Quotes from David Sheff

My drawing - now there are drops, tears, from the two branches of the tributary and six circles above it. Then I know - I have drawn the opening up of my brain and all that is in there - tears pain blood rage terror. The broken suitcase with the circles, its contents - me, former me - spilling out.

One girl, Nic's friend, says how different the images are in our family's pictures and how intense each one is, but she says that Nic's heart leads into ventricles and my stream of chalk looks like a broken artery. Somehow I am crying. Nic's hand is on my shoulder.

changes." And then we start again. It's like Groundhog Day. It may seem like you've made no progress and are starting over, but you aren't. Every repetition is different; the lessons are different because you are.

Esta noche quiero escapar y meterme en la historia de alguien más.

Parents are suckers.

Misery is too self-absorbed to want much company.

In the car, however, I see a stranger. And yet he is a stranger whose every part I know intimately.

Everything will be all right.

Drugs pervade every college campus in America, and every city, so a young adult must learn to live among them.

At the same time, the statistics are useful in a sobering way. They inform us that our adversary is formidable and they guard us against irrational optimism.

We are still nearer the winter edge of spring on this cool and misty May afternoon, the scent of wood smoke in the air — a remnant of the afternoon fire.

I am a ducker to contemplate opening to the idea of healing.

I never planned to pray. I just looked back and realized I had been praying. …. What did I pray for?

I longed for someone to scrape out every remnant of Nic from my brain and scrape out the knowledge of what was lost and scrape out the worry and not only my anguish but his and the burning inside like I might scrape out the seeds and juicy pulp of an overripe melon, leaving no trace of the rotted flesh.

I go back, this time to a swankier neighborhood.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

I am grateful now to have it all—even the worry and the pain.

A handsome woman with auburn hair cut short, wearing a silk blouse, cardigan, and wool pants, says that she is a doctor. Deeply sad, she admits that for more than a year she conducted surgeries while high on meth. She initially tried it at a party. "I felt better than I had ever felt before in my life," she says. "I felt as if I could do anything. I never ever wanted to lose that feeling.

Of course I still want to believe him. I don't think it's simply that I am gullible, but I cannot fathom the implications of his behavior. When change takes place gradually, it's difficult to comprehend its meaning.

We are connected to our children no matter what. They are interwoven into each cell and inseparable from every neuron. They supersede our consciousness, dwell in our every hollow and cavity and recess with our most primitive instincts, deeper even than our identities, deeper even than our selves.

Fentanyl is fifty times stronger than heroin. Another concern is an opioid called carfentanil, which is as much as one hundred times more potent than fentanyl. According to the New York Times, an amount smaller than a snowflake could kill a person.

Nic is absent, only his shell remains. I have been afraid—terrified—to lose Nic, but I have lost him. In the past, I tried to imagine the unimaginable and I tried to imagine bearing the unbearable. I imagined losing Nic by overdose or accident, but now I comprehend that I have already lost him. Today, at least, he is lost.

I can try to forgive myself, whether or not she forgives me, because I was a child, but some things you just live with because you cannot go backward.

The devout are not spared.