By William Cope Moyers, Katherine Ketcham
In contrast to a few renowned memoirs that experience fictionalized and romanticized the degradations of drug habit, Broken is a true-life story of restoration that stuns and conjures up with almost each web page. The eldest son of journalist invoice Moyers, William Cope Moyers relates with unforgettable readability the tale of ways a tender guy with each virtue discovered himself spiraling right into a love affair with crack cocaine that led him to the threshold of death-and how a deep spirituality allowed him to beat his disgrace, rework his lifestyles, and commit himself to altering America's politics of habit.
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Extra info for Broken: My Story of Addiction and Redemption
The loss of life of religion three. affirmation four. The Fish marketplace Incident five. unfastened Fall 6. On My Knees 7. Psych Ward eight. Hazelden nine. Fellowship membership 10. secrets and techniques eleven. Self-Will Run revolt 12. Dragons thirteen. misplaced 14. came upon 15. St. Paul sixteen. melanoma 17. Scarface 18. E-mailing the useless Epilogue Acknowledgments damaged Prologue OCTOBER 1994 there has been a pointy rap at the door, by way of a muffled yet unmistakable command from a voice outdoor within the hallway. “We wish the white man, simply the white man. we all know he’s in there. He comes out now and there’s no hassle for an individual later. ” i used to be the “white man. ” I knew in that fast that my family’s determined seek to trace me down had ended at this decayed two-story condo in a violent pocket of Atlanta’s internal urban. Terrified, I rushed round the room, attempting to warn the opposite crack heads to take a seat nonetheless and retain quiet. “Don’t panic,” I whispered. “They’ll leave. ” yet no one was once listening simply because all people was once as excessive and as scared as i used to be. We ran into each other as we attempted to discover a fashion out, yet there has been nowhere to move, nowhere to conceal. We have been like wild animals trapped by means of a wind-whipped wooded area fireplace. Who was once in the market banging at the door? used to be it my father? My mom? My spouse? My brain flashed again to the morning 4 days past while I left my condo in suburban Atlanta. I remembered kissing four-month-old Thomas and two-year-old Henry goodbye. It was once a Sunday afternoon, and that i informed Allison i wanted to run a few errands prior to dinner. I drove to the parking zone at the nook of street and Ponce de Leon, approached a drug broker with a thick scar operating from his left ear to the nook of his mouth, and paid him 100 funds for 6 marble-sized rocks of crack cocaine. I held them in my hand and notion, “These will retain me going for an afternoon or . ” They have been long past in 4 hours. The knocking turned a continuing pounding that shook the door body. i assumed approximately escaping out the again porch door to the vacant lot and simply operating, operating, operating. yet the place may perhaps i'm going? they might locate me, similar to they'd in Harlem and St. Paul. I’d been operating for 5 years. Now I had run out of innovations. I sat down on the outdated wooden desk within the kitchen, where the place the offers have been made, the pipe used to be fired up, and the crack was once fed on. I couldn’t run anymore—my legs felt vulnerable and shaky. I couldn’t hide—there used to be no position left. I couldn’t imagine, yet i may nonetheless react, and with the instincts of the addict I did the one factor that was once left to do. I reached into my sock and pulled out the cellophane cigarette wrapper with the rocks rigorously kept inside of like useful stones. My arms have been shaking and that i spotted for the 1st time that the ideas of my hands have been scorched and blistered from lighter burns. I loaded the pipe, flicked the lighter, and inhaled deeply. The sizzle of the crack and the euphoric rush exploding inside of my head have been without warning all that mattered to me. The banging at the door was once like thunder at the horizon.