Carrie Fisher - Postcards from the Edge

…“I’m an alcoholic.” “I’m an alcoholic.” Why does everybody have to humiliate themselves by talking about it? I’m also a Leo, why don’t they talk about that? They should have us stress the good parts about ourselves instead of dragging up all this bile. Why not a positive, uplifting approach?

I’m gonna go over and talk to Suzanne. Maybe we could even have dinner together. I want to talk to her…

So who are all these people? That Wanda, she’s pretty, but that guy Sam told me she tried to kill herself. I don’t like suicides. I think it shows a real weakness, to asphyxiate yourself and then overdose in a hospital. How do they know all this stuff about each other? Is your chart just available for scrutiny at any hour of the night? We might as well put out newsletters. God, there’s no privacy here…

There’s one thing I didn’t try that I bet works: hypnosis. I think that might be the key. And I could join a gym. I mean, I could go to the gym I already belong to. But I don’t like to go ’cause it’s all gay people. But maybe I’ll get a friend and start going to the gym. And do hypnosis. There’s lots of things you can do before you end up in meetings. I’m not gonna become one of those AA Moonies for the rest of my life.

Unless Suzanne goes. She seems open to this meeting thing. I’d go to meetings with her. Then it wouldn’t be so bad if my friends found out. I could say, “Hey, I went with my girlfriend, Suzanne Vale.”

I hope nobody tells Joan I’m here. She’d just say, “I knew it. I knew it all along.” That bitch! I was never loaded as many times as she thought I was. I’m just naturally very hyper.

Her other boyfriend before me was a druggie, too. I don’t mean… He was a druggie. I liked drugs, but he was a druggie . It’s like she just goes out with people who take drugs so she can pick on them. Joan of Narc, patron saint of the addict. And every time I would do something good for myself, she’d make fun of me. Like when I bought the exercise bike and she called me “Mr. Health” and said I’d never use it.

I couldn’t tell her anything . I remember when I read that they found out aluminum cans could be a cause of Alzheimer’s, and when I tried to warn her she said, “Oh, please. You dump poisons into your system and you’re gonna get on me about my diet soda?”

She could never stand to see me have a good time. She always looked like she smelled something funny when she was with me, with her head back and her shoulders as close to her neck as they could get, like I’d done something really sick . I took drugs, that’s all. She should look after her own stuff. God, I’m relieved that’s over. I can finally breathe. Aaaaahhh! I hope she doesn’t find out I’m in here. That’s all I need. I can hear her now: “I told you so. I knew it. Nyah nyah nyah.”

That’s why it would be good with Suzanne. She could never point the finger at me because she ended up in a place like this, too. Joan will feel so bad when she hears I’m going out with Suzanne. But I want this thing to start very slow. I don’t want it to be really obvious. I don’t think she has any idea at all that I’m watching her. I don’t sit near her in group and I don’t sit at her table for lunch. I’m keeping my distance, playing it cool. I think that’s a very good tactic. She’s probably used to people flinging themselves at her. I’ll just keep off to myself and look a little sad and sensitive, and eventually she’ll come to me.

Maybe this was all for the best. I have a better idea of my life now. I’m gonna have a relationship with Suzanne, and I’ll get my career back on track and pay my parents back all the money I’ve borrowed over the past couple of years. That’ll be good. Then my dad won’t look at me with that disdain he thinks is so funny, and my mom will stop picking on me. Maybe I’ll get a bigger apartment and…

I feel good! This is a good time to sit back and reflect, and get a grip on my life. I think I’m taking a really realistic view of it all—probably for the first time, to be brutally honest about it. Maybe I’ll even get involved in politics, who knows?…

DAY NINETEEN

Another new guy checked in tonight. He actually checked himself in, but not before he stopped at the bar in the building next door for a couple of drinks. He was in excellent spirits when he got here, and he was wearing a very festive Hawaiian shirt. His name is Ted.

When he leaned down to sign the admission contract, a cocaine bottle fell out of his pocket. “Oops,” he said, and giggled sheepishly as he retrieved the vial. “My lucky cocaine bottle. Look, the spoon was handmade. It’s bronze .” Lucille, my favorite nurse, took it out of his hand and said, “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen one like it.” He started explaining the history of this coke spoon, and Lucille listened to him as if it was the most fascinating story about a coke spoon she’d ever heard. He was still describing the workmanship as she steered him into his room.

Carl watched all this with me. When they were out of earshot, he said, “Shoot, any coke spoon was my lucky coke spoon, as long as there was coke on it.” I love Carl. He’s like a disc jockey from hell, and you can never change the station. His impact on people is undeniable. Alex literally perspires when Carl is around.

I could swear Alex is deliberately not looking at me. He still hasn’t said a word to me. Somehow I don’t think I’m missing anything.

…Look at Suzanne. She acts like she’s really getting into this shit, but it’s obvious she’s just as bored as I am. She’ll go through this whole thing, and then she and I’ll be in a bar in about two months. I can tell.

No one could be seriously cooperating with this situation. At least nobody smart, nobody decent. There’s no way I could seriously feel like this was a good thing. And I’ve gone to these meetings now, so it’s not just what they call “contempt prior to investigation.” I’ve been . Greg was right. They’re boring and you can barely breathe in there because everyone is smoking. Smoking and drinking coffee. Aren’t those drugs, tobacco and caffeine? And they’re really not good for you.

If Julie says that thing about looking for the difference instead of the similarities one more time I’m going to scream. I’m not looking for the differences. I don’t have to look. They’re obvious. I’m very different from these people. My situation is completely different.

I mean, Carl! That story he told in the park about how he wound up in prison—what a moron . Even Suzanne seemed repelled by him. God, and this fucking Manson guy, he never talks to anybody. He’s always mooning around. He looks like he’s got glue in his eyes. Jesus, he knows Manson. What am I doing in here? It’s safer out there taking drugs than being in here not taking drugs with these people.

If that guy Sam comes up to me and puts his arm around me and calls me “Buddy” one more time, I’m gonna have to complain. But to who? Julie? She wears so much perfume it makes me sneeze. My nose is still irritated from all the pollen and everything, I have an allergy condition. I can’t be around people who use too much perfume. What a nightmare!

Carol’s okay, though. I think she likes me, which couldn’t hurt because her husband is a big agent or something. I hope she doesn’t get a crush on me. I don’t want to have to go to her husband on business and wind up explaining why I’m fucking his wife. That could be rough. She’s okay, though. Redhead, but not a real redhead. I remember when I came in last week seeing her and thinking, “Not a real redhead.”