The inner wars, and the outer ones, go on while I pray and struggle; sometimes in the middle of a dark night of the soul I wonder how they became my wars to fight. And then I hear a voice that says, “Why not me?

I did not drink because of my problems. I had problems because I drank. It would take me twenty-three years to figure that out.

But the odds against me were getting higher each day. I, who was my own worst enemy, needed a best friend. I thought booze was my friend. I did not know I was in a fight—not just with my lawyers, not just with my husband, but also with my disease. I didn’t know I could not win this one on my own, that it would take years, and a change of mind and heart, to win the battle with an opponent I could not even see.

I didn’t know it was the booze, always the booze, that brought on the darkness.