There's nothing like spending the night in an urban, city jail wearing nothing but a strait jacket to make one rethink their life choices. That was me, not but four months ago. After being arrested for a second DUI, I sat in an in-take of the Travis County Jail in Austin, TX. I was blind drunk, ashamed, crazy worried that my husband had no idea where I was, and I was fucking mad as hell at the world. I screeched my throat raw as I raged to the guards. I NEED TO CALL MY HUSBAND! I yelled. I HATE MY LIFE! I screamed. And then the kicker… wait for it…. "IF YOU DON'T LET ME USE THE PHONE, I WILL JUST TRY TO KILL MYSELF!!!!" Funny that. Prison guards really hate the suicidal ass-hats in jail. Throws their shift into a whole other level of liability. So off I'm trotted. Strapped to a wheel-chair like Hannibal Lector, hood over my face and handcuffs on each limb of my body. I really needed to get my shit together, post haste.
Luckily for me, my father once put his arm around my shoulder and leaned into whisper, "Don't worry honey. I know you're gonna figure things out one day." I was forty.
He was right. It only took me twelve and a half years to do so.
Now I plan to tell you how I did it.
