And that brought him to AA, which he said was started by a Catholic and offered a lot of guidance and fellowship similar to the Church, but at this point I got off Father Meacham’s train of thought. Like many a priest, he was used to hearing himself talk. A bit of a droner. On and on he went, and I noticed in the corner of his office a small painting behind a chalice that marked some anniversary. I peered at it closer and I could make out that it was St. Anthony. On the left side of the painting he was beset by demons, and on the right side he’s casting one out from the house of a poor shepherd. And it occurred to me—back then they just called it the devil, and now we call it a disease. But it’s being overwhelmed by temptation, and you can call it evil, but it lives in the person and it has to be purged, exorcised somehow. I thanked the good Father Meacham, who blessed me, and I left.

February 25

They say that depression comes with MS. Like overcast skies making it hard to focus.

February 26

Got my last check from American today. Severance severed. We are now running at a deficit. Probability of ultimate ruin equals one. Sent out another 50 résumés, now going past airline contacts into want ads and headhunters. This is getting hopeless.

February 27

Whiskey. The water of life. I’ve been good all week, and I can take it easy—there ain’t anything hard about drinking. Just a taste, as the old man used to say. The old man had a problem but he didn’t know. I at least know, so if I confine it and control it, I’m fine. I’m not hurting anyone. As long as I keep to myself it’s fine. What’s a life without whiskey? What is that worth? And what’s the point of being miserable?

February 28

Can’t stop. Can’t think. This train has gone express somehow. Nothing left to do but drink. Drink one drink, then two, then a river, a lake, an ocean, it’s all the same. The drinking makes me sick. The not drinking makes me sicker. Great job, Pat, you fucked up entirely.

February 29

I have to stop. Every night ends in tears. Anne and Dan won’t speak to me. I’m all alone and it’s my own goddamn fault. I did this to me. Fuck me. Just let me fucking die.

March 1

Last day, last pills. I stopped taking them five days ago but what the hell. My apologies to the MS Society, who will have to do without this bullshit.