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Grapevine : January 2011
PUPPE T OF DESTRUCTION ILOVED the way alcohol made me feel. Plain and simple. Always the exception to the rule, I was terminally unique, or what we like to call an egomani- ac with low self-esteem. Howev- er, alcohol allowed me to act like everyone else. Once the booze hit my bloodstream, I fell head over heels, tumbling down the rabbit hole to a universe in which I was prettier, fun- nier, more intelligent and, most im- portantly, outgoing. The social lubri- cant I so desperately needed (or so I thought) had found its way into my life. As Bill W. said, "I had arrived." The affair I had with alcohol was exciting and tumultuous. I lapped up every drop of the glorious feeling of flight the drug gave me. I dipped dangerously close to peaks and tops, and grazed the fields, almost touch- ing the ground. Skimming the wa- ter, my stomach would flip, knowing that I was eminently close to danger. And when at last I would escape, un- scathed for the most part, the feeling of invincibility was as intoxicating as the drink itself. Alas, this era would not last forever. Nothing does, espe- cially for us alcoholics. Eventually I crashed and burned. Looking back, there was a line that I knew existed. I knew my fa- ther had crossed it. I knew my broth- er had crossed it. I had fair reason to assume that many others in my genetic line had as well. I asserted that I would be different. If not for the sake of my mother, then for the embarrassment I believed came with being "an alcoholic." Alcohol was my companion for a fast and furious six years. I don't feel the need to justify my place within the rooms, because I know the true depths to which alcohol took me. How much or how long I drank A promising young woman drinks herself past the point of no return 18 January 2011