The Story of M: Part 1

My therapist tells me I’m addicted to chaos.

Among other things.

So let me tell you about M.

I’d known M for less than a month and already she’d crawled up underneath my skin and nested tightly in a ball in the center of my stomach.

It went down like this—listen:

I’d written this memoir about being a drug addict and it was the last day of my book tour, or, actually, my book tour was over and I was flying back to Savannah from San Francisco. I’d spent the night with my dad and his family out in Point Reyes. It was strange, you know, ‘cause part of me felt like I would never be able to even set foot inside that house again—let alone spend the night, wake up in the morning and wander into the kitchen to make coffee. Among the things my drug addiction took from me was my relationship with my dad and step-mom and little brother and sister. I stole from them, broke into their house, lashed out at them crazy and irrational and terrifying.

I was eleven when my little brother, Jasper, was born. Daisy is two years younger than he is. All I ever wanted was to be an example for them of someone who was open and accepting and real. I wanted to inspire them and make them feel safe and help them to love and be true to themselves.

But I failed. I robbed them of an innocent childhood. I terrorized them and took their mommy and daddy away. I brought them fear and confusion and chaos.

Now that I was sober, well, it’d been a slow process of trying to build back my relationship with them. I waited over a year before I even spoke to them on the phone. I wanted to be sure.

But two and a half years later, I found myself spending the night in my sister’s tiny, tiny bed. Her drawings and paintings and collection of images torn from magazines were tapped up on the wall above me. At the foot of the bed was a chest of drawers pilled high with little sculptures and stones and dried flowers and hand sewn dolls Daisy’d made herself.

I walked out onto the heated concrete floor of the living room, the sun already stretching out fingers of light through the slated windows and doors.

I made coffee and drank it quickly. It was time to go. I had a flight to catch. My publishing company arranged to have a Lincoln town car pick me up and the driver was waiting outside.

Daisy came softly up the stairs followed by my dad. Her eyes swallowed me up, absorbing everything and missing nothing. I gave her a hug and she hugged me back.

“It was really good to see you,” I told her.

She let out a little noise like a laugh and nodded up and down.

She hugged me again.

My dad told me goodbye and the sun was still warm and bright as I carried my bag out to the car.

Driving through the winding, twisted roads leading to San Francisco and the airport, there was this stillness inside me that made me want to cry.

The past month I’d been to ten different cities with my dad—who’d written his own memoir about having a meth addict son—reading from our books and talking to people about addiction and recovery. We’d been on the Today Show, Oprah, Terry Gross, and tons of other radio and TV programs. It had all been so fast and blurred out I could barely take in what was happening. But, that morning, driving in the car, I knew it was over. I was going back to Savannah—back to my quiet, simple life. There was a tightness in my stomach—a creeping sickness up my throat.

The airport was crowded, of course, and I checked in my bag and went through security. My girlfriend’s mom had gotten me these really amazing, comfortable slippers for Christmas and I’d started wearing them everywhere. I had a shoulder bag with my computer in it and a copy of my book that I’d been reading from on the road.

I wandered along the dirty looking, faded patterned carpet until I came to my gate. The plane to Atlanta, my connecting city, wasn’t boarding for another twenty minutes or so. I went over to the magazine store and bought some flavored fruit drink thing, then I wandered right up next to the big, impossibly thick windows and lay down there on the ground, feeling the sun all around me and inside. I closed my eyes and felt tired, tired, tired.

I’m not sure how long I was lying there like that, but, suddenly, I opened my eyes and saw this girl standing over me.

I sat up a little.