Like so many other recovered alcoholics, I am to this day bewildered that it took so long for me to understand that there was no such animal as 'social drinking' for me; that it had nothing to do with my willpower or self-respect or moral fiber, that it was a simple biochemical intolerance to a drug.

Alcohol is a very patient drug. It will wait for the alcoholic to pick it up one more time.

My anger made me drink as an escape from reality, a way of forgetting. But you don't know when the medicinal effect ends and the poisoning begins ... This is my sixth year of sobriety. Overcoming alcoholism has been my greatest challenge and my greatest reward.

I find it next to impossible to remain politely silent when people prate to me about the glory of being given another chance to live happily ever after!

I am responsible for no one but myself.

Everything edible is fried in Texas! Or it is buried in the ground to cook before it is eaten. ... Texas food should be forbidden! 'The steaks at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas!' And they are always afloat in grease. Next morning you are served a smaller steak, which serves as a platform for two fried eggs ... all of this afloat in the same grease! 'Chicken, you say? You bet! Comin' up!' Same grease! They are right. Comin' up! For hours afterwards. I couldn't believe the crust of an apple pie! Same grease!

Like many alcoholics, I was a staggering woman in a chic apartment, sick and utterly disgusting.