![Thomas[like the train]](/xf/data/avatars/s/52/52063.jpg?1452661423){kind=avatar}
I just finished reading On Writing in a cell on the treatment side of Polk County Jail where I'm attending a year long treatment program to kick my cocaine and drinking problems. I'm 24. Before I came in I was on the verge of death. I was going nowhere and the only think keeping me alive was the image of my parents having to find my body. I felt like and was a failure in every sense of the word.
I've always had a little talent as a writer but was convinced it was some unobtainable goal I could never achieve. I gave up on my dream and replaced it with excessive drug use and partying. Every once and awhile I would type up a few pages of some idea I got between lines or whiskey pulls. Then it would die. I had no focus. My hard drive at home is filled with the skeletons of half written plays, outlines and late night brainstorming sessions that I'm sure produced nothing but literary gold(or bullshit).
On top of that I lost my motivation to read. After work and shows at the community theatre high as a kite and usually drunk it was the furthest thing from my mind. I used to get lost in books Now I got lost in 8 balls and bottles. Since I've been here I've been reading a lot. It's been 3 months and I can leave for work now and I've been reading in my truck on breaks. Instead of mindlessly combing the Internet to pass the time.
This is getting a little lengthier then I ment it to. There's a good chance you'll never see this anyway but that book made writing obtainable. Something I could and should do everyday not just when I was in the mood to change the world. I'm not sure I'll find success but I'm not afraid to fail anymore.
It also highlighted something I've been trying to drill into my thick skull this whole time. Drugs at their best are a distraction at their worst deranged kidnappers making us dance for their pleasure. Thank you for helping me along my journey to freedom.
I've always had a little talent as a writer but was convinced it was some unobtainable goal I could never achieve. I gave up on my dream and replaced it with excessive drug use and partying. Every once and awhile I would type up a few pages of some idea I got between lines or whiskey pulls. Then it would die. I had no focus. My hard drive at home is filled with the skeletons of half written plays, outlines and late night brainstorming sessions that I'm sure produced nothing but literary gold(or bullshit).
On top of that I lost my motivation to read. After work and shows at the community theatre high as a kite and usually drunk it was the furthest thing from my mind. I used to get lost in books Now I got lost in 8 balls and bottles. Since I've been here I've been reading a lot. It's been 3 months and I can leave for work now and I've been reading in my truck on breaks. Instead of mindlessly combing the Internet to pass the time.
This is getting a little lengthier then I ment it to. There's a good chance you'll never see this anyway but that book made writing obtainable. Something I could and should do everyday not just when I was in the mood to change the world. I'm not sure I'll find success but I'm not afraid to fail anymore.
It also highlighted something I've been trying to drill into my thick skull this whole time. Drugs at their best are a distraction at their worst deranged kidnappers making us dance for their pleasure. Thank you for helping me along my journey to freedom.
