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addiction, substance abuse, perscription pills, recovery, alcoholics anonymous, fibromyalgia, memoir
1st
Draft

Published on:

Feb. 14, 2008, 10:30pm

Word Count:

1765

Work Description

A memoir piece about the years I was addicted to Perscription Pills as a result of having Fibromyalgia and other chronic diseases. The story also covers the years of recovery and the impact this had on my children.

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Print WorkPrint repairs to broken furniture and damaged property, covering the cost of rehab when insurance doesn’t, searching the home for every last ounce of drug or alcohol hidden away.  One father bought a brand new car for his freshly sober daughter, thinking since she had gotten help in rehab, she wouldn’t be having anymore accidents.  My mother spent over $10,000 paying bills that were far overdue.  She bought me a new car, replacing the one I ran into the ground.  My ex-in-laws drove across country to pick up my daughter and bring her to California for the summer while I was in a rehabilitation center.  My condo was sold and I moved to a more manageable apartment.

 

The day I woke in the hospital, hallucinating, seeing spots on every surface, nurses seemingly moving like automatons; mostly I was completely confused.  I had suffered some brain trauma from the drugs and seizures – but part of me was vastly relieved.  I was in the hospital 10 days, rehab 3 weeks, and the Partial Hospital Program at the hospital to deal with the Depression.  It had ended.  There would be no going back.  That chapter of my life was over.  I had so far to crawl before I could begin to walk but the nightmare was over.  I was terrified and ashamed, racked by guilt, but I had a chance now.  I could barely look at my daughter, but I had an opportunity to make-up for my mistakes.

 

As I crept back into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, I was very embarrassed but I would do whatever I had to do to recover.  Luckily, the people in those rooms are generous and full of heart.  They knew of shame, they themselves felt they had invented it.  I was befriended and supported until I could begin to support myself.  I had done it before for alcohol, I would do it again for drugs.  It didn’t come easy.  It’s been many meetings since and I have begun to feel like a human being again.  I am profoundly grateful . . .  too many have not been able to reach and maintain sobriety. – things could have been so much worse.  My personal life of shame is ending.  I no longer have the need to trot it out and tote it around, its imprint leaving deep grooves in my back. 

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Discussion

 I love the honesty and think you have some great images.  I've been trying to write more honestly myself.  I think it could move and flow better though.  This can help build up and also make it more gripping.

I live with several medical conditions- ones I can't hide from.

This is the one thing I could get in the box the right way, I just got on here tonight and don't know how to use things yet, but there are a lot of instances like this where it would be cool to see some more detail.  Get descriptive of it.  Another instance is where you mention family that can't understand.  These types of things are great jumping off points and could be worked more.

Thanks for letting me comment.  

 Thank you for sharing this story with us.  I really enjoyed your imagery. The imagery in the two paragraphs below really stood out to me.

There are so many, like me, who live in the folds of life, in those creases where the sides are pressed so tightly against each other there is no room to breathe.  They are the ones everyone would like to forget, but can’t.  They are the ones who take up too many support services, escalating medical costs.  They are the ones the family hates to come home to, would love to escape, desperately want a safe place to put.

He is one such as me.  The Eleanor Rigby type with hair haphazardly pulled into a pony tail, wearing a ratty bathrobe that hasn’t been cleaned in quite awhile, curled up in a corner of her couch, downing more than a half gallon of wine a night?  She is my best friend.  That one in handcuffs, the police are putting into the back of their car, slurring his words and swearing at the cops? . . .An intimate acquaintance

 

I would have to agree with Presley it is wonderful that you are so honest with your situation, but there is room for more detail.

Thanks again!

First of all, let me say I am touched by your honesty and sincerity. They flow through the writing and give it emotional power. Thank you very much for sharing.

Before you read my critique, let me say that I feel guilty writing it in that I will never have your experience, so I am not qualified to critique. A work such as this, no matter how it is written (and this is written well, mind you), has truth behind it, and tragedy. I have immense respect for the topic, and the style and form seem secondary to the message, which is important regardless. I hope you will understand my decision to limit myself to a discussion of style and form, and know that the discussion is a world apart from the most important part of the story; my critique is ONLY of these things, not your life.

I don't have a lot of work with confessional pieces, so take my ideas with a grain of salt. As usual, I'll go through the topics one by one and touch on each.

Tone/Structure

I want to tell you that I love the narrator (you!). She is personably and human. Even though I haven't had her problems, I feel like I know her, like she's a relative or a friend, and I understand her troubles. Your conversational style and casualness keep the story light in light(no pun intended) of the heaviness of the topic. On that note, good show!

I did feel, sometimes, though, that this mood was interrupted. The narrator felt like she was holding back, not telling me everything. Lots of little details were skipped; emotions were cut out in favor of description. For such an honest narrator, I wanted to see more of the person. More of the personality. I want to know what made her recover so fast and well (my experience with many folks is often that they struggle through multiple rehabs).

In short, I want to see the richness of detail and description that the truth of this story lends itself too.

Structure

I know this is kind of a stream-of-consciousness piece, but I felt slightly jumped about reading it. I think because it is such an emotional topic, it just spills out onto the page uncontrollably, and it's hard to sort out where to put all the feelings (this is why I can never write about how I feel personally, anyway. Yay projection!). It loosely follows chronological order, but I think a more rigid following would help it.

There are many cutscenes to the author's emotions, feelings, etc. It often switches perspective to the daughter/family. I have two suggestions on how to tie this in:

1) make it a short but emotion-filled piece, trading perspective changes for the author's viewpoint on her family members at the time. Don't let the narrator tell more than she knows at that point in time(ie, about the daughter's reactions) and focus in on her perceptions and feelings.

2) expand it into a much larger story, with scenes and dialog and no description, just happening. Flashes/cutscenes are extremely appropriate, given how disorderly addiction makes you. Remember that if you decide to go this way, there will be a little fiction in your story, because nobody remembers that well. Don't worry about it. If you do this, you can do some really cool stuff with reliability of the narrator and lying narrators, having the reader discover along with you the drug addiction's problems.

I feel privileged to have you read my critique and to have read your work.

Eek, I'm really sorry about the giant wall of text. That's what I get for using a terminal based web browser. Message/write/email me if you need the nice formatted version, I won't repost it because that would be Karma-spoofing.

 there is beauty in that honesty

and honestly i find written beautifully

 

 

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