On March 4th, 2012, I was having trouble breathing. “Am I going to be okay?” I asked the nurse who was monitoring my heart rate. “I don’t know,” she said. “If you are, I hope you stop destroying your life.”
It was not the first time substance abuse had landed me in the emergency room. But, though I didn’t know it then, it would be my last.
This is not a ‘drunkalogue.’ It is not a retelling of my wildest nights and most desperate days because, in the end, every addict’s story is the same. At first, the substance — whether it’s drugs or food or sex or alcohol — works perfectly. It erases the boy who broke your heart, drowns out the voices saying you will never be enough, numbs the fear that suffocates you — until, first slowly and then all at once, it stops working…
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