Random Recovery

Jonathan Edward Kinnelblossom

I have tried a thousand times to issue a warning as fervent and mighty as the nightly passages from Ankorage to the mouth of the Shanghai River. It is an actual river that is long and retarded, being full with mud, and the relevant matter of life, caked with a thick, violet crust of real Ahmahininadads.

Ahmahininadad’s is the exact place for all manner of licentiousness and revelry which might occur during the depths of a freshly brewed storm, happening just slightly off center in relation to my painstaker’s napkin cupboards. I can’t tell you just exactly how extreme the proceedings would get there, in time with the conjecture of Isildur’s Bane (in time, with the conjecture of Isildur’s Bane) BUT ACTUALLY NOT.

It was the Fall of a different year, something in my twenties, and I had fallen ill again with another mildness of youthful conjectury. Never mind the sense in which the frivolousness of the  what accompanied a mild, decent fellow in this most recently beheld invictiousnesses!!

This is what happen5.


I found this amongst some things that I had written drunk. I wrote basically only while at least somewhat obliterated for many years after we walked away from the cult. I’d started writing in earnest when I was 13, and by the time I was 18 I had accumulated many notebooks full of material. After going through treatment and becoming religious, I began publishing a monthly newsletter. Jessi would write articles with me, and she did a lot of the page layout and design work. That all sort of shut down after I relapsed, and after that I would need to be messed up to some extent in order to really express anything (or even to be motivated to be productive in any way.)  I’d never really enjoyed drinking much before, but it’s just so…legal. When I was a teenager, hallucinogens had been my favorite, and I’d liked marijuana laced with something that would really make me stop caring. Heroin and opium were the best for that. Alcohol became the new thing, though, once I’d slipped back into the need to artificially remove pain. You don’t have to call someone and go to a guy’s house, or walk down to the corner and be all shady about it. So it was a convenience thing, really. Also, I just didn’t want that whole world around my family. The world of drugs. I mean, pot is easy to get without having to go over to the dark side, but you understand what I mean.

Not having had much experience with it myself, I didn’t realize at the time that alcoholism was at least as bad as (if not worse than) any other type of drug addiction that I could have been digested into in my desperation for oblivion.

By Ben Wolf

It's a secret!

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