To Die in Albuquerque
A young woman relapses and heads west to finish the job—then one day the phone rings
By the time I made my first call to AA, I couldn’t remember when I’d had my last solid meal. I tried to kill myself with a bottle of aspirin washed down with vodka. I threw up bile and booze all night, and I had burned up my mattress with a lit cigarette when I passed out. I was only 15 and thought that I was too young to be an alcoholic. My friends disagreed. The woman who answered the AA hotline spoke deliberately and clearly, but I barely remember what she said. I do remember she told me that I had a choice, that I did not ever have to drink again—if I wanted to stop.