Death is scary; like Psycho or Halloween scary.
Like American Horror Story meets Nightmare on Elm Street.
Jason and Michael, and Norman, and the weird dead baby from the basement all chasing you at once.
The vodka will do that… Bring you close to death, even at the age of eighteen.
Even with a whole life ahead of you, vodka drowns your insides, clouds judgement, and blinds your sense of reality.
Seventeen is supposed to be…
exciting, invincibility, recklessness, parties, late-nights…
College at eighteen should be…
the same exact things, plus professors and classes.
Neither of those should equal close-to-death experiences with a liquid that looks identical to water.
Vodka says “fuck life,” as soon as you take your 7th straight shot.
That’s when alcoholism says “reality is a nightmare” and nothing in life matters. You may as well be a vegetable. At eighteen, you’re a fucking vegetable.