A Relationship With A Woman

Drinking, A Love Story, Written by Caroline Knapp: Is an insider’s story about fighting the battle of alcoholism and addiction, victoriously winning sobriety. Caroline Knapp fought her addiction for 20 years before becoming sober. “The Drink” as she called it, was her true love. The most beloved form being a good crisp dry white wine, but any form would do. She fell in love with alcohol at a young age and loved everything about it. The smell, the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle, the cold liquid anesthesia running down the back of her throat after a long day at the office, the routine of drinking, but most of all she loved the way alcohol made her feel.

she has moved onto a different phase of life. Their loved ones live on in spirit

Beth and I took turns writing. I remember only being able to write about a half of a page before my hand would begin to hurt. We must have worked on it for about four hours, and then we were done with our masterpiece. Beth and I both thought that our book was by far the best we had ever read. We were sure we were the most ingenious children alive. The end result of our story was not so pleasant, however. We decided to read our story to my younger sister Kari, to gain her opinion on our brilliance. Kari hated the story. She became bored very quickly and found something else to do. Beth and I were crushed. However, we were determined to try again some day, and we did. We wrote countless stories

Especially when I was sat at the dining table, cramming hundreds of word in my brain before the next day, the due date for every second grader to read a whopping total of a thousand words. Given we had a few months to do this, but even at a young age I practiced the art of procrastination. This happened frequently during elementary school years, me freaking out, frantically turning pages of book after book. Words turned to squiggles that just got tossed into the dump of useless knowledge in my brain, as I hastily glanced over the pages. Pages with sentences that stretched for miles, with seemingly no end. Sweat beading at my forehead and fingers trembling, the dining room getting smaller and smaller, with that gross old book smell filling the atmosphere, my mind seriously hurt and my eyes strained, whether it be from the mush of words getting shoved into my mind, or my mom scolding me as I tried to read. Something about how procrastinating throughout school would get me working at McDonald’s? I wasn’t sure. I just knew that I hated reading.

exposed me to potential infections disease, and it was clear she knew I was a

Then Linda came into my life. At a place where I was staying, Linda picked up other girls for church, and I decided to go one morning. Every Ssunday we kept in contact until I decided to move away from there; then that’s where I lost

began to sleep with any man that wanted to in order to fill in that void and also to feel loved in

drinker so that was a no go. all I did was buy scratch offs, and go fishing, and take my kids

The earliest memory of my writing is in 4th grade we had to do the weekend news every Monday and it was due at the end of the day. I first would write down bullet points of what I did, for example, if I celebrated a birthday with someone or hanged out with my friends then we had to write it by hand on notebook paper and it had to be at least a page long. I was always the quickest because of what I did.

That afternoon in my new room I turned my music all the way up. I could do this all the time!

“We were so very close that, even one year later, it still pains me to think about her. We were like two peas in a pod. It broke my heart to have to throw that stone,” said Mrs.

As she weakened, she went into dementia, and the conversation I had with Aunt Dianne when Mike and I visited you helped me deal with her anger and frustration. She was cognizant up until the last two weeks of her life. When I told her that your mother died, she cried. She remembered meeting her at the family reunion in Florida.

One irrefutable feature of my life is that I am amorous about writing. I remember when I was younger, I

I had been very sick the last two years. Grave's disease had taken over my life, just as alcohol takes over

it got tiresome and lonesome. . . . I felt so lonesome I most wished I