Chapter Ten - Texts from the Void

CHAPTER TEN

Texts from the Void

THERE’S DRUNK.
THEN there’s digitally drunk, a very specific flavor of vulnerability where your thumbs move faster than your conscience.

In the age of smartphones, alcohol doesn’t just make you say wild things. It gives you a direct line to your entire past, present, and emotional unresolved folder.

A few drinks in, your phone isn’t just a device.
It’s a weapon. A mirror. A regret machine.

And it always has battery when you shouldn’t.

We’ve all seen the archetypes.

The Confession Text

“I know I shouldn’t say this but I still think about you sometimes.”

The Nostalgia Bomb

“Remember that night at the lake? That was real, right?”

The Gibberish Scroll

“im not even that durnk but like i miss uuu lol srryyyyyy”

The Horny Riddle

“If I was where you are rn what would happen?”

The Existential Crisis Dump

“Do you think we’re just like… people? Or do we matter?”

Each one comes from a real place.
Just… not a sober one.

Your contacts list becomes a museum of ghosts.

You scroll. You stare. You pause on a name that used to mean something.
You don’t even want a reply, you want the feeling back.
The one where you weren’t alone.
The one where they knew you.
The one where maybe things weren’t this heavy.

So you send it.
Because if nothing else, it means you existed to them again, even just for a moment.

Here’s what you said vs what you meant:

“You up?”
I feel alone and I hope you don’t hate me.

“Miss uuuu”
I don’t miss you exactly, I miss who I was when things were better.

“We should hang out”
I don’t know how to say I want to be close to you without making it weird.

“Sry. Forget I said anything.”
Please don’t. Please remember. Just don’t hate me.

Drunk texts are rarely about the surface message.
They’re about connection. Sought clumsily, but sincerely.

And so you wake up and check your phone like it’s a crime scene.

Notifications.
Read receipts.
A photo you don’t remember taking.
A message with no reply.

Your stomach drops.
Your memory is patchy.
Your entire nervous system is saying: “Oh no.”

And you realize… the worst part isn’t what you said.

It’s that you meant it.

Sometimes the worst part is radio silence.

You poured your guts into the void.
And the void didn’t respond.

It stings. It burns.
It confirms every fear you had when you hit send. That it was too much, too late, or too weird.

But here’s the thing:
Drunk you was trying.
Not wisely. But honestly.

That deserves more grace than you think.

If it mattered enough to say drunk, it’s probably worth facing sober.