: Daralyse Lyons
: Yoga Cocaine
: Modern History Press
: 9781615994861
: 1
: CHF 5.20
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 200
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

Jessica needs a fix.
Vacillating between a desire to get high and a yearning for a substance-free life, she finds herself alternating between cocaine and yoga, dependence and freedom. Will she be able to let go of her self-abuse and find sobriety one day, and one breath, at a time? An addict who once disappeared into crack dens, she now seeks solace at yoga studios. As Jessica attempts to create a path to recovery 'on the mat' and in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, she grapples with one unanswerable question: 'Is recovery worth it?' Yoga Cocaine traces one addict's journey from the unknown of addiction to the unknown of recovery.
'A raw, compelling, artfully crafted novel, Yoga Cocaine takes us on a deep dive into the shadowy world of addiction. This novel powerfully illuminates what's available to us when we commit ourselves to the redemptive path of recovery. Even if you've never struggled with addiction, you will be shaken, moved and inspired.'
--Kezia Rene'e Lechner, author ofClose to the Bone: An Uncommon Love Story
'Yoga Cocaine is a heartwrenching story of a woman failing at what seems like an impossible mission: getting sober. Its intense, matter-of-fact voice draws us into Jessica's world, walking us through her journey in a way that helps us to see into the mind of an addict and understand how long and hard a journey it really is.'
--Selina J. Eckert, author ofThis Cursed Flame
'Jessica's experiences could put any fraternity guy to shame, yet you feel for her and root for her, despite her nonexistent moral compass. Through yoga, and some serious diversions, she undergoes a powerful, poignant transformation. Yoga Cocaine is an emotional roller coaster ride of despair and recovery. It's a must read for anyone who's ever dealt with addiction or loves yoga.'
--Heidi Doheny Jay,author of Confessions of 400 Men
'For anyone who has known addiction and sobriety - or wondered about it - Yoga Cocaine is a powerful, painful, hopeful, inspiring and addicting story that you won't be able to put down. Pick it up now and dive in.'
--Lisa Kohn, author ofTo the Moon And Back: A Childhood Under the Influence

7

Since my night with Oliver, I’ve been ignoring April’s calls and letting her texts go unanswered. On the bright side, since my almost-night with Patrick, I’ve made sure to fuck all the men I meet before saying goodbye. It’s not long before whatever shreds of self-esteem I’d amassed from my brief stint of sobriety are eviscerated. The days and nights accumulate. At first, I manage to make it through my shifts sober before going out and getting shitfaced, but that doesn’t last. After a trip to the intersection of Fifth Street and Carpenter to see Markus and fortify my supplies, I’m doing coke in the Free Café bathroom and smoking weed in my car whenever I can get away for a fifteen-minute break.

I tell myself this time won’t be like all the others. I’m still showing up to work—almost on time—and I’m not completely miserable.

Last night, April 27th, exactly two weeks after Patrick opted to get high instead of having sex with me, I met someone. Rocko and I locked eyes in an alley while doing lines of coke off the lid of a garbage can, and, despite the differences in our upbringings and experiences, there was an unmistakable resonance between us.

Rocko is a heavily-tattooed South Philly Italian with a goatee and a small scar on his lower lip that he got during a barroom brawl. His lip-scar is my favorite thing about him.

“Must’ve been a bad fight,” I tell him as I trace the raised white flesh with my tongue.

Rocko smiles, the scar stretching into a long, menacing gash. “Not for me. The other guy’s in a wheelchair now.”

He mashes his mutilated mouth against my unmarred one and something about the intensity of his kiss assures me that he craves the high I can provide even more than the drugs laid out on the table in front of us.

The last guy who made me feel this wanted was Dwight. And I screwed it up.

A few days before my eighteenth birthday, I videotaped my stepdad and myself doing it—doggy style, so both our faces were staring directly at the hidden nanny cam. I was starting college, and, even though I’d only enrolled part-time at a school that was less than twenty miles away, I wanted to live closer to the Temple campus. To get away from the suburbs and the person I’d been in high sc