David McCreery's memoir of growing-up in a family of alcoholics in Pittsburgh, PA began as a mere journal entry, one February morning. It would become a place to grapple with tormented questions about how it was that, despite the many blessings of affluence and education that had been bestowed on him, he was unemployed, alone, behind on his rent and estranged from the only family member he had ever loved.

Alcohol had always been the go-to answer for his parents, two of his siblings and assorted aunts and uncles on both sides of his family. But David didn't have a problem with alcohol on that cold February morning. David had a problem with living.