I stopped drinking in Seattle when I was twenty-two. I went to a young people’s gathering, and the people sitting around the table were my age or younger.
“I’m an alcoholic,” they said by means of introduction, and then they talked about problems in school or with relationships or getting injured when drunk or almost dying from an overdose. That all made sense to me. Almost everything these sweet-faced people shared had happened to me, too. I was fine with being a drunk. If showing up for an hour with these people was the alternative to crazy or dead, which seemed my other options, I was willing to do as they suggested and try not drinking a day at a time. See the full story Showing Up in End Pain.
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