July
The Vicious Cycle
The mental state of the sick alcoholic is beyond description. I had no resentments against individuals–the whole world was all wrong. My thoughts went round and round with, What’s it all about anyhow? People have wars and kill each other; they struggle and cut each other’s throats for success, and what does anyone get out of it? Haven’t I been successful, haven’t I accomplished extraordinary things in business? What do I get out of it? Everything’s all wrong and the hell with it. For the last two years of my drinking, I prayed during every drunk that I wouldn’t wake up again. Three months before I met Jackie, I had made my second feeble try at suicide.
pp. 225-226
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