When I met and fell in love with my charming, fascinating, creative ex-husband, I never saw the addict. We came together as poet and painter, with great passion for our respective gifts and for each other. It would be six months before I would begin to suspect that this exciting roller coaster ride of joint inspiration and creativity came with “another woman”—Lady Crack Cocaine. ...more

From Publisher Bob David:

Around 1970, the author of this article seized an opportunity to kill a man who he was sure was intent on killing him. He was convicted of first-degree murder and given a life sentence.

Despite this glaring truth, Wilfredo grew to earn the sincere respect of all who knew him during his long incarceration. ...more

I walked into the small, overheated, stuffy office for our weekly staff meeting. Andrea, the rector, was there, her gangly body looking uncomfortable on the wooden office chair, her pinched sour face more unpleasant than usual, and her short mousy hair typically unkempt. The light from the window behind her dazzled my eyes, making it hard to look her in the face. To her left sat Frank, ...more

The atmosphere at CAB Health & Recovery Services and at other holding facilities for people facing alcoholism and addiction that I have spent time in is full of fear. A “waiting for death” syndrome engulfs the people there. Call them patients, residents, inmates, or detainees—regardless of the label, the experience is the same. I saw fear and dependence often during the six months I resided at CAB in 1997-98. I have seen it often when I have returned, as I still do occasionally, to carry the message of hope to the 170 or so men held there. ...more

SEVENTEEN YEARS ago, I was thrown into a cell in the Segregation Unit at Holman prison for conspiring to escape. I felt as if I had been pitched head first into the open jaws of a monster, a monster whose roar was the sound of steel banging against steel; whose moan, the whispering of schemers late into the night; whose cry, the whimper of tortured souls shadowboxing demons; and whose smell, a rank mixture of rat shit, body odor, urine, and disinfectant. The gullet of this beast—a narrow hall ankle-deep in trash and bits of food—fed nightly armies of roaches and mice. ...more

I enjoyed calling my friend “Mr. Bill,” because I truly respected him that much. I was a person who never respected anyone. ...more

I had this dream that I was dreaming. This dream-within-a-dream goes like this: ...more

Toby is one of God’s little creatures—a happy, vibrant, and friendly puppy. Loyal and affectionate, Toby has helped me recover from my strokes by relieving the tremendous stress with which I, a workaholic, have for so long lived. ...more

When I arrived at the cardiac Intensive Care Unit at Massachusetts General Hospital, Gene Mason was lying in his bed, conscious but sedated. He was suffering from complications after a six-way coronary bypass surgery—what Gene called his “triple double.” His blood pressure had been so high for so long that he had developed congestive heart failure, making it necessary for the operation.

Gene had really fallen apart this time, physically. ...more

You set me to sail, beyond the banks of the usual challenges, daily demands, and paltry appreciations. I prefer terra firma but lately I’ve been dreaming of sailing—gliding effortlessly out from the safety of my ordinary harbor. Trouble is, I don’t know if my provisions match the demands of a rigorous sea. Calm waters could swiftly turn ugly and I’m not an experienced mariner. I don’t even know the fore from the aft, nor how to navigate with only the sun and stars. Instead, I will steer toward you as my only point of reference. ...more