The Five Stages Of (Hungover) Grief

The Five Stages Of (Hungover) Grief

We’ve all been there, lying in your own filth wondering if this is how it ends.

Your crusty eyes pop open. You hazily gaze around the room that almost definitely isn’t your’s as your limbs feel sewn into the bed sheets. A serene wave of calm flows over your body as you have that beautiful 2.5 seconds of ignorance before the memories of last night careen into your frontal lobe. You’ve awoken hungover, a little bit drunk, and doused in cologne only one could describe as Bacardi and regret. You’ve got a case of the guilts.


This stage is where you will feel both parts anxious and delusional. Enjoy it. The stages that follow are filled with hair tearing, scream crying and feverish thumbing through your text history. This stage is usually met with phrases such as; “Everyone was just as drunk as I was, no one would even remember, those guys are cool”, and “I don’t even think I was that bad, everyone laughed when I tried to kiss that bartender as he was picking up the glasses and trying to subtly bottle me at the same time”.

Well guess what, you did try and smoke a rolled up $20 note, you certainly did make out with the 56-year-old at the pub, and yes you did play Foreign Language by Flight Facilities over 14 times at that house party while screaming out your secret DJ name which happens to be Shia LeDoof. True story.

Great song but.


How could you be such a fucking trashbag? What are you even doing with your life? You poked the person who took your virginity on Facebook at 4am while simultaneously trying to explain about how they were just misunderstood to a complete stranger. Do you even know what you want to do as a career? Who are you going to be when you grow up? Can people still poke each other on Facebook? All of these thoughts and more will flood your swollen brain as you gather your things off the mouldy stranger’s carpet, including and not limited to - the worst underwear you own.

Fight through the anger. Punch it right back in its mascara-lined faced as you call for a cab, think about the bacon and egg roll you’ll have your flatmate get for you, and plan for a day watching serial killer docos so you feel a bit better about your life.

This should get you started.


You are now holding all of your most precious belongings in your arms as you stand out on the curb in the crisp early morning air. You stare up into the sky and shout to your nominated God (or a disgruntled neighbour), "If I promise to never drink from a goon bag ironically ever again will you please erase the memories of all of my friends' brains like that stick in Men In Black?"

Or, "I swear to you that I will be the most charitable, loving, and productive person on this fucking planet as long as you somehow rewind my life and make sure I used a condom, because I honestly am not that sure right now."

hangover mib

Will Smith is not here to save you this time.


The cab arrives. You saunter in softly while the bloke, usually called Baz asks you where you are going. You can’t even remember where you live or why you can possibly afford housing in Sydney. Finally, you Google your local chicken shop and blurt out the address as you know it’s within walking distance of your humble abode. He takes this on, while trying not to judge you for smelling like a packet of Winny Golds and looking like Nikki Sixx after a night on the acid.

Then you hear the soft chimes of a cab radio. Fuck. He’s listening to Smooth FM. You know this is the time that you reflect as a soft Lionel Richie tune blares out from the speakers. "Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?" The tears well up in your bloodshot eyes as you stare out the window and reminisce about how Grease was actually such a good movie and you can’t believe John Travolta is a Scientologist. Life.

hangover lionel

Lionel might be here to save you though.


The first bite of that B&E roll doesn’t just hold nutrition, magic and unicorns - it also holds the first step to acceptance that you can now never ever take back what you did while pissed on red wine. You stare in the mirror, those purple teeth looking back at you, and you smile. You smile because you are pretty sure that everyone will speak to you again after they have had some time away from you. You are pretty sure that will never happen again?

But most of all you smile because you know you will do it all again next weekend and you are kind of stinging for a Bloody Mary.

hangover bloody mary

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