The hangovers weren’t the worst however they were a close second.
The worst was the not remembering. ‘What did I say? Who did I say it to? Where do I hide this shame?’
You don’t hide shame; apparently you wear it like any suit of clothing. It usually hangs off of you loose, dirty and stained.
The mirror was a difficult look in days of old. It was always that way for me even as a child long before I knew I was an alcoholic.
Looking at my first class photo in grade 2… I didn’t recognize one of the boys. “Who’s that?” I asked pointing.
Janice stopped smiling when she realized I was serious. “It’s you!” She said.
I imagined that I looked so different.