Alcohol was my stress reducer, my reality fighter, the conferrer of artificial joys. It was also wreaking havoc on my life.
By Nancy Wartik
Original Source: nytimes.com
One day in the fall of 2018, I woke up feeling wrecked. The night before I’d had beers with colleagues and wound up braying loudly to one of them about something she’d confided and what I thought she should do.
“I wish I’d never told you this,” she finally blurted, and I knew I’d betrayed a trust.
A few nights before, I’d been more inept. A group of us had held a memorial for a friend. At a gathering later, I’d had a martini with prosecco chasers, then picked a senseless quarrel with our hostess, a close friend as bereaved as I was.
Now I sat there, head pounding, stomach roiling. It was another…click here to continue reading