Hang out in the brightly lit rooms of AA, or in coffee shops, talking to dozens of women who have given up drinking, and this is the conclusion you come to: for most people, booze is a loan shark, someone they trusted for a while, came to count on, before it turned ugly. Every alcoholic, it seems, learns this the hard way.
And no matter what the circumstances, certain parts of the story are always the same. Here is how the story goes:
At first, alcohol is that elegant figure standing in the corner by the bar, the handsome one in the beautiful black tuxedo. Or maybe he’s in black leather and jeans. It doesn’t matter. You can’t miss him. He’s always at the party — and he always gets there first.
Maybe you first saw him in high school. Many do. Others meet him long, long before. He finds his moment, some time when you’re wobbly or nervous, excited or scared. You’re heading into a big party or a dance. All of a sudden your stomach begins to lurch. You’re overdressed, or underdressed; too tall, too short; heartsick or heart-in-your-mouth anxious. Doesn’t matter. Booze wastes no time. He sidles up with a quick hit of courage. You grab it. It feels good. It works. > > > > Read More
