A letter from an ex-addict amid uncertain times

This world wounds us all.

The news hurts. Maybe now more than ever.

War, genocide, and the death throes of democracy used to be delivered to our doorstep. Or maybe on the 11 o’clock news. Now, it arrives at our bedside, in real time, every minute of every day.

When I used to write particularly despairing stories about corruption or crime or even animals, I often added a line at the bottom about what you can do to help.

If you don’t like how captive whales are being treated, sign this petition. If you want to save this lonely shelter dog, call this number — and take her home.

I once wrote a story that resulted in a GoFundMe windfall of more than $1 million for a man who delivered water to the most parched regions of Africa. He bought a new water truck.

Really, it didn’t matter if a reader didn’t donate or adopt a dog or write to their local congressman. Just the thought that maybe someone else was doing something positive left the door open for hope.

The stories always left the reader with a sense of agency. No matter how bleak things seemed, they could make a difference. Even the climate crisis — the most depressing story of all time — could be made more manageable. Use paper straws! Recycle!

For the last year or so, we’ve been subjected to a torrent of devastating news reports, mostly emanating from the White House.

From there, U.S. President Donald Trump has been pursuing a foreign policy of brute force, dividing, even killing, his own citizens and teaching children the worst kind of lessons.

Unfortunately for us all, the leader of the free world is a cruel, corrupt and deeply hateful man. And any attempt at protest is pronounced treason or terrorism by the dominant narrative that his inner cabal manufactures daily.

Where’s the agency? Where’s the line at the end of every news story, telling readers how they can make their voices known? Instead, a climate of fear keeps us from speaking out against the hatemongers in power. Even their lackeys — think Homeland Gruppenführer Kristi Noem and the late, suddenly sacred blogger Charlie Kirk — are above criticism.

Even when they lie to our faces. Or call women pigs. Or let their friends indulge in genocide.

This sense of helplessness is an all-too familiar feeling for an ex-addict like me. I grew up with hope in my heart too. Even when the world took a despairing turn, I always held fast to the idea that I could make a difference.

When it dawned on me that maybe the world couldn’t be changed, I felt like I had no other choice but to shrink away from it. I found my anesthetic at the end of a crack pipe.

In fact, I’d wager addiction stems from feelings of powerlessness — that nothing can be done in the face of evil. Bad things are done to people by those who hold power over them. All they can do to protect themselves is play dead. Go numb.

When I went clean I understood that I didn’t need to make a difference in the world. I didn’t have to re-shape it in order to live in it. All I had to do was re-shape myself. The first step was marshalling more courage than I ever had in my whole life.

I became my own redemption arc. And, if in fact, this broken body, mind and soul can find hope, so too the world. Maybe it couldn’t. But like that line at the bottom of my old reports, it was important to believe that no one — no planet — is too far gone.

There are people out there at this very moment, braving incredible danger, to take to the streets and make their voices heard.

Make no mistake. We’re all experiencing mass trauma — a wound to the world’s collective psyche. Someday, when this age of despair finally comes to an end, we may be able to undo some of the wrongs inflicted upon so many.

I’m afraid by then, we’re all going to need to sign up for a little recovery.

Because this world wounds us all. But for now, courage my love.