What struck me most about the death of Sam Grittner was how that just as easily could’ve been me. I, too, have struggled with thoughts of hitting rock-bottom and cleaning up: no more shots of THV before going to work as a county lineman#getnup, no more bong hits before getting lost in the jungle room at the aquarium for six hours#metime, no more one-hitters before PTA meetings#Concerned.
It just as easily could’ve have been me telling the cops “I’m not the guy you want” (paraphrasing), and then driving myself to the hospital anyway (he took a train), before finally dying at the place where truly great twitter accounts go to die — the psych ward.
It is a sad matter of course that when one dries out, so does the dramatic, ebullient tension between wanting to please, and the manic, self-deluded (read “charisma”) struggle that actually makes that happen.
…Gone, but not forgotten — You’ll be missed, SG.
[A full account of Sam Grittner’s death can be found here: https://medium.com/@samgrittner/dying-to-live-ea4a8ab91d75?source=linkShare-afe678be4f7f-1481112389]