I’m nervous. I’m leaving for Toronto tomorrow for a publicity tour. The book is getting a lot of press, including a full-page article by Ian Brown in yesterday’s Globe. People seem to be grabbed by it. Some admire it. Some are shocked, even horrified, that this professor guy could ever have done such awful things. Some might feel both admiration and disdain. I don’t know for sure, but I’m about to find out. My publicist at Random House has set up a dozen radio interviews and three or four TV spots, including Canada AM and The Hour with George Strombo (gulp). And that’s great for the book… but I’m not sure I want to be there.
The book became more honest the longer I worked on it. I was going to reveal some of the past. Yeah, talk about the acid trips, the bust, well okay the busts, plural, then first experiences with heroin, maybe leave out the OD thing, get into the opium dens in Calcutta—that seemed suitably exotic. But those years of breaking into places, to get drugs, the intense compulsions, the suicidal risks, the lying and cheating and stealing and more stealing…I wasn’t planning to tell it all. But it just kept pouring out.
And then suddenly the book was finished. It was in the hands of the publisher, and I couldn’t have censored it or recanted it if I tried. Okay, I quit thirty years ago. And I’ve redeemed myself, haven’t I? Got back into grad school, worked really hard, got hired as a professor. I’m a neuroscientist now: all brain, no body, no pustules, no scars. Hah! You don’t live through a decade of addiction without a lot of scars, or without some crazy compensations to keep the wounds from opening up again.
So what I’m nervous about is that my squeaky-clean persona is going to be in front of that camera or that microphone and it’s going to turn transparent, so that everyone—relatives, colleagues, friends, ex-wives, children, ex-children—everyone can see the dirt below the surface. What am I going to talk about? How bad it was? How sick it was? How much fun it was? That crazy roller-coaster ride? Not knowing how to get off? And how my brain made me do it… How’s that going to go over?
Wish me luck, because it’s all going to happen in a few days. Feels like another roller-coaster ride, this one legal and acceptable, but with some of the same icicles dripping down the back of my throat.
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