I wanna sleep in my bed, I wanna clean out my head

Last night: too much fun. Don't know how I made it back to my room, only remember a very frightening walk through the corridors, relying completely on instinct, and then standing in front of my door, jabbing at the lock with my key for about five minutes, hoping that no one's path should cross with mine. I imagined what I must've looked like. I doubted I could coherently speak to anyone. The colors around me were blurring, and then pixilating. A bit of tunnel vision. I looked in the mirror. I had two sets of eyes, one directly atop the other. I'm going mad, I thought. I don't remember the last time I was so genuinely concerned for my existence. I tried to lie down, but every time I'd close my eyes, I'd feel myself sink further and further into the pit of myself, as if my core had been replaced by a vacuum, whose mission, now, was to suck me into nothingness. Frightening. Absolutely frightening.

I woke up at 6:30, curled up in the fetal position on the floor. I had covered myself with a blanket, but I was still fully dressed in my coat and boots. The lights were all still on. The room was trashed. Several heavy objects had apparently come crashing to the ground without my noticing. I had blacked out. But what relief, to be coherent again. It was still dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten, and it perplexed me to think that I had actually slept until morning under such circumstances. I felt very alone, and I still do, when I think about it. But there's something about achieving that sense-altering level of inebriation, withstanding its wrath, and waking up the next morning with all your hair still on your head, that gives one a sense of very faint rebirth.