(5/13) “I’ve tried therapy five times. And I’ve quit five times....

(5/13) “I’ve tried therapy five times. And I’ve quit five times. They torture me with questions, just like you’re doing. How do you feel? How do you feel? There is no feel. My nerve tips have been incinerated. By HIV, by meth, by prison. The only thing I feel is the throttle in my hand when I’m cranking it. Maybe you have time to sit around, saying: ‘What if? What if?’ But I have a to-do list longer than Eighth Avenue. I can’t keep digging up the most shameful, the most aggravating part of my life. When I go back there, I start hating myself. And that leads to one place. That leads to meth. So after this, I’m done. No more interviews. No more therapy. In prison we had our own version of therapy. It was a track in the yard, if you could even call it that, 100 yards of pebbles and potholes. But whenever things got to be too much, instead of slapping your cellmate for farting all night, you put on your headphones and walk the track. Think about anything you want. Just don’t think about the future; it’s the only way to protect yourself. Because nothing is in your control. Three years into my sentence my father was diagnosed with cancer. My mom had to deal with the whole thing herself. With everything else she was going through, she took him to all his appointments. One time I called her and they’d just gotten back from chemotherapy. They were still in the car, because my father had shit himself, and she couldn’t get him out. They were waiting on my Uncle Tommy to come help. How humiliating is that? The man who provided you everything, sitting in his own shit, for forty-five minutes, and you can’t do a thing. How’s that for being a complete fucking failure? We had one final call, right before he passed. He said: ‘I’m not giving up on you,’ same as the other times. But this time was different. This time was goodbye. He said: ‘Johnny, my time is about up. Take care of your mother and sister.’ I told him I would. But I wasn’t coming home for 15 years. We both knew I wasn’t going to take care of anyone. It was nothing but a show. When I hung up the phone, I wanted to scream at someone. But there was nobody but me. So I put on my headphones, and went out to the track.”