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.

“Really?”

I imagined that I looked so different.