BLOG

I grew up on the East Coast of Florida. My mom has lived in the same house my whole life, down the road from an elementary and a middle school, public housing next to the schools, grocery stores and a shopping plaza on the other side. Trailor Park up the road. Basic, lower middle-class neighborhoods. From the time I was about 8 years old, my mom had to work two jobs, so I’d be alone a lot.

In the past year, we’ve heard discussion in popular culture about what “sobriety” means. “Sober” sober (abstaining from everything) versus “California sober” (not doing harder drugs but still getting high).
I’ve had philosophical discussions with clients regarding what “sobriety” means to them…

Once upon a time, in a town not too far from here, we begin a story of escapism. Now, we could go back generations and talk about family histories, alcoholics who spent paychecks on bathtub gin, opiate eaters and who knows what else, but for the purposes of this tale, we’ll stick to the (relative) present.

The clean ones. The one’s who have never felt real pain. They wear the sheen of someone who has never suffered. A patina of purity, a veneer that speaks of the innocence of never having hurt. The vacant look of kind confusion when they are asked to understand one who has suffered.