The setting: An ex-girlfriend’s apartment in West Los Angeles. The reason: I was hoping that if we both got drunk enough, she would sleep with me one more time. The timing: I was leaving Los Angeles the next morning, to move back East.
The result: I couldn’t get her drunk enough. Nothing happened.
At least, nothing happened in the apartment, other than my registering her look of disgust at my drinking. The real “something” took place outside her building, as I sat in my car, sobering up, and I experienced my first moment of clarity in 15 years of drinking.
I remember so clearly sitting there and thinking: “I’ve turned into an animal. This woman loves me, and all I want to do is use her and throw her away.”
Even before then, I had realized I needed to stop drinking. Despite degrees from Amherst College and Columbia Law School, I was unemployable. I was unlovable.
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