A frenzied, coke-fueled, uninhibited night spent on the very top of the world, carrying out various disgusting, careless, and/or borderline irredeemable actions that all felt so great in the moment that you did some of them twice and all of them with a smile on your face. This is, of course, followed by a lonely, unbearably sober morning spent counting all of the brand-new reasons you now have to hate yourself, in case you were running short of them or didn't think it was possible for any more to exist. What's for breakfast? A healthy heaping hell of soul-crushing regret and heart-breaking guilt, accompanied by an irresistible urge to either finally kill yourself or to find more cocaine in a desperate attempt to blissfully ignore the obvious, slow, pathetic death of all your life's goals and dreams.
That's just off the top of my head though, not speaking from personal experience or anything.
A frenzied, coke-fueled, uninhibited night spent on the very top of the world, carrying out various disgusting, careless, and/or borderline irredeemable actions that all felt so great in the moment that you did some of them twice and all of them with a smile on your face. This is, of course, followed by a lonely, unbearably sober morning spent counting all of the brand-new reasons you now have to hate yourself, in case you were running short of them or didn't think it was possible for any more to exist. What's for breakfast? A healthy heaping hell of soul-crushing regret and heart-breaking guilt, accompanied by an irresistible urge to either finally kill yourself or to find more cocaine in a desperate attempt to blissfully ignore the obvious, slow, pathetic death of all your life's goals and dreams.
That's just off the top of my head though, not speaking from personal experience or anything.