...To be an addict is to be something of a cognitive acrobat. You spread versions of yourself around, giving each person the truth he or she needs — you need, actually — to keep them at a remove. Let’s stipulate that I do not have a good memory, having recklessly sautéed my brain in fistfuls of pharmaceutical spices. Beyond impairment, there may be no more unreliable narrator than an addict. Recovered or not, I am someone who used my mouth to constantly create one more opportunity to get high.Here is what I deserved: hepatitis C, federal prison time, H.I.V., a cold park bench, an early, addled death.Here is what I got: the smart, pretty wife, the three lovely children, the job that impresses.Here is what I remember about how That Guy became This Guy: not much. But my version of events is worth knowing, if for no other reason than I was there.
Friday, 13 February 2015
From the fevered imagination of exilestreet at 17:51