Excerpt from the opening chapter

 

I wasn't afraid of death.

 

How could I be? I lived under death's shadow every day. When

you swallow sixty Vicodin, twenty sleeping pills, drink a bottle of

vodka, and still survive, a certain sense of invulnerability stays

with you.

 

 

 

When you continually use drugs with the kind of reckless

determination that I did, the limit to how much heroin or

crack you can ingest is not defined by dollar amounts but by the

amounts your body can withstand without experiencing a seizure

or respiratory failure. . . .

 

 

I found myself contemplating death again. Only this time I wasn't

going to leave it to chance. I was going to buy a gun, load the

thing, place the barrel in my mouth, and blow my fucking brains

out.

 

 

And all-

of my problems-

would be-

solved.

 

 

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