“And drugs, drugs weren’t the problem. They were the only thing that made the pain quiet. They were routine. Ritual. Language. They gave rhythm to the day. They kept the ghosts at bay. They made it easier to laugh, to cry, to forget. They were the thing we had in common when nothing else made sense. I didn’t start using because I wanted to destroy myself. I started because I already felt destroyed. Drugs gave me something to belong to. A pattern. A purpose. A pause button on the chaos in my chest. And once it became a lifestyle, it was hard to imagine anything else.”
Book:Whiskey Chaser