So, I was sitting at my desk trying to figure out what to do next and it hit me like a baseball in the sun. Write about my journey through addiction and recovery. Not the whole thing mind you, parts are pretty boring, but some aren’t. The last year of my addiction and pieces of my recovery are insane, funny and downright heartbreaking.
I mean, I wrote most of my story once, but the whole thing in itself really isn’t fit for human consumption, so this time, on a second go around, I decided to share some of the gritty parts.
People love gritty parts.
Yes, it is called Poetry Through Recovery, but it won’t be all poetry. There will be some personal essays and some funny anecdotes. Just real shit that could maybe help a trainwrecked soul like myself. I did a survey a while back and most people seemed to want to hear about a piece of my life that revolved around living at a place called The Wagon Wheel when I was an eighteen-year-old pregnant mother of two with a crackhead husband.
Trust me, that story is coming. But for some reason, I feel like I need to write this other one first. There is kind of a parallel there, so to speak. When I lived at the Wagon Wheel, I was sober, but living among drunks, addicts, and absolute chaos. Fast forward ten years and it was the same old story, except now I was the drunk asshole. Stories like this – like my story – help people. Maybe I’ll lace Poetry Through Recovery with pieces of the Wagon Wheel. At this point, I feel like I have to.
It’s the only way it’ll all make sense. And sometimes, we need shit to make sense.
Have a blessed day.