Proof The Bible Is True

“Thank you very much for your help. Your opinion counts. Have a good day!”

 

For the umpteenth time that afternoon, I delivered my canned lines, hung up the phone and sighed. Such a monotonous job. I worked for a market research company, calling people all around the country for their opinions about products they’d used—today it was a line of air fresheners. After following the same script for hours, I dialed the next number from my list and looked at my watch. 1:30 PM. Just a few more hours until I could get back home and pour myself a glass of gin.

 

I knew, deep down, that I had a problem with alcohol. I just couldn’t admit it. In the past year, I’d gone from having a few drinks before dinner to drinking all the way up until bedtime. My husband and teenage daughter worried about me. I was 41 going on 42, but the way the drinking had ravaged my body, I felt much older. “Mommy, you’re hurting yourself,” my daughter said. “I’m scared.” I’d tried going to AA meetings, but I always kept drinking.

 

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