Blackout_ Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget
we’ll never know long enough to let down. Often they said: I was like you once. I used to think that program was bullshit, too. And hearing they were wrong made me suspect I was wrong, too. AA was a humble program. A program of suggestions, never rules. It was a place of storytelling, which operated on the same principle as great literature: Through your story, I hear my own. I was also beginning to realize that getting sober wasn’t some giant leap into sunlight. It was a series of small steps in the same direction. You say “I’ll do this today,” and then you say the same thing the next day, and you keep going, one foot in front of the other, until you make it out of the woods. I can’t believe I’d once thought the only interesting part of a story was when the heroine was drinking. Because those can be some of the most mind-numbing stories in the world. Is there any more obnoxious hero than a dead-eyed drunk, repeating herself? I was stuck in those reruns for years—the same conversations, the same humiliations, the same remorse, and there’s no narrative tension there, believe me. It was one big cycle of Same Old Shit. Sobriety wasn’t the boring part. Sobriety was the plot twist.
EIGHT
- Page 41 and 42: DRESSING IN MEN’S CLOTHES I start
- Page 43 and 44: coffee. But that seemed like a very
- Page 45 and 46: you to imperil our amazing friendsh
- Page 47 and 48: I FINALLY GOT a boyfriend near the
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- Page 51 and 52: The production guy passed my desk a
- Page 53 and 54: drank myself to the place where I w
- Page 55 and 56: ehind me, and told him I was moving
- Page 57 and 58: my Harp as soon I walked in the doo
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- Page 61 and 62: “Your key, mademoiselle,” said
- Page 63 and 64: My friend Meredith lived in an apar
- Page 65 and 66: “This was fun,” I said. He was
- Page 67 and 68: OF COURSE. OF course I’d gone to
- Page 69 and 70: like you should not be crying,” h
- Page 71 and 72: SIX
- Page 73 and 74: When the bottle was drained, I’d
- Page 75 and 76: But no, really, I had it this time.
- Page 77 and 78: off a gargantuan diamond. I thought
- Page 79 and 80: INTERLUDE
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- Page 85 and 86: But his once-sallow cheeks were ros
- Page 87 and 88: announcing their baby. Nobody wants
- Page 89 and 90: want to remain silent and unknowabl
- Page 91: Bubba curled up alongside me when I
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- Page 99 and 100: said, and she was right. The next w
- Page 101 and 102: fill-in-the-blank letter of apology
- Page 103 and 104: NINE
- Page 105 and 106: the tastes of a frat boy, or a grum
- Page 107 and 108: Mine was a recipe for unhappiness.
- Page 109 and 110: He tugged too hard, then I tugged t
- Page 111 and 112: SEX My first date in sobriety was w
- Page 113 and 114: 30s to stare down a personal profil
- Page 115 and 116: and said, “Look, I dressed up for
- Page 117 and 118: “I’m thinking: Well, that was f
- Page 119 and 120: he’s impotent or not, I don’t k
- Page 121 and 122: ELEVEN
- Page 123 and 124: the scorn of strangers. They skip t
- Page 125 and 126: Addiction was the inverse of honest
- Page 127 and 128: I worshipped alcohol, and it consum
- Page 129 and 130: THIS IS THE PLACE A few months befo
- Page 131 and 132: Anna and I have had 20 years of the
- Page 133 and 134: saying in midsentence. My dad loses
- Page 135 and 136: from here, I told myself. There wil
- Page 137 and 138: ABOUT THE AUTHOR SARAH HEPOLA’S w
- Page 139: Contents COVER TITLE PAGE WELCOME D
we’ll never know long enough <strong>to</strong> let down.<br />
Often <strong>the</strong>y said: I was like you once. I used <strong>to</strong> think that program was bullshit, <strong>to</strong>o. And hearing<br />
<strong>the</strong>y were wrong made me suspect I was wrong, <strong>to</strong>o.<br />
AA was a humble program. A program of suggestions, never rules. It was a place of s<strong>to</strong>rytelling,<br />
which operated on <strong>the</strong> same principle as great literature: Through your s<strong>to</strong>ry, I hear my own.<br />
I was also beginning <strong>to</strong> realize that getting sober wasn’t some giant leap in<strong>to</strong> sunlight. It was a<br />
series of small steps in <strong>the</strong> same direction. You say “I’ll do this <strong>to</strong>day,” and <strong>the</strong>n you say <strong>the</strong> same<br />
thing <strong>the</strong> next day, and you keep going, one foot in front of <strong>the</strong> o<strong>the</strong>r, until you make it out of <strong>the</strong><br />
woods.<br />
I can’t believe I’d once thought <strong>the</strong> only interesting part of a s<strong>to</strong>ry was when <strong>the</strong> heroine was<br />
drinking. Because those can be some of <strong>the</strong> most mind-numbing s<strong>to</strong>ries in <strong>the</strong> world. Is <strong>the</strong>re any more<br />
obnoxious hero than a dead-eyed drunk, repeating herself? I was stuck in those reruns for years—<strong>the</strong><br />
same conversations, <strong>the</strong> same humiliations, <strong>the</strong> same remorse, and <strong>the</strong>re’s no narrative tension <strong>the</strong>re,<br />
believe me. It was one big cycle of Same Old Shit.<br />
Sobriety wasn’t <strong>the</strong> boring part. Sobriety was <strong>the</strong> plot twist.