When Julie had her last drink. Yesterday. She vomited. All
over herself. Julie suggested. That might be a good sign. A good lesson. That
if she continues to drink. She’s going to puke.
Believe me. Puking is the least of Julie’s woes. She’s not only an
alcoholic. But a victim of devastating depression. Languishing. Hopelessly, it
seems. Unable to grasp the severity of her condition. Unable to gain control of
herself. That’s my definition of mental illness. Julie should be put away. And
treated. Until she’s capable of taking charge of her life again. It’s that
simple. But life is too complex. It really ain’t simple. --Jim Broede
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