A voice that sounded like mine whispered that today a drink would feel amazing. A drink would make me feel whole and perfect. I would be able to breathe deeply and fit “right” inside of my skin. My problems would evaporate, seeming weightless and unimportant. Life would feel wonderful.
For at least four months after I made the decision to quit drinking, I found myself in a strange purgatory. I didn’t want to be drinking. I didn’t want to not be drinking. I wanted all the “mores” of being booze-free—more money, more time, more energy, more self-respect—but those “mores”