Once upon a time, going on binge meant being out in the club on a random Tuesday night and finding that my favorite bartender was working and that he had just gotten his Vicodin prescription refilled. It meant popping pills while doing shots, surrounded by friends. It meant blasting music and a surprise appearance by my friendly neighborhood drug dealer. It meant snorting coke in filthy bathrooms, more and more and more shots, a few more pills. It meant hooking up with that go-go dancer, who cares what his name is, he's got a hot bod. It meant doing more shots, more coke, and then facing the inevitable coming of the dawn, blinking the glare of newly risen sun while trying not to stumble on my way home.

A binge was something fun, definitely monumental, and always a pleasant surprise. A binge was someth...

Please subscribe to keep reading.