“I don’t know what he is going to do to you, but I can’t say you don’t deserve and I don’t think anyone is going to judge either of us when they find out what you did to him and why you made him run away.”
“Recovery means freedom. Freedom to be who I am, to be who I want to be. Freedom to do what I want to do, and the freedom to continue writing the rest of my story. Freedom to make my dreams come true and to dream again.”
You realize you are not damned to follow in his footsteps.
“It’s deeper than any substances.”
“I’d like to toss a grenade over the fence.”
“If you drink again, you’ll die.” Of course, I didn’t really believe my doctor when I heard those words. I’m in my twenties, everyone feels like they’re dying after a hard night, right? He showed me my tox report, my liver count, my pancreas in danger of exploding…
There are quite a few subgroups – some of them surprising – that outnumber the national gay and lesbian contingent.
Baby I hope we become famous. You, and your blue-collar bullshit alcoholism – me, and my pretentious attempt at captivating it all through art.
At age thirty-three, I crawled beside my mother in our guest bed and began to sob. “If he woke up right now and needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn’t be sober enough to drive him,” I wailed. “He” being my one-year-old son.
I found that I could manipulate alcohol to escape situations that caused me anxiety.