Sheldon raised his hand as a newcomer but you’ve seen him before. Fresh out of a treatment center, he was back from another bender. “I know where this ends,” he said, sobbing. “Dead in some motel on the 101.” Sheldon was scared but not enough to stop drinking. The alcoholic drinks to oblivion knowing he might not wake up; or because he just might. Here he was, head in hands, crying in a meeting.

This you fear. That what befell Sheldon could happen to you. It already had. A year into not drinking you finally owned up to an opioid addiction. Ha! How you had wanted to believe otherwise, that you could have sobriety but get high too. But then came the obsession, the stealing of pills, the lying and reckless behavior. Falling into the abyss all over again. The chickens had come home to roost and a ravenous fox was awaiting them. In some ways, withdrawing from pills eviscerated you more than quitting the drink. Those first days even death seemed a pleasant alternative. When the withdrawals finally subsided, you became awash in humiliation, bearing witness to the bewildering fear in your family’s eyes.

You are often accused of not caring about right things. About doing wrong things. Especially regarding your family. An argument can be made. And has been, over and over again.