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Shame can pop up anywhere--like when you have the luxury of possibly saving your own life.

Despite the comfort it seemed to give me for a few hours at a time, alcohol was the worst kind of friend--and a bridge worth burning.

I wasn't beaten, tied down, or threatened into having sex with him, but I certainly didn't consent.

I wasn't prepared for the shame that can come with being true to my recovery.

Alcohol was my abuser, but I fell in love with it anyway.