I have been extremely lucky to live a very fortunate life. I can’t remember a time where I really wanted for anything, but not because everything has been given to me. I started working as soon as I was old enough, and for the most part, I have bought everything I’ve wanted on my own. I have an extremely supportive family, which is something you cannot put a price on. Knowing that my family is always behind me has allowed me to take certain risks, and I’m fortunate to know if I ever fall on my face I am confident they will be there to help pick me off and brush off the dust. There is a certain confidence that comes with knowing you have people there to back you up or help you if you happen to stumble and fall, and for that I will forever be grateful.

My parents have always told me to “do whats right”, and not to compromise my integrity or character for anything. I am not sure when I started “seeing the bigger picture”, but I know I knew a couple years after college that I wanted to make an impact on other people with my life. I didn’t know how, and I still don’t, really. The quote “We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will” is how I feel about what I am ‘meant’ to do. I am not entirely sure what it is yet, but I think every day I get a little closer to figuring it out.

The irony in this ‘blog’ is that for me, writing is my therapy. My mom always says that my dad doesn’t talk about his ‘feelings’ (does any guy?), and was voted “Most Shy” of his high school class. I am absolutely not shy at all, and could probably stand to be less outspoken on certain things, but when it comes to emotions, feelings, and all the touchy-feely stuff, that’s just not my thing.  I don’t like to talk about things that are bothering me, and if you asked all my friends about how often they hear me talk about something ‘serious’, I think most would say never. Most of my friends know me as the girl that loves to laugh at herself, and loves to tell a story that makes everyone else laugh. I actually started this blog because there were so many stories that would crack my friends and I up when I would tell them, I wanted a place to document everything so one day I could go back and read it. It was supposed to be a “Sex in the City” type of feel to it-very light hearted, funny, just anecdotal tales of being a 30-something girl in Atlanta, that tends to date jerks.

Ironically, its really not been that way at all. Its much more serious than I ever expected it to be.  If you’ve read the last couple blogs, you know this week has been a tough one. A very close friend medicated his feelings with drugs and alcohol for a very long time, and now is paying a very high price for it. That’s how he’s dealt with his feelings his entire life.  I deal with my feelings by writing. If people want to read my posts, that’s fine with me; if they don’t, that’s fine, too. Since I’m not a big fan of talking about feelings, I guess there are worse ways of processing things..

What I find interesting is that my mom always says “you are your fathers daughter” because neither of us are very detail oriented, we usually spill a lot, and we just tend to not get caught up in the ‘little things’ (my mom would probably say we lack in always “paying attention”). My dad has always been willing to help someone that needed it. He is very quiet, he doesn’t talk a lot about whats on his mind, but there has never been any doubt that his family means everything to him. I think we are even more alike than most people would say. Clearly we look similar (one person saw him, then looked at me and goes “Clearly there is no doubt who your daddy is”), but I think our personalities are also very much the same.  I am so outspoken when it comes to things I don’t agree with, or sticking up for someone or something that I think needs a voice…yet when it comes to my own thoughts on important subjects, things that bother me, or are on my mind, that voice always seems to quiet. I have always hated for people to see me cry. ALWAYS. I’m not sure why, but I would pretty much do anything before I’d let someone see me cry, for as long as I can remember. This past week my class of over 100 students saw (and heard) me cry for a solid two hours, and I hated every minute of it. I couldn’t get through my speech at my Grandpa’s funeral, and even at my parents birthday party, I asked my two sisters to speak so I wouldn’t have to-I knew if I did, I’d tear up. I remember being very young and at the Commissary with my mom and seeing a very old man, having a hard time walking up and down the aisles. He was clearly alone, trying to find whatever groceries he was looking for. I just started crying as I watched him, thinking how sad it was he was so old, struggling, and by himself. I remember very vividly trying to wipe away the tears (thank god this was before I wore mascara) and pretend like I wasn’t upset when I went back and found my mom. My parents have certainly never discouraged being outwardly emotional…its just not my thing. I am usually the kid that tries to get everyone else to laugh, while in my head thinking about the one person that isn’t and what must be going in their life. I think a lot more “feelings” go on inside of me than anyone would ever imagine…for whatever reason, I’m just not comfortable expressing it.

So, back to my mission and goal. There have been so many people over the last week that asked why I went to the intervention. “You broke up with him two years ago, that’s not your problem anymore”, they said. “He made those choices, its not your responsibility to fix it”, I heard. Those people may be right, but that’s not how I see it. I think of the saying by Maya Angelou,  ”I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” I will never understand how anyone could turn their back on someone else in need. Never. No matter what has happened in the past.  I thought on Sunday he would listen to me, but even if I didn’t think he would, I was going to be there. I asked him on our way to treatment what he thought of, and if he was angry when he saw me walk through the door (we hadn’t seen each other in two years) and he said “I was shocked to see you still cared enough to be there.” Getting him into treatment was a group effort, but him seeing that even after all he has done in a drunken stupor, all the untruths,  his friends were there to try and get him help. I hope that most people in my life know that I would literally do anything for them. Anything. People say “oh, they are a great person, they would do anything, for anyone.” I absolutely believe that if everyone did everything they are capable of we would astound ourselves.

Which brings me to my birthday card I got this year from one of my best friends, Billy.

“Verbago-

Is it pompous or condescending to say that I am proud of you? I certainly don’t mean to, but in the past year or so it seems to me that you’re finding more of your voice, or maybe just redefining what it means to be you. You’re writing now, you’re running, you’re seeking, and schooling, you’re helping and inspiring others despite a year that has left you battered, a bit bruised, but definitely not broken. There’s a great quote that reminds me of you presently, “Talent develops in tranquility, character develops in the full current of human life.” Its exciting to see you in the full current and I look forward to seeing, reading, and hearing about where this current takes you this year and in the future.”

I am not sure if its just getting older, or more comfortable with discovering who I am, but I thought it was interesting someone that lives so far way would notice that I slowly seem to be coming into my own. I’ve never been a ‘follower’, but at the same time, I am finding my own voice, and I am realizing that one person can make an impact on a lot of people. Like Christopher Reeve once said, “Once you choose hope, anything is possible.”

I heard this song on the radio a coming home from school the other day and it seems to say exactly what I’ve been trying to say for the last couple years. Regardless of the fact I make a good living, I know my life  isn’t to be a pharmaceutical sales rep. I know there is something bigger for me to do, something that will impact more people for the better. After all,”we make a living by what we get…we make a life by what we give.” I am never happier than when I am working with kids, or people  that want help, or just working to see someone smile who hasn’t in awhile.

I Was Here (click on the title, then the play arrow for the song to play)

You will notice me

I’ll be leavin’ my mark, like initials carved in an old oak tree
you wait and see
maybe I’ll write like Twain wrote
maybe I’ll paint like Van Gough,
cure the common cold
I don’t know but I’m ready to start ’cause I know in my heart

I wanna do something that matters
say something different
something that sets the whole world on it’s ear
I wanna do somethin better, with the time I’ve been given
and I wanna try to touch a few hearts in this life
and leave nothing less than something that says I was here

I will prove you wrong
if you think I’m all talk, you’re in for a shock
’cause this dreams too strong, and before too long
maybe I’ll compose symphonies
maybe I’ll fight for world peace
’cause I know it’s my destiny to leave more that a trace of myself in this place
I wanna do something that matters
say something different
something that sets the whole world on it’s ear
I wanna do somethin better, with the time I’ve been given
and I wanna try to touch a few hearts in this life
and leave nothing less than something that says I was here

And I know that I, I will do more than just pass through this life
I”ll leave nothin less that something that says I was here, I was here, I was here, I was here

I want to do somethin that matters
something that says I was here
wanna do something that matters
somethin that says I was here, I was here

“We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.” — Chuck Palahniuk

I don’t know yet what I am going to do, but I am not going to be happy unless its something that changes peoples lives in one way or another.

I guess the moral of this story, is things aren’t always as they appear. I could easily argue that I am a very sentimental person who gets her heart strings tugged on every single day. But there isn’t a single person that would ever know that, because thats just my nature.  I am not outwardly an emotional person, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see or feel things that other people do, if not even more so. I am happy to feel like every day I come a little bit closer to finding what my purpose is, and creating something that will live long after me.

“The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones that actually do”…I think I am one of those people. I just need to figure out how I’m going to do it.

Addict is such a strong word. No one wants to be labeled an “addict”, as it has connotations that you are no longer in control of a certain aspect of your life. Even things that may not appear harmful can become an addiction-running, shopping, eating…yet in all of those situations, something that is either healthy or ‘everyday’ becomes something that is out of your control. People become “shopping addicts” and spend all of their money, and get into credit card debt. People can become “exercise addicts’ to the point of injury. People that are addicted to eating are often people we see morbidly obese, and end up suffering from Diabetes and high blood pressure. Just like a drug and alcohol addition, no matter what the subject, an addiction takes over a persons life to the point they are no longer in control, and if they don’t get their “fix” of whatever it is they are addicted to, it can send them into a frenzy.

If  you happened to read my previous post, it is no surprise that I attended and participated in my first (and hopefully last) intervention today. I have thought about nothing else all week, and woke up with hives this morning in nervous anticipation of what was going to happen. I had no idea how I was going to react, other than I knew I was so nervous and pretty “checked out” of every other aspect of my life for the last week. All I could think about was how fast this person spiraled out of control, and became an ‘addict’  that was absolutely going to kill himself. It wasn’t a matter of  ’if’; it was a matter of when.

When I got the the “pre” intervention meeting, I felt a strange calmness, and some comfort that so many people that I KNEW he cared so much about were all together, asking him to get help. I felt like with this united front, there was no way he’d continue down his path of destruction. I was happy to see his best friends weren’t going to make excuses for him, but confront him so that he had no one to turn to, no direction to go in-except to get help.

Two of his friends went to get him and bring him back to the one of the guys’ house “to hang out”. We got a call about 45 minutes after they left that he wasn’t coming, and he told them he just wanted to stay at his own house all day and ‘take it easy’. So, the 9 of us got in the car and headed to his house. I felt sick to my stomach not knowing what I was going to walk into, and even worse when I started to think about the fact there was a loaded gun in the house.

As expected, he was surprised, confused, angry, and hostile when we all filed in. His sister did an amazing job at talking out to the living room, because as soon as he figured out there were quite a few people there, he retreated back to his room. She began her letter to him, and we all went in the order that was rehearsed. Everyone had a tough time getting through their letter, as every single person was in tears as they read to him what his addiction has done to them, and how its destroyed relationships.

The rest of the details of the intervention don’t need to be rehashed, other than to say he refused to go. Oddly enough, he emailed me at 8:30 that night and just said “thank you for being there today. I really appreciate it”, which completely caught me off guard. I thought he was upset and angry I had been there. I replied to his email, and then he replied back. I have never been in this situation before, so I didn’t know what to do-but I felt like keeping the lines of communication open was a step in the right direction. We talked about how he felt when he saw us, and how he’s never felt so alone in his entire life as after all 9 of us left his house. We talked until 6:30 in the morning, and there were so many times throughout the night I thought I had him just about to agree to go…then he’d dash my hopes with a reply that he needed more time. Starting about 2 hours after we hung up, at 8:30, his sister, his parents, the interventionalist and I were all in constant (and I mean CONSTANT) contact to put a plan together to get him into treatment. Luckily, around noon I got a call from him, and as soon as I said “hello?” he just replied “I need help.”

I called the detox and got the packing list of what he could and could not bring, and we made plans that I would pick him up the next morning at 11, help him pack his bag, and take him to the crisis stabilization unit. I arrived at his house and went straight back to his room where he was already laying clothes out.  I just kept looking around his gorgeous house thinking how he had so much-the nice house, the fancy car, a great family…and a SUBSTANCE was going to take it all away from him. I have a hard time understanding how addicts get to that point, because I don’t think I’ve ever been addicted to anything. When I walked around to the far side of his bed, I saw all our picture frames still out, but on the floor. We haven’t spoken in two years, or seen each other in the same amount of time. I said “oh…our pictures? I know you’ve dated girls since we split up..didn’t they mind?” and he goes, “look at this” as he opened the top drawer of his nightstand, I could see everything I had ever given him. Every card, every note I had left for him, the photo album I made him for Valentines day over 2 years ago…all right next to his bed. I felt so sorry for him, because i felt like  that was clearly a sign that he doesn’t cope with things in his life that he doesn’t like, or can’t get past. It was a small symbol of a much bigger problem, but it was impactful just the same. As I packed his bag, the tears were streaming down his face and he just kept repeating “I can’t believe my life has come to this.”  Honestly, I couldn’t either.

As we drove to the hospital, I kept looking over at him and just saw tears streaming down his face. Every now and then he’d crack a joke, which would make us both laugh. At one point he said “So, does it make me any less of a man that I love Taylor Swift and my favorite song is ‘Fifteen’?…(ironically, it is a favorite of mine as well)…or does the fact I am a prescription drug addict and alcoholic, on my way to detox kinda take that title?”  Comments here and there like that, there were small signs of the person I knew so long ago, and they made this entire experience even harder, because I knew that person was still there, buried under all the pills and booze. Unfortunately, years of heaving drinking and pills have taken over much of that funny, sweet, always smiling, “do anything for anyone” guy, and he was now outwardly a slurring, stumbling, mess to most people. His legs have already started to atrophy from the extremely high doses of drugs he was taking, so he couldn’t walk. He held onto my shoulder as we walked from the parking lot into the waiting room. The tears had stopped, but as soon as I said “I am here with (insert name), and we are here to check him in. You guys are expecting him”  I looked over and the tears just started flowing again. I could tell it was becoming more and more real, and all starting to sink in.  After the paperwork, we were sent to an “assessment room” where the check in counselor immediately brought in a nurse. She said he was in danger of seizing, as he was already in withdraw, since he hadn’t taken anything since the intervention two days earlier. When they took him back, it was one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had to do. I went to give him a hug goodbye, and he had a death grip around my neck-and I practically had to peel him off in order to go with the nurse. He could barely walk on his own, so I knew he couldnt walk and carry his bag, so I went to hand it to the nurse and she said “he must carry his own stuff”. He reached for it, and took two steps, when it was crystal clear he couldnt go any further trying to walk AND carry the bag. She finally gave in and took it from him, and watching him walk away, towards the big sign that read “Crisis Stabilization Unit” was absolutely gut wrenching.

I had no idea it would effect me the way it did, since I haven’t seen him or talked to him in so long. Walking out of the hospital towards my car, I felt like it was up there with one of the worst days of my life-with the exception of the day my mom was in the ICU and I thought she wasn’t going to make it. It was absolutely comparable to the day I had to bury my two best friends, and in some ways it was worse. Their funerals were awful. AWFUL. But there was some finality to it, and there was a definite ending. Its been a long and slow process to deal with their death, and I am not sure I’ll ever be in a place where it doesn’t effect certain aspects of my life. But with this situation, I left that hospital and had no idea if I would ever see him again. He has to stay in detox for a week, but then what? No one can force him into rehab, and if he goes, no one can make him stay there. It wasn’t discussed, but I think he thinks he has to go to detox for a week, and then he’ll return home to his beautiful house, his fancy car, and he will have beaten this awful disease. He has no idea that the “plan” for him is to go to a residential treatment facility for up to a year. Again, no one can make him go, but many professionals that have seen him think that is his only shot at living a sober life. He can’t do it without going to a live in treatment facility where he learns the coping skills and life skills he needs to deal with emotions he has numbed with drugs and alcohol his entire life. I think when he gets out, and realizes he needs to go into a residential facility, he’s going to resist it all over again. When he realizes he is most likely going to lose his house, his car, and most of his material possessions, it will send him into a downward spiral. Walking out of the hospital that night, almost 6 hours after we walked in, I was so sad for him, and it was so devastating in so many different ways. This was someone at some point not too long ago that I looked at and thought had a very serious relationship with. Now I didn’t know if he is going to live or die, ever be able to walk again, or if the damage he has done to his body was permanent. I called up to the hospital that night I checked him in to make sure he was okay and he got on the phone and sounded like such a scared little boy. He kept saying “Ali, they are treating me like I am insane. I feel like I am in jail. Everyone keeps telling me about this condition where you stop taking Xanex at the level I was taking it, and you just die in your sleep-you never wake up. I don’t want to die. Please don’t let that happen to me.” I have absolutely never felt so helpless in my entire life. I couldn’t tell him it wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t really say anything except, “You are in a hospital, and they are going to take good care of you.”

From the time I took the phone call asking if I would attend the intervention up until that point I did think he wanted to die. I thought he was trying to kill himself with drugs and alcohol on purpose. I realized during that phone call he had the “invincible syndrome” most of us had when we were in high school or college. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to numb his emotional pain, but he never thought it would kill him in the process. He also told me that he wanted to go to treatment from the intervention, but “something” wouldn’t allow him to, and “he couldn’t tell me what it was.”  He finally told me while we were packing his bag. He had done cocaine for the first time in many years the night before the intervention, and was afraid for it to show up on the tox screen when he checked into detox. I replied “you have X, Y, and Z (all prescription drugs) in your system already. They aren’t going to care if cocaine shows up too. They just need to know what you are on so they know how to detox your body.”  He replied, “but I don’t want them to treat me like I am a drug addict.” I was completely confused and I looked at him puzzled and said “but you ARE a drug addict-with prescription meds”…and he replied “Right. Cocaine is for street thugs, or the people you look at and know are drug addicts.  Its a low class drug. I haven’t done it since a couple times in college.  I don’t want them to look at me like I am one of those people that do cocaine”. I said “So whats the difference between cocaine showing up on your tox screen and the insanely high doses of what you are on?” and he replied, and I will NEVER forget exactly what he said “A doctor can prescribe what I take, so its not nearly as bad.”

I haven’t stopped thinking about that sentence in two days. In reality, cocaine alone cannot kill you. Heavy doses of prescription sedatives and pain killers can. This whole time he didn’t think what he was doing was that wrong, or harmful, because he originally got all the medicines from a Doctor.

What pisses me off the most is a General Practice physician wrote those meds for him, many years ago. Not a psychiatrist. Any physician besides a psychiatrist does NOT get extensive education in CNS conditions or medicines. No GP should have written that for him to begin with, let along with the plethora of other meds he was prescribed. That is not to say if it wasn’t these drugs it wouldn’t have eventually been something else. I am sure it would have.  But I bet there are a LOT of prescription drug abusers out there that don’t realize the harm they are doing to themselves, or justify it, because “its legal”, or it started off as a prescription from a medical doctor.

Now he is fighting for his life, and in the process going to lose everything he’s worked for for the last nine years. His dad is going to lose a lot of his retirement trying to pay for his detox, and then he has to figure out how they are going to fund his rehab (if he goes). At the same time, we can all want him so deparately to get better, but if he isn’t ready or willing himself, all this money, time, and energy is wasted…as its only a matter of time before a relapse if he hasnt hit his own rock bottom and realizes he needs to turn his life around, and he can’t do it alone.

I went straight from the hospital Tuesday to school, and was an hour late getting there. I sat in my seat in a class of about 120 students and just sobbed. I hadn’t shed a tear up to that point, but it hit me all at once, several hours after I left him. I tried my best to hold it together until class was over, but when I got home i couldn’t stop crying. I was upset for HOURS, and I felt like I was going through the exact same grieving process I had gone through with my friends that had died. At that particular moment I was angry. So angry I couldn’t stop crying. I was angry at the Doctor that wrote him that medicine.  I was angry at him for not realizing a drug addict is a drug addict-it didn’t matter if he was on crack, or a prescription. If he was abusing it, he was an addict. I was angry it got to this point before he was getting help. I was angry he couldn’t even walk anymore, and still was in denial it was due to his drug use. I was mad that after two years it still absolutely killed me to give him a hug when they came to take him away, and he had such a tight grip around my neck and wouldn’t let go; which killed me inside, but I wouldn’t let him see it. I am mad that he asked me to “not let him die”, because to everyone up to this point, it looked like that is what he was trying to do to himself, and there was no way I could stop it if his body couldn’t take it anymore. I am mad that the guy I knew in college, that would do anything for anyone, had the cutest smile, and most infectious laugh is now a committed patient at a hospital I call on for work. I am mad he had the world at his fingertips, with a great job, great family, great girlfriend (if I do say so myself), and he threw it all away, because he couldn’t deal with his own reality and never learned coping skills to deal with life.

He has now been in treatment for 2 days. He has 5 days left, before he is released. I have no idea what is going to happen to him or where he is going to go at that point. I hope beyond hope that he is committed to getting sober, but unfortunately I am not sure he is in detox for himself. I know from my own extended family members that have been through similar situations that he can go to detox to get us all “off his back”, but if he isn’t ready to get sober himself, this is all for naught.

Two weeks ago he honestly rarely crossed my mind, as has been the case for the last two years. Now I think about him constantly, and wonder how this could happen. How does it happen to anyone.  How can you get to the point where a substance, or a drink, literally can ruin your life. I simply don’t understand it, and I’m not sure I ever will.

Before I got the call asking if would attend his intervention, I already felt like my plate was full. I have my own medical issues going on, my dad has medical issues that I am worried about, work had been crazy with launching a new drug this quarter, and with an extra load in school, finals, and end of semester projects and papers coming up in the next two weeks everyday my “to do” list was overwhelming. I feel like I dropped everything Sunday, and just started picking it back up today…and its incredibly overwhelming to think of what I have to get done in the next two weeks. But it pales in comparison to what he has to tackle in the next two weeks, and the long road he is facing to what we all hope is a recovery.

Everyone is talking about their Thanksgiving and Holiday plans and it makes me so incredibly sad to think that in the BEST case scenario for him, he will be spending the holidays in a rehab center with a bunch of people he doesn’t know.  I hate drugs and alcohol for what its done to him, his family, his friends, and so many others just like him. I only hope its not too late for him to turn it around.

To top off this week, tomorrow is my best friend’s brithday, that passed away on November 2, 1997. Tomorrow he would have been 33.  I have dreaded Novembers (his died November 2nd,  then his birthday is November 21st) for the last 12 years. Now there is so much more to put on my petition on skipping November, and going straight from October to December.

I warned people that some posts would be serious, and this is one of them. If you aren’t in the mood for serious, I would encourage you to stop reading now. Consider yourself warned…

So, tonight I’ve been sitting here trying to write a letter for an intervention for someone that that was in my life a couple years ago. I have not seen him in almost exactly two years, and I have recently found out that  he now stands in a position where his life is literally in danger. He has suffered from several gran mal seizures lately, he has been charged with  a DUI where he registered a .37 (and could have killed himself and/or a family), and he has cut all ties with everyone important to him. He was closer to his dad and step mom than anyone I’ve ever met before…and he  hasn’t seen them in a year. His friends called me and asked me to attend his intervention, that would also include his parents, friends that he has cut out of his life, a professional interventionalist, and the police. I am having a very hard time understanding how he could get to this point so quickly. He has gone from someone I definitely thought drank too much, to someone who could easily lose their life to the disease of drugs and alcohol. I am having a hard time understanding how at one point not too many years ago, we were on the same page…and now he has a choice of either rehab or jail, and I am hoping to go to Harvard in a year (by no means am I saying I am better than he is, I just can’t seem to understand  when I started setting my goals higher, and his goal at this point at this point may simply  to live another day) Or, maybe his goal is not to live another day. At this point it seems like he is trying to kill himself, and no one seems to be able to stop him. That is what I am so scared of. When did this downward spiral change from someone who “partied too much” to someone on the brink of death. DYING. I have lost more people in my life thus far than most people lose in a lifetime. I cannot stand the thought of losing another one.  His parents, friends, and the interventionalist asked me to be there sunday at noon, and to write him a letter to read during the meeting. Even though I haven’t seen him in over two years, for some reason they think I may be able to get through to him more than they can. I hope they are right, but what they don’t know is I’ve had my own “interventions” with him, and none of them have worked. Maybe it will be success in numbers. I hope it will be. I hope when he sees his family, his friends, and myself there telling him he needs help, and he’ll take it. For some reason, I just don’t think he is going to.

I LOVE to write. I would write for a living if it could pay my bills. I have never had trouble putting “the pen to paper” (figuratively, now that we use computers). But with this “letter”,  I have started, erased, started, erased, and started again on my letter to read at the intervention. I love the show “Intervention” on A& E, and I know how critical it is to word things in a way that aren’t threatening, accusatory, or place blame on the individual. This is the first time in a long time I am at a loss for words. What we say to him on Sunday can literally be the difference between him living and dying. If he doesn’t go to rehab, he will die. Its that simple.  I just wish I had the magic words that would make him realize he needs help, and  seek the treatment that is being offered.

Unfortunately right now, I don’t. Now back to staring at the blank screen that I hope will materialize into my letter that convinces him he needs help…