By Leigh Doughty
“I’m not an alcoholic,” he told himself most days. And each day he clung on with fierce talons to the fact that he never drank until five o’clock, and that showed courage and strength where others would fall.
If his hands would shake, then so be it. And if his mind could only scream to have another drink, as long as it had that magic spirit, then all would be just fine.
Today, he made it to five with just a mild sweat and a slight tremble. He downed his pint and thought he was glad he was not an alcoholic.
Well done. The right amount of truth.
Typical denial.
Nicely done! Everyone who has ever had an alcoholic in the family can identify with this story.