“I told myself I would never smoke anything. I also never thought I’d be on the verge of death seven years later — fun how life works, huh?”
Ain’t that the truth.
When you’re a kid and someone asks what you want to be when you grow up, the answers are always big and bright, like... "President of the United States", "an Astronaut", or even "veterinarian - so I can save every animal in the world"! You never imagine answering with homeless, addict, or someone bouncing from couch-to-couch, week-to-week, month-to-month; between homes and jobs you can’t keep. No child dreams of surviving their own destruction.
Maybe I’m biased — he’s family, and he has no idea I’m reading his most personal thoughts — but I was completely touched by this book. The writing is authentic, genuine, funny, and painfully real. I mean… it is real. It’s his life.
I’m currently sharing this story with my brother, who has struggled with substance and alcohol abuse, and my cousin, who dedicates her beautiful and priceless time to helping others through it. That’s the kind of book this is — one that sparks conversation across different sides of the same battle.
There are moments that made me smile — stopping a kid from being bullied 👏, comparing a friend’s grandpa to a South Park character — the kind of details that make you see everything clearly in your head. It’s relatable in a way that sneaks up on you. It also highlights something heavy and important: the exposures and influences outside your home walls that you simply cannot control.
The description of a jack-o’-lantern while high on LSD had me laughing with them. You could feel the moment — chaotic, vivid, almost cinematic. But when Xanax entered the picture, my chest tightened. I remember being drugged with one at a party years ago, and it didn’t go well. I hated the feeling. Reading his experience made my stomach turn. It was so early in the book, and already so much had happened. That realization hit hard. Let me just be clear - it gets harder.
What makes it even harder is knowing this is what he went through — and I had no idea. That realization sits heavy. It makes me question myself. Was I a careless cousin? A distracted friend? A sister who missed the signs? Or is naïveté not as rare as we think? Maybe that’s the point of addiction — it thrives quietly. It hides in plain sight. It happens alone, or alongside others who are struggling just the same. You don’t always see it until the story is already written.
This was a slightly slower read for me — not because it lacks anything, but because it demands you sit with it. It’s raw. It’s honest. It’s written by someone I love.
What a story. And what an important one to share — for all ages.