I have just finished a bottle of vodka and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. As I take a few drags, my surroundings start to gain motion. I know, if lucky, I have an hour before I vomit.

I walk off without a destination, my legs bending more mid-thigh than at the knee. My head feels slightly detached from my neck, like a bobblehead. Being like this is not fun. It is not what I want to be doing. Regardless of what I want, this is what I have chosen.