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

I don’t know if I really need a program that deals with addictions—I wouldn’t go that far—but at the same time, just in case, I know that I could do something to learn to manage better, to perhaps train my body to only want a bit—a can of lemon-tinted beer or two, no more—and to not disappoint me with another blackout.

I juggled friends and environments.

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.

So I’m looking for a commitment I can adhere to once a week tops, something I can explain—to myself, mostly—as a social thing, a thing I do to get away from the baby. Sort of like an activity that a girlfriend would tell me to partake in, a yoga class or ballroom dancing, to get me away from the baby. Some kind of me-time.

Asking for help means there will be consequences and they will be dire.

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

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,