Introduction
There is a specific horror in being told what you did. Not remembering it, and having to accept the account of someone who was there, and watching them watch you receive it.
Intoxication genuinely changes behavior. It narrows attention toward whatever is immediate and pushes consequences, commitments, and other people's interiors out of view. People say and do things that they would not do sober, and the things frequently land on whoever is closest.
So: is an apology owed, and how do you give one that means anything?
Yes, It's Owed
Briefly, because this shouldn't take long.
The explanation is not the excuse. That intoxication narrowed your judgment explains how you came to do it. It does not transfer the harm onto the substance, because you were the one present, and the person you hurt was hurt by you rather than by a chemical.
"I wasn't myself" is a sentence that offers you relief and offers them nothing. Worse, it tells them the person who did it is unaccountable — which means they have no reason to believe it won't happen again.
What an Apology Actually Contains
Most apologies fail on structure rather than sincerity.
Name the specific thing. Not "I'm sorry for how I've been." What you did, plainly, without softening the verb. Vagueness reads as an attempt to avoid saying it.
Do not explain. The moment you introduce the reason — the stress, the substance, what they'd said first — the apology has become a defense, and they can feel the pivot as it happens. Explanations belong in a different conversation, later, if ever.
Acknowledge the effect, not just the act. What it cost them. This is the part people skip because it's the part that hurts.
No conditions. "I'm sorry if you felt" and "I'm sorry, but" are not apologies. They are negotiations.
Say what will be different. Not a promise you can't keep. Something specific and verifiable.
The Things You Don't Remember
A particular difficulty, and it needs its own answer.
You may be apologizing for events you have no access to. Blackouts are common, and the disorientation of being told what you did — by someone who has been carrying it — is real.
Do not use it as a hedge. "I don't remember, but if I did anything, I'm sorry" is among the worst sentences available. It disputes their account while appearing to concede it, and it makes them the one responsible for proving what happened.
Instead: I don't remember it, and I believe you, and I'm sorry. The not remembering is your problem to carry, not evidence to be weighed. Their memory is not on trial because your recollection failed.
And Then Stop Talking
The hardest instruction.
An apology is a gift, not a transaction. Having given it, you are not entitled to a response, a thank you, forgiveness, or reassurance that you're a good person.
Most damaged apologies are damaged in the seconds afterward, when the silence becomes intolerable and the apologizer starts filling it — explaining, elaborating, or asking whether they're okay now. That converts a moment of accountability into a request for absolution, and the other person can feel the bill arriving.
Say it. Then be quiet, and let them do whatever they do with it.
If It's Rejected
It might be. It may be rejected for the rest of your life.
You are not owed forgiveness, and there is no correct apology that compels it. Rejection does not mean you did it wrong; it may mean the harm was large, or that they're not ready, or that they never will be.
What you do then is: nothing. You do not repeat it, escalate it, explain more clearly, or send a letter. You do not require them to manage your distress at having been refused.
You go on behaving differently, indefinitely, whether or not they ever notice. That's the only remaining move, and it's the one that would have persuaded them anyway.
When Apologies Become Hollow
The pattern that does more damage than the original offence.
Apologize, change nothing, offend again, apologize. Repeated often enough, this teaches the other person that your remorse predicts nothing. And once remorse predicts nothing, it stops being received as remorse. It starts being received as the noise you make afterward, a stage in a cycle they've learned to recognize.
At that point, even a sincere apology cannot be heard, because you have spent the currency. This is why people say "I don't want to hear it" — not because they're hard, but because the words have been drained of information.
The only way back is a long period of not apologizing, because there is nothing to apologize for.
Ego Is the Thing in the Way
Notice what makes this difficult.
Not the words. The state of standing there having done something indefensible, without being permitted to soften it, explain it, or be quickly forgiven. It is a period of being seen as the person who did that, with no way to hurry it along.
Everything that ruins apologies is an attempt to shorten that discomfort. The explanation shortens it. The over-elaboration shortens it. Asking whether they forgive you shortens it. The apology only works if you're willing to sit in it for as long as it lasts.
Some Things Should Not Be Said
Worth naming, because sincerity is not the only consideration.
If an apology's real function is to unburden you, and its effect is to reopen something for them, it may be better withheld. Contacting someone who has asked not to hear from you, in order to make your amends, is not repair — it is the harm continuing with better manners.
Ask who this is for. If the honest answer is you, don't.
The Bottom Line
Intoxication explains the behavior and does not transfer the responsibility, and "I wasn't myself" gives them nothing. Name the specific thing, don't explain, acknowledge what it cost, say what will change — and then stop talking and don't require a response. Rejection isn't a sign of a defective apology. And if you've apologized many times without changing, the words no longer carry information; only the changed behavior does.