Showing posts from June, 2016

Video of my talk at the Life Ring Conference

You can find it  here

Dr Oz appearance July 5th!

Please tune in July 5th to see me for my long awaited appearance on Dr Oz. It is unusual for a junkie like myself to get a national platform like this. I hope it will help others understand addiction.

Tore Back

"That bitch is tore back," he told me. He pointed to Cherri across the street. "Tore back?" I asked him. "Yeah," he told me "I forgot you are from fucking OHIO. What is in Ohio...anyway..." he points again. Cherri was sitting at the doughnut shop at 7th and Market, in front of what must have been a cup of coffee at one time. There was a brown substance slowly dripping off the table under the booth where it reached a pool of empty sugar packets and her shoe. Her pantyhose were black and torn. Her knees were white, red, and scabby. I could instantly see why. With one hand she propped up her sagging head, with the other she was gingerly scratching the living hell out of that knee. I would have though she was dead if it wasn't for the occasional bob of the head which lead to a twitch then a scratch. Her purse was laid out all over the booth along with the contents of her backpack. The coffee shop would let you sit in the booths for one hour

The Big Fix- Hope After Heroin

If you enjoy my blog, I hope you will consider buying my book  here  or  here  or from an Indy bookstore.

A Blog About Recovery from Eating Disorders

I came across this blog  that one of my young relatives is writing about her recovery from eating disorders. I really was impressed that someone in their teens could not only have insight to their condition, but be able to put feelings into words. I thought some people who visit here might relate.

A junkie travels outside her comfort zone.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity. I took some mixed family/work trips that both commenced in spending time near the water. I'm from Ohio originally. I grew up in the 70's when our bodies of water were contaminated with toxic sludge. My parents would encourage us to go outside, mainly to get out of their hair, and come back when the street lights came on. Kids would leave their homes after sucking down whatever sugary breakfast cereal was available, wash it down with some tang or juicey juice, then head out for adventure. I was in the third our fourth grade when I would climb into construction sites, only to find a few stashed penthouse magazines and a few Budweiser's. None of the stuff made any sense to me. In my entire life, I never heard my parents have sex and barely ever saw them kiss each other. My mother started sleeping on the couch downstairs when I was 12 so I grew up assuming us kids were created through some type of spontaneous combustion. I

The State of Harm Reduction in the South

“The south is intertwined with backward policies about drug use and people from those areas who use drugs especially IV drugs will suffer the consequences because of ignorant politicians and policy makers who think jesus christ will save them from humanities ailments.” As the “Opioid Crisis” reaches a fever pitch across the United States, there are frequent reminders that no person or areas are immune to its deadly grasp. This includes sleepy Southern States that were previously known  more for rolling hills than pill mills, that is unless you speak with the residents. The dirty little secret of rampant opioid use is now impossible to sweep under the rug. The South is now the epicenter of a public health crisis. Opioid overdose is now the leading cause of preventable death in the United State. West Virginia and Kentucky both make the list of the top five states of deaths per 100,000 residents. Both the rise of Oxycontin, and the increased distribution of heroin into the sleepy cent

A Junkie Unicorn In the 'Burbs

I hear the chomping next to me. Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. Or maybe it is more like chomp, crinkle, crunch. The consistent rhythm of tiny hands reaching into a small bag to retrieve a Fritos, crinkling it with anxious anticipation, followed by oblivious open mouth crunching. I push my feet into the chain link fence in an unsuccessful attempt at making myself more comfortable. How is it possible that a six year old can have a baseball game lasting two hours? Isn’t this form of cruel and unusual punishment for all parties? I see the parents nervously scrolling through their phones wondering if this game will ever end. I mean the score is 15 to 6. While I appreciate a good lesson in perseverance, I also know my ass fell asleep nearly an hour ago from this torture device known as a folding chair. “Mommy” my son is pulling on my sweatshirt, breaking my daydream. “Yes, son” I tell him as I stare blankly at the changing batter. He pulls again. “Mommmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy”. As I turn to