No one expected an 18 year old private school graduate to end up with a needle in his arm 10 years later. Yet that's precisely where I was two years ago.
Coming up on year anniversaries, I tend to start thinking about the past. There's still a tinge of regret, but it doesn’t revolve around my legal resume anymore. I regret not getting sober sooner.
I never knew a life like this was available to a guy like me. In high school, I lettered three years in varsity golf. My name was never absent on the honor roll. I was accepted to a top 30 liberal arts college in their honors business program. Half of my tuition was paid via scholarship. For the first time in my life, I had arrived.
The first semester granted me an unjustifiable freedom. I took full advantage by growing pot in my dorm room, drinking heavily and building a not-so-stealth adult film station beneath my lofted bed.
Two men shared a room with me. Two very unlucky men. One even wrote an