The isolation of parenting created for me this perfect bubble of despair. It meant drinking, alone, in rapidly increasing amounts, for the first three years of my children’s lives. It meant sickness, and fear and insomnia and anxiety and depression and weight gain and age... and eventually, liver and kidney pain. It meant hiding vodka bottles in my closet and laundry room. It meant suicidal thoughts on a daily basis.
I thought I was smarter than the booze.