Bubbly Regret: Served Cold, Crashing Fast

F*ck. Bubbly regret is real.

Two sips in and my body rage-quits like it’s allergic to joy.
Empty stomach? Obviously.
Blood sugar? Dropping faster than my boundaries in a crisis.
Mood? Hovering somewhere between “what was I thinking” and “send help.”

This isn’t drinking.
This is microdosing disaster — chilled, carbonated, and dressed up like a harmless social lubricant. Except it’s not. Not for me. One sip and I’m spiraling faster than my glucose, Googling “beer + near-death symptoms” while pretending everything’s fine in front of people who definitely don’t know better.

My body short-circuits.
>My brain says nope.
>My entire system goes offline like a Windows update in the middle of a meltdown. Just betrayal.

This is bubbly regret — a fizzy farce that sells itself as fun but delivers nothing but a crash course in why I should’ve just stuck to sparkling water and spite.

I forget this every time.
The aftermath. The crash.
The part where I’m not hungover, I’m haunted.
>By energy I didn’t have. By stability I just borrowed.
>By the illusion that “one drink” was a safe bet.

So no, I’m not drinking.
Not until alcohol comes with a full disclosure:

“May cause existential dread, spiritual shutdown, and full-body betrayal within minutes.”

P.S. All BS I am.