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




And all-

of my problems-

would be-