On Huff Post…Guilt: My Last, Worst Addiction

I’d just told [my son’s psychiatrist] that I was a 43-year-old single mother of two sons, that I worked as a freelance TV writer and I was in fine health. Of course I didn’t say I’d been depressed for as long as I could remember. Nor did I mention my drinking. I’d always worked around it, hadn’t I? I flashed on the debris I’d left at home after staying up all night waiting for word of Alex’s whereabouts and then rushing to get out to the hospital first thing in the morning. The empty bottle of cheap chardonnay on my coffee table, the expensive concealer I’d used to cover the dark circles under my eyes left on the sink, the flinty smile still imprinted on the bathroom mirror, the one I’d practiced in hopes it would disguise my pain when I delivered my firstborn son to this state-of-the-art kiddie psych ward.

Read the whole article on Huffington Post’s mental health blog…

via Victoria Costello: Guilt: My Last, Worst Addiction.

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