They asked me to write a letter about what your addiction has cost us as a family. And as I sat down last night to write it... I couldn’t stop thinking about the day you were born. Holding you in my arms for the first time. Looking down at you. Your sweet beautiful face. I had never felt so much love and joy in my entire life. And I thought that what if in that moment, I heard a voice, some omniscient narrator who said, “Here’s what’s going to happen..." Your daughter is going to be funny, and smart and outgoing. You’ll see it instantly... from a young age. She’ll be charismatic and make friends easily. She’ll be kind and sensitive... Maybe too sensitive. She won’t be an easy child. She’ll struggle. And in turn, you’ll struggle to understand her. To understand why she won’t go to sleep. To understand what’s going on inside of her head. The night terrors that can’t be interrupted. The times after dinner when she’ll sit at the kitchen table and count the tiles over and over until she hyperventilates. The fight to hold her in your arms. To tell her it’s okay. To calm down. The kicking. The screaming. The anxiety of being harmed. Of losing her mother or father or little sister. Of being alone. The transitions from day to night. From home to school. From meal to meal. The panic attacks. Mood swings. Confusion. Disorganization. And the tough part is you’ll feel as helpless to help her as she does herself. You’ll make mistakes. Small ones. And big ones. You’ll look for help from people who aren’t helpful. Or who don’t actually understand what’s happening. And the guilt will never leave you. But if you remain calm and patient, if you listen closely, you’ll begin to understand her more. The counting. The repetition. The need for symmetry. That if you kiss her left cheek before bed, you have to kiss her right cheek. And her forehead. Then her chin. That it’s about balance. Stability. The wish to organize her feelings and thoughts so she can breathe easier, relax and maybe, hopefully, fall asleep. And there will be moments of relief. In her and in you. Moments that feel so normal and calm and rewarding that you’ll find yourself praying they last forever. Even though she’s only a child. And the hardest parts have yet to even come. Because when she discovers drugs, she’ll change forever. You’ll never know if she’s lying or telling the truth. She’s be volatile and sweet and angry and charming and manipulative. She’ll scar her little sister. Strip away every bit of innocence. Whatever she had left after her dad passed away. And you’ll go to bed every night with the fear that she won’t wake up in the morning. And when she does, you’ll breathe a sigh of relief… until you realize that this most likely will never end. She’ll steal from you. She’ll attack you. She’ll emotionally abuse you. And at the age of sixteen she’ll overdose. Spend four days in a coma. And you won’t know if she’ll live or die. But when she wakes up, she’ll be given the opportunity to get clean.To become a different person. A better person. Here’s the toughest part… No matter what you say or do or wish, the decision will be all hers. And all you can do is hope she gives herself the chance she deserves.

EUPHORIA - AND SALT THE EARTH BEHIND YOU