Death On The Internet?

So its 8.18pm on a Wednesday evening and here the author sits on the floor, half propped up by a foot stool and gulping for breath. I have over abused myself (again) with booze and fast food and sweet Janine (whoever she may be) I am paying for it now. It is a scenario I have re-enacted a thousand times - binge and gorge, fade to repeat but this first night without the comforting sauce never gets any less frightening.
The only light I have is the glow from the computer screen as I prefer the creeping darkness and there is a weight atop my chest like there was a mill stone placed upon it. Oh the thoughts of heart attacks or strokes are beating at my mind, almost daring me to take a sip of alcohol to loosen my nerves but I must resist. I simply have to cleanse my system for a while. I know I am charging headlong into death as a result of an insatiable and wreckless appetite but the wise streak in me is at work tonight.
Everytime I feel a twinge I look for death around the room, praying that if tonight is the dreaded time then I may leave with courage and not whimpering like a scolded pup. Do not be mistaken, this is not the alcoholic delirium tremens that heavy drinkers often find themselves battling after a decent binge. I am not hallucinating or trembling or anything of that sort, there is only the heavy chest and dread feeling that the time of dying is so very near. I feel other men would crack under this utter doom I feel right now.
Of course my eerie surroundings only enforce the grim atmosphere that clouds me at this minute. And the heavy rain outside battering the black windows sound as if a hundred different phobias have taken a physical form and are headed for my front door riding grand steeds, both phobia and horse clad in velvet and diamonds.
At times my chest lifts giving me some time to breathe freely again, pulling on air as if each gulp was giving me strength, settling me back down to earth. Often when some terrible specteral vice has my lungs gripped I feel a brush from a feather could knock me into the grave so the relief when it ceases is instant.
It comes and goes, breathing fine the breathing heavy, breathing fine then struggling like a landed fish once more. Not pleasant but the amount of times I have gone through this I feel like my soul is shrugging its glassy shoulders as if to say 'you really enjoy this drama don't you?' And naturally I don't but the scent of over indulgence is able to seduce me at whim. I don't usually struggle too much either so my route looks to be only ONE way. For every fear that stabs me when I heave or gasp there is a bigger hunger for excess which drives me ever onward.
After this anchor on my breastbone begins to lift another blow is aimed at my bloated shell - sadness. I feel tears welling in my eyes over nothing! Well nothing sad in particular because a daft picture online might be enough to set me off or I remember a great quote; the trigger can be so bland and yet it arrives with such force, almost pressing me into the floor. And with it comes a mighty despair. I sit defenseless on the floor, sobbing, not in any theatre of self pity but at the amount of arrows and rocks I have aimed at my own body. Suddenly the grim reality hits home, shattering any shred of confidence I have and all I can think of is a desperate future. One of coffins and bramble thickets.
All of this foul moods and feeling last around 7 or 8 hours depending on the abuse the night before, but it FEELS like weeks, feels like Chinese water torture or death by a thousand cuts. Feeling a whisker away from death both physically and spiritually is extremely wretched. I cannot switch a bulb on and instantly show the reader what its like but rest assured the results from my lifestyle are as miserable as any medieval dungeon. In fact something tells me a dungeon would be a hell of a lot more comfortable.