Drunk Mom: A Memoir

We’ll always understand what it’s like to be afraid to wake up.

Because I am selfish, unable to see beyond my own wants. The urgency to soothe my internal conflicts, pain, is stronger than my accountability.

Nothing in my most recent history testifies in favor of this belief,

this is it about addiction. You can film it and talk and write about it but there’s no way to capture it. It’s a black hole. A black hole sucking us—the addicts—in, sometimes spitting us out, sometimes not, sometimes sucking us back in again. And again.

that perfect place where I’m sufficiently buzzed yet not too drunk,

that the next time she drinks she will be able to drink just enough and no more to find that perfect balance of being buzzed but not falling on her face. And in order to find that ultimate happy spot, an addict will drink just enough—just one more—to perfect that balance. She is almost there, in fact. Perhaps one more drink will add a nice polish t

And the morning after is exactly the same as the morning after the last time: full of anxiety, fear, shame, confusion. And the morning promises to self are exactly the same as the last time: I will never do this again. And in the afternoon, the insanity quietly suggests: Perhaps tonight it will be different. Perhaps tonight you can just have a coup

An alcoholic who is in the throes of addiction believes

Alcoholism is not drinking, just like hemophilia is not bleeding.