Overcoming Denial

I remember my first meeting like it was yesterday. I sat on a folding chair thinking, "How did a nice girl like me end up here?" I was wearing the only clothes I had that fit: my brother's jeans and a sweatshirt I stole from my dormitory laundry room in a blackout. It belonged to a girl we called Fat Ann. I was too ashamed to give it back when I found out where my "new" sweatshirt came from. I was bloated, heartsick, and still drunk. I was twenty-one years old and felt like an old woman.