Go Shake His Hand

When I walked through the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous I was full of despair. I had just been released from the police station in the early hours of the morning and was consumed by shame, remorse and fear. I felt hopeless. How could I have done this again? How could I have forgotten? I had done the same thing three months earlier, but this time it was worse. This time, six days before Christmas, I wrote off the family vehicle and was facing three charges. I’d thought I had things under control.