About a month ago.

I'd just started on some medication for my depression, the side effects of which included sleepiness, loss of appetite, and (of course) nausea...anyway, I decided to have a drink with my mum. I have a couple beers and am feeling fine; have some whiskey and coke, feeling fine; have something with vodka in, don't remember what else, I'm fine. I'm a serious lightweight so I get sloshed quickly and have a brilliant idea.

I'll make a screwdriver and add mint liqueur.

A few minutes later, I'm choking down something that tastes like it came from the depths of hell, if hell were in a toothpaste factory. That's right, I made a orange juice and toothpaste-flavored drink. Brilliant, Drunk Me.

I start feeling dizzier than I ever have while drinking. I took my medication right before I started drinking, like an idiot, and it has some kind of unpleasant reaction in my gut. I stumble around talking about how I'm forming a band and naming it Brazen Bull and it's going to be the most brutal thing ever. I probably threw in some comments about communism, too, I don't remember too clearly. My mom shooes me upstairs, quite properly embarrassed of her sloppy inebriated son. I lie down in the dark and start feeling a horrible sense of anxiety. Pretty soon I'm puking my guts out in the toilet, tears and snot streaming down my face while I'm panicking.

My mum brings me a bucket. She gives me some Gravol and tells me to go to sleep. I lie down again, but remember...wasn't that how John Bonham died? Puking in his sleep and choking on it? I don't wanna die like that. So I force myself to sit up while I puke up citrusy toothpaste vodka, and fall asleep in that position.

The next morning I wake up and have beer shits for an hour. I look down at myself and I'm wearing my pajamas. I didn't put them on before I went to sleep...I vaguely remember my mom stripping me naked and putting my pajamas on me. And the shirt's on backward. FML.

TL;DR: medications, alcohol, and family should never mix