My story, by Robin

What happened

By far my last drink was not my worst time out. It was the after stuff
that hurt the most.  Coming home to a boyfriend and my father.
I am not really sure what my children knew but I know that they were not
with me. Driving home from Pompano to Ft. Pierce still hung over,
hallucinating. I think now that angels must have been driving. I still
can't believe I made it home to my dad's. This was the day after I drank
the 11th of July. Disgust in their eyes; especially the boyfriend who had
watched this binge I was on since Nov. of ‘93. "It’s not fair”, he
said, “to those that love you"! "Watching you leave and not
knowing if you will come home or we will get a call from the sheriff to
say you’re dead in a ditch". All the demons in the world were in my head.
All that I had done for two years in a relapse came to me - the
merciful moment of clarity. The next day I was back at a meeting,
 wrist bandaged, hair not brushed; a literal visual emotional mess.
People from before were there and especially Dean M., who has
since passed, gave me the biggest hug and said "pray for the willingness
to be willing". So I came back.