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360 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2011


“Am I a runaway train, or am I the track?”
“I was chasing something. And damn it felt so fucking good.”
“Today I was sober, but tomorrow wasn’t here yet.”
“But heroin was my air. It had a hold of me like we were chained together. And those shackles weren’t just around my wrists, they were tied around my brain too.”
“I could make up a story to cover the last eight years, but the scars on my arms told the truth. So did my ankles, the skin between my toes, even the veins that had burst on my breasts. I was like that board my dad used to tack papers to in his office. Eventually, the cork fell apart because it had too many holes, and my Dad got a new one. Did my battle wounds really prove I was a survivor? Or was I too damaged to be glued back together?”
“It’s not a mess, Cole. It’s a beautiful mess.”
“I’ll always be a recovering heroin addict, but heroin no longer owns me.”
“My memoir is no damn fairytale. But my story isn’t over yet.”
“Good-bye, Boston.”