Four Years

I'm probably supposed to say something bold or dramatic right now. Tell you how I climbed out of the dark and into the light. Or thrill you with some tale of debauchery from my past. The truth is none of that shit matters. It's been four years since I drank a beer or put a line of coke up my nose. The self-loathing that came with it still runs deep but it won't knock me down. I can sit here and look clearly at where I was and what I did and the time I wasted and the pain I caused to myself and others and move on.

If you told me a year ago that I'd fall in love, have my heart shattered, quit my job, go back to my old career, leave New York, come to LA and basically blow my life up, I'd have said no fucking way. But if you told me I'd do all that without a drink or a drug, I'd believe you. That much I know. Nothing out there so bad that a drink will make it better. Nothing so horrible that a line of blow won't make worse.

Was on a subway once wishing I was under it when a guy I didn't know looked at me. He said three words that only meant something to him and me. He made me remember what mattered. That guy doesn't know it but he may have saved my life. For him I'm grateful today.