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 I'm twenty-five years old. I've had nine poems published since I was twenty-one, all of them were written during times when I was swimming In the bottom of a bottle of bourbon or gin, or while I was slamming meth or heroin, heartbroken and destitute.

I still drink, but not like I used to and I don't do meth anymore.
I also don't write very much anymore, and when I do it feels like it's missing the spark I used to feel in my work.

About three months ago I destroyed my memoirs "The Motel Diaries" for reasons I don't completely understand. I had 5 full size notebooks documenting the darkest times of my addiction and my slow crawl out of the deep hole that turned out to be my most recent bottom.

I guess part of the reason may have been that my writing has always been a cathartic attempt to purge myself of my demons. Now that my life has become mundane and ordinary the demons are sleeping, and I have less to purge myself of.

I lack the emotion I used to have, even with my girlfriend I'm emotionally closed off and distant. Still according to some texts between her and my mom she wants to get married. I wonder if she'd feel the same if she knew how much time I spend thinking about tiff.

Tiff was a girl I've known since I was six years old when I vandalized cement her father had just poured, who I for st began seeing romantically when I was twenty one, about a month before I published my first six poems. We rekindled our romance about a year ago. She got pregnant with our child In March and miscarried in May. I haven't talked to her since June when I got arrested.

Still not a day goes by that I don't think about her, sometimes I still see her in my dreams. I miss her terribly, even tho I know we aren't meant to be. We're far to different of people.