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the strange position of coming home to somewhere unfamiliar.
Junkies don’t see it as help, they see it as control.
Writing my grief into these pages to make it tangible, so it would exist somewhere outside of me and I wouldn’t have to drag its weight with me always.
Addiction is a hunter contained within the hunted, an enemy you can’t run from because it lives inside of you.
Slowly, bit by bit, normal and happy felt less and less like an act. But as I let myself become this new person, I felt my old self, the self who had a father and then even the self who mourned my father, falling away. I felt adulthood pulling me forward, and I wondered where and how my father would fit into my life then. I wondered if he would even know me now, if I was abandoning him by letting myself enjoy a life that he wasn’t part of and wouldn’t recognize—that he might even sneer at and call bougie.
The idea that stability could be a state of calm, rather than a prize always just out of reach, was a revelation.
