I’m writing this because I never want to forget what this past year was like.


    At a certain point, the days start to blur, and you begin to forget what is what and who is who. Losing my recollection of these past months sounds torturous, like losing a limb. So, I’m writing because writing is all I know. In the hopes that, maybe, these words will preserve the heat of every moment—the anxiety, the love, and everything in between.


    There isn’t much to the plot. An addict rockstar, a hippie girlfriend, a golden retriever best friend, rainy days, and romanticized scenery. Despite the cliche, I feel like there is a point to this. One that I am not yet aware of but hope to uncover. And anyway, this is important to me. And this is, after all, my story.


    Before January, I was six months sober. Not a snort of cocaine, not a swig of a bottle. Completely clean. Sobriety is a funny, fragile little thing. One slip-up—that''s all it takes. And that’s what happened on January 1, New Year''s Eve, in New York: a slip-up.


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    I decided that night that if a drunk can go to a bar and skip the drinks, I can go to a party and skip the hallucinogenics. And where else to go other than the Republic? A 7-star hotel, big names, short dresses, and dress shirts with the first few buttons left open. I put on the first white silk shirt I could find and a pair of black slacks under my raincoat, with a bottle of champagne tucked in my arm for whichever A-list couple was hosting this year.


    And so that’s where I found myself on December 31st, at 10 p.m. The hotel is a giant, a proper NYC skyscraper. I knew then, standing in the opulent lobby, that this was a risk I wasn''t ready for. I knew what I was putting on the line, and I knew the odds weren’t in my favor. But I took the lift anyway. I forgive myself for many things. This isn’t one of them.


    The last floor, a huge penthouse, probably a million people. I knew that I had lost my streak before I took the first shot. The lights were red and blue, dull but blinding. I was dancing with everyone and no one at all. I was on the sofa, in the kitchen, and on the bathroom floor.


    I''m sorry.