile of sheets on the floor. We left him and headed to the local curry house to finish the night.

Dave lived in Wolverhampton, after the journey home, I spoke to him on Microsoft messenger the day after.

“I have never been that drunk ever! I am not going drinking with you guys again.”

I “lol”ed.

Dave had caught the bus into Birmingham City Centre and not having breakfast before he left the travel lodge he decided to get a burger before catching the metro. A couple of bites in it was “UHWWARRRWR!” on the pavement followed by the hot rush and shakes.

“I thought I was going to die”

I laughed, “You have never had the hot rush and shakes?”

“No.”

Dave was about thirty three at the time and I could not quite believe what I was hearing.

“Never?”

“No.”

Alcohol like most substances taken in extremes passes from relative harmless to a poison the more you take. It is extremely easy to poison yourself all in the name (or excuse) of a good time.

The heat rush and shakes are your body’s way of pointing out to you in no uncertain terms a trip to causality has been narrowly avoided and you have undoubtedly poisoned yourself. The safety wire has been crossed.

It starts with a rush of heat which comes from nowhere and feels almost like someone has flicked a switch and set fire to your skin from head to toe. It lasts a couple of seconds before it’s switched off and then the shakes set in. The shakes are severe and you have no control then if your unlucky you will be reintroduced to your stomach lining and this is where the pain comes.

The wretches come from deep down, so deep it is like your muscles are trying to wretch the devil out of his hole and spew him out your mouth into the bowl. If your lucky you may still have something to bring back up not that it makes the process any less painful. If there is nothing there then it is clear thick almost mucus liquid, which is wretched in dribs and drabs.

Being kicked in the stomach with steel toe capped boots is less painful and preferable. This is retching on a whole new level.

I spent a lot of my time in my teens and fewer occasions in my early to mid twenties gazing at the porcelain until quite frankly it was a process which over time you develop a technique to reduce the pain.

The technique is simple you knee close to the toilet, hands either side of the pan, head titled slightly down while trying not to compress your stomach too much. When the wretch comes you stay as low as possible and use the sides of the pan as a supportive grip while you move slightly forward to counter the spasm of your stomach muscles which will cause your torso to move backwards slightly.

There comes a point where if you poison yourself often enough this becomes the method you adopt regardless of the cause of being sick due to habit. It sticks with me today.

Back in those dark days what became a good night out became dotted more frequently with what I have long nicknamed burn outs. Burn outs are drinking with no restraint, no air of caution, no thought, you keep on going until you burn out over the porcelain. It is like blindly speeding down a drag strip to finally hit a wall.

Once you reach this point, Alcohol has no fun, no sweetness and light. There is no enjoyment only the cycle of pain passed from whats in your head to be inflicted on the body. In that small well I filled with indifference, burn outs became a process at the end of the night; through the pain, the carving of my stomach on the porcelain I realised I was an addict in my own right, I had got the poison.