This Place of Wonder

by Barbara O'Neal

Drinking was my true passion, not the wonders of wine. From the very first sip when I was eleven years old, I felt that burst of relief. Oh. This.

I’ve heard part of the story before. It’s even in her book, but one of the things I learned in rehab was to make space for people to talk.

By then, the high-level but still acceptable drinking I’d maintained for more than a decade had spilled over into messy and obvious, and I couldn’t seem to get it back under control no matter what I tried.

My therapist said that the reason alcohol is so hard to give up is because it works.

I’d never wanted to have sex with anyone. They teased me about it at work, laughing when I rebuffed all advances, from boys, girls, everybody.

I told myself I wasn’t a drunk because if the wine was terrible, I didn’t drink it.

“I just hate that it might be all the damage that’s preventing a baby. I mean, how would that be fair?”

If you let people into the secrets of your life, the

worst of it will always be at the forefront of their minds. I wasn’t about to let that happen to me.

When did women start drinking so openly, so heavily?

could keep wading toward the horizon and disappear, all my sins forgotten, my grief a thing I can drown along with my joy.