Nothing is enough

I begin pacing back and forth, like a zoo animal. "Nothing is enough, nothing is ever enough. It's like there's this pit inside of me that can't be filled, no matter what. I'm defective."

"You're not defective. You're an alcoholic," he says, as if this neatly explains everything. Which, of course, it does.

Augusten Burroughs

Dry. A Memoir