When I moved to Portland, my friends took me out. started at Freddies where we picked up a 12 pack of Henry's beer, each. Drank those, went to McMinnemen's had two vodka drinks, then to Kell's Irish Bar where I had a couple of whiskey sours, on to anothe rplace where I drank a Spanish coffee (thinkning I was doing myself a favor), decided to slow down by drinking beer again (two more). Then I found myself at someone's home where they pulled out the great KGB we all know and love (previously I had only smoked the Texas Mexican brick crap with seeds). After the second hit, on top of all the alcohol that was going to wreck me anyway, I KNEW I was in trouble. I excused myself and went for a stumble around the block where I had projectile vomiting for about 3 blocks. Now, I'm a loud vomiter, BRRRAAAAAGGHGHGHGHGH!!!!! Shit flying everywhere. People's cars, bushes, a homeless guy in the bushes. Apparently I had been gone a while because the whole house emptied to try to find me. When they took me how I remember laying at the toilet BEGGING God to kill me. There was one other time but I won't even talk about it.
So sick, I couldn't even drink water to make it better. Does that help Mame?