I don’t pretend to remember exactly what I was thinking during this time, or all the convoluted ways I rationalised my actions to myself, but I do remember the fundamental inability to buy into the reality of my secret life, and the inarticulate conviction that so long as the official version of my life continued without hiccup, that was what counted. I felt like a marine crustacean whose shell remained on shore, a solid proxy for its being, while the animal inside slithered off into the sea.
— Read on www.theguardian.com/news/ng-interactive/2026/nov/03/my-secret-life-as-a-relapsed-alcoholic-addiction-sober
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