Living the Good Life

I used to think, back when I drank, that the good life was a bottle away. I would sit there drinking, wishing, and thinking that I would find it one of these days. But the days turned into months and the months into years, until that whiskey I was wishing on came close to killing me. Not only was I not living the good life, I had lost my will to live--and I was dying. I had gone from wanting a drink to having to drink, and shakes and DTs and blackouts. I always have believed in God, but I had gotten so far out there that when I sent up a prayer I felt that no one was there.