From the July 2014 magazine.

A Zebra Among Horses

The pack she ran with in rehab was great, but now it was time to switch herds

On November 1, 2008, I was carried into the ER. I had finished an entire bottle of vodka by myself. I was a sinking ship. My drinking had become completely out of control and I could no longer function. I had to drink to keep my hands and body from shaking, and to keep the nausea away. God gave me another chance at life, and I took him up on it. Something came over me that day and I said out loud, “I am killing myself. I’m not ready to die.”

I knew that I had lost. I knew that I could not live that way for one more day, because that was not living. Despite the copious amounts of liquor, I remember every detail of that day like it was yesterday. I remember the sinking feeling of having to tell my parents that my problem was so much worse than they had ever imagined. I remember how broken I felt; I didn’t even know who I had become. I remember how ashamed and disgusted I felt for letting it get as bad as it had. I remember the doctors standing over me, telling me that if I continued drinking the way that I had been, I would be dead in two weeks. I was 22 years old.

-- Anonymous

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