Saturday, October 11, 2014

Heroin Diaries, and why I'm not reading them any more

I can't read Nikki Sixx's Heroin Diaries. I have tried, valiantly, but no... it makes me feel sick: in my stomach and my soul.

I understand why he published them. I applaud and respect his recovery, and the desire that no-one else falls as deep. But me, personally, I cannot read past a few pages.

I hope that kids who read this are not as affected, as I was, at age 12 or thirteen or something even more precocious by Go Ask Alice. When you're painting a dark picture, there's always the danger that someone sees their own light in it.

Me? I'm one of the lucky ones; coffee is my vice, plus the cigarettes that disappeared with the last day of 1999. But not everyone makes it through. And that's probably why I can't read Nikki Sixx's book. It also might be because I'm just not cool-enough... or because Motley Crue were never one of "my" bands... or because the splattered publishing and authoring style is so distracting it gives me a migraine.

I just. Can't. Read. Any. More.

(In Heroin Diaries? On page 27, I already want to slap the person that "Vanity" has become. I'm going to use the book to stop my heavy bag stand wobbling. I might feel better after punching a few rounds.)

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