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So, I’ll move onto the next vehicle that celebrates my rock bottom: Celebrity Rehab. Hey, if I can get my body back in shape and raise awareness about whippet addiction then I’m happy. Or at least I think I’m happy? I haven’t popped an oxy since four minutes ago.
I want you to know, your mind will wander. Let it. You’re about to move into a hospital with four stark white walls, a bed, a TV set straight out of the ‘90s, and a slew of machines and monitors that will hum and beep endlessly through the night. You’re going to wonder “why you?” and then you’ll see the 7-year-old boy in the room next to you, with a brazenly bald head and a smile you can’t even fathom and you’ll wonder, “why him?”