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

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

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

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

I juggled friends and environments.

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

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.

When I don’t drink, I think about it.

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