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Alcohol

A recovery friend and I had heard about a book called Drinking: A Love Story, written by Caroline Knapp.  As it suggests, it is a woman’s walk through alcoholism as a love affair, and how she had to remove herself from it.  My hope is to write a bit about each chapter and share that

“My name is Damien, and I’m an alcoholic.” This is the conventional way to introduce oneself at a meeting of the fellowship. It bugs me. The very first time I said these words they were incredibly powerful and liberating — when I finally said them, my surrender was complete. But as my sober time increases,

I wonder sometimes, where I’d be now, if I hadn’t stopped drinking and popping xanax. I’ve been advised over and over not to “what if” myself into a bout of anxiety. I get anxious easily. But my mind goes there, now and then. Especially when things are going well. And things are going well right

Last night I drove to a meeting where I was asked to speak about my experience with addiction. That relentless butterfly in my stomach began flapping its wings a bit faster, my heart quickly followed suit. A growing anxiety that I would be the epic failure of the century. It was night, a silent static

This October if I make it to October, because I take it one day at a time, I will be sober for two years. Back then, I was working full time in an office in the IT industry. I lived alone in a foreign country and entangled in a very co-dependant relationship with a friend

It seems like everyone has a story to tell.  My social media news feeds are littered with links to blogs describing stories of wedding planners gone mad, and kids’ crayons melted into car seats.  I guess you can say I’m hopping on that wagon, in more ways than one.  The only difference is, I’m sharing

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