On My Knees Into the World Wide Web of Recovery

I had been drinking at home without respite for years. I had tried many times to convince myself that this was the last bottle of gin I would buy. My intentions were always good, but the two-liter bottle was gone in one day. As I was pouring one of the last drinks from the bottle, such anxiety invaded me that I had to go to any length to buy another one. At times, I would look under pillows, couches, and beds, and in drawers, boxes, and my children's piggy banks, in a desperate search for coins to complete the $14.00 I needed to buy that bottle. Driving while intoxicated was not even a concern. My focus was only on the sign that said LIQUOR STORE. My heaven, my rest, my solution--so I thought.