I started writing to save my life. Even today, but most especially in the earliest days of my recovery the act of writing helped me maintain perspective and focus. I wrote in a medium that was publicly accessible because I was so profoundly alone. The feedback I got really encouraged me and helped motivate me.
All I’d ever really been was fucked up, and somehow in the act of writing about trying to recover from that I attracted the attention of Christopher Kennedy Lawford, who asked if I would agree to be interviewed for a book about the moment that led me to recovery; the moment I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. I remember at the time being so flattered that I almost didn’t grant the interview. Seriously, if your fucked-upness has attracted the attention of a member of the Kennedy clan, you’ve reached your zenith. Read the rest of this entry »





He’s back in. That’s good. My sponsor asked what I would have wanted someone to do when I went out. That answer was easy. I was desperate to know that someone cared. That anyone cared. I know now that they did, but everyone I knew simply stepped back. And I remember feeling like it didn’t matter anyway; that I could show up or not and nobody cared. So why bother to care myself, you know?



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