Those of us who self-identify as alcoholic have endured many hardships and have propagated much misery, both within ourselves and among others. The life of an alcoholic is the antithesis of stability: It is a road not merely rocky but pitted with craters and a seemingly endless series of steep hills and deep valleys. It is a life fraught with fear and self-pity, one saturated in poisonous resentments. It is a life that, sans recovery, is certain to end in abject misery—rotting away in a prison cell or suffering a death much longer and more painful than we could ever have dreamt possible.