I can’t remember what prompted me into going these things. It’s not like alcohol was really ruining my life. I have a good job, a nice place, reasonable friends—I just liked having a shot in the afternoon. Or a few in the morning to substitute the Java. Or a couple before bed to shake the insomnia. But it wasn’t a real problem. No, I’d consider a real problem to be the current state of our economy rather than the current state of my sobriety. I sit in this chair, pamphlet in hand, wanting to do nothing else but walk out. I didn’t need to be here. I didn’t even have a DUI. The guest speaker goes on and on about the “steps”. Somehow God is mentioned. The clock clicks behind me as my withdrawal-induced migraine sets in. I don’t need to be here. I look down at the piece of paper where a poorly edited stock photo of a supposedly sober woman smiles back at me. Her bright features mock me to believe that I should be trying to better myself. Was my life not fine before? It didn’t make sense for my being here.