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Reason to Believe - by Ginger B. Collins It was a great party. The vodka gimlets sat in a crystal bowl, cradled in ice like oysters on the half-shell. I could snatch one from its frozen bath whenever I wanted—and I wanted often. That combination of ice, octane, and Rose’s lime slid down my throat, filling all the jagged crevices along the way until I felt warm and smooth inside and out. Then I woke up, jostled back to my reality as a fifty year-old woman who had been sober for almost one year. True to my stubborn nature, I had gone cold turkey when the diagnosis of a thyroid condition collided with my life as a functioning alcoholic.I was determined to end my love affair with alcohol and never look back, and replace the hunger for a drink with a righteous desire to be able to say, "I did it all by myself." I was pigheaded enough to pull it off - until my subconscious stepped in.
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