The first time I walked into a psychiatrist's office, I was 22 years old. My first marriage was falling apart and I was drinking far too much. Of course, those two things were inextricably linked - I just couldn't see it then. Nor could the shrink. When therapy couldn't save that relationship, I drank my way through the divorce too. During my separation, my life continued to spiral and I found my way back to the therapist's couch.
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