Me at 26 is alone again, lying on a bathroom floor. My face is numb, that’s a weird feeling. I’m so sick. Dope sick, that’s what it’s called. Take a few more hits and I’ll be fine again. I just gotta get up. But I’m so tired, and my head is suddenly so heavy.

Me at 26 is lying on a bathroom floor feeling myself die. I’m dead, I’m so fucking dead. Not a lot is going to save me now. I just watched my lift go by. I saw the exact moment where things went to terribly wrong. There’s vomit in my hair. And now I understand exactly how I ended up on a bathroom floor with vomit in my hair.

Cut to me at 23, doing my very first line of coke,
“My Dad used to do this stuff.”
I say to Craig, my new best friend with dreadlocks and little red dots all over him.
“It’s good shit.” He says.

Yeah. This Is Pretty Good Shit.