LOGAN LYNN // NEW MONEY \\ OUT NOW!

  

It’s Mental Health Awareness Month…

It’s Mental Health Awareness Month and calls to the national hotline providing emergency help to people suffering from emotional distress are up 891% from this time last year. People are suffering, and the isolation and separation we are all experiencing as a result of this pandemic are taking a toll.

As someone who has struggled with mental and behavioral health issues my whole life, I’m feeling so grateful to be in a good place these days — though I picked a hell of a time to be stone cold sober.

It took me years to find the right anxiety medication, decades to work through the experiences which were fueling my previous addiction, and a lifetime to find compassion for myself in the midst of it all…but I’m there now.

Whenever the light in my life disappears I try and remind myself that light actually has to travel 6 trillion miles and takes a full earth year to move through space before we ever see it on this planet. That doesn’t mean the light wasn’t there the whole time. It just takes a light year to actually get to us. If you are in a place right now where it’s not visible, I promise it’s still there, and will make its way to you again eventually.

Please don’t suffer alone. If you text HOME to 741741 there are licensed professionals available 24/7 to talk with you and can help connect you to resources. And I’m here for you, too. Don’t hesitate to reach out. 🖤

Oops. Still Sober.

As I approach the 12th anniversary of my being in recovery from cocaine and alcohol, I am genuinely feeling really happy to be here, and so excited about life.

This hasn’t always been the case, as anyone who has followed me for any length of time will already know. I was using drugs back then for a reason — many reasons, actually — and those reasons didn’t magically disappear just because I quit smoking crack and killing my body slowly with vodka. If anything, those reasons became clearer and felt worse as I was getting well.

I am forever thankful for my doctors, who allowed me to go on a journey of harm reduction instead of total abstinence at first. The reality is, this recovery would never have worked if I hadn’t been put on Naltrexone for cravings, or if I hadn’t been able to use medical marijuana during my transition from suicidal junkie to regular human person. Pot saved me for many years, and gave me the space and time I needed to become myself again after nearly two decades of orbiting the atmosphere alone.

A few months ago, the weed stopped helping like it once had, and I went back to the same team of docs who had saved me, to see what was up. I made the transition from medical marijuana to BusPar around that time and almost immediately felt that impending sense of doom I’ve had strapped to my back since childhood disappear completely.

This is all just to say, recovery looks different for everyone, and it changes over time. If medication assistance helps you, take the medicine. I certainly have, and I’m zero percent ashamed about it. If you are experiencing addiction but aren’t ready to go totally sober right at first, then just find ways of hurting yourself less. That all counts as recovery, too — and fuck anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.

If you had told me 12 years ago that this life I’ve been living would someday be mine to live, I would never have believed you…but here we are. Healthy, happy and loved. 100% sober. Alive, inspired, and grateful. This shit is a goddamn miracle. 🤘💛

A Lot Can Happen In Four Years…

I almost died four years ago this week, and tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of my younger brother Landon saving my life.

After a 16 year battle with drugs and alcohol I was taken over completely in 2007 and it nearly killed me. I locked myself in my house and began to smoke rock cocaine and drink vodka around the clock. I rarely left. This went on for months and I spent $67,000.00 on my addiction during that final year. I overdosed on two occasions, and I was headed for death. I wish I could say I was so messed up that it didn’t register, but it did. I knew what I was doing this time; I just didn’t care. No one could stop me.

On March 22nd, 2008 someone did manage to stop me, though. My little brother Landon burst into my living room with his wife Ashley unannounced to “get me help”. I had passed my lowest point weeks before and was spiraling toward the end by the time they got there. My entire junky setup was on display in front of me and there it was; the truth. ALL of it. There was a thick layer of cocaine smoke in the air and I remember yelling out something like “Don’t come in here if you’re pregnant” to my sister-in-law. I was in a state.

I looked like a dying man because I was a dying man. Ashley looked afraid when she saw me. My brother did, too. This made me feel afraid, and in that moment, my sweet brother’s fear and love and hopes for my future somehow reached me. He took me by the arm and put me in the car and we went to the hospital. When we got there he had to use force to get me to go in but he managed to get me into the building, admitted, and the rest is history.

The past four years have been the most wonderful gift. I have come back to myself, back to this world, back to my family; and I’ve found love and joy that I would have never found had I not made it through. There are still moments when who I was before shows up in my present day, but I am not afraid of that person. He was a person, too. A very sick, sad person who needed help.

The truth of my story is hard sometimes. I certainly wish I hadn’t done many of the things I did during my addicted years, but I am empowered by that same, scary truth. I am not ashamed of having overcome the circumstances of my life, and I am proud to be here today as a result of hard work and the goodness of others who have given me the opportunity to start over.

I saved my little brother’s life when we were young boys, and he returned the favor when we were grown men. Now, years later, I am still moved by his bravery. To stand up to me like that in my darkest hour; to come find me when I had shut him out; to physically maneuver me toward safety; that must have all been so scary…but he did it, and I am here today as a result.

Thank you, little brother, for showing up when I needed you. You got there just in time.

…and thank you to everyone who loved me then, who loves and cares about me now, and who keeps reminding me of just how lucky I am to be here. This world is beautiful because of you.

xo,
Logan

BE WELL, FRIENDS. THE WORLD NEEDS YOU.

I was chatting with an older woman who works in my building today for the first time and she said “I hope this comes out the right way but I overheard you say that you needed someone else to set up the bar for the party because you are a recovering alcoholic and I just wanted you to know how happy I was to hear you taking care of yourself like that. You see, my daughter had the same problem but she was never able to get well. I lost her last February. I know how very hard it is and I think it is so great what you are doing.” I smiled and said, “I am so sorry to hear about your daughter. It’s a very difficult journey to be on. So hard on everyone involved.” She replied “Yes…but it was hardest on her.”

We talked for a little while about how now she is raising her granddaughter as her own and how maybe we are all just doing our best, even when we are at our worst (a concept which has come up in conversation lately with a few different people and that I find incredibly hard to wrap my head around at times). At one point her eyes welled up and she said “Hearing you stand up for yourself and your life in that moment made me love my daughter in a way I have not been able to since she died. Thank you for giving that back to me.” She started crying big tears, which made me start crying big tears…then we hugged the hug that only people who have been through the same war hug, an embrace I have felt before with my own hurt, scared mother around this stuff.

In that moment I imagined myself to be her daughter, years later, happy and well, hugging away the pain of watching someone you love struggle through the horrors of addiction. I felt like saying “It’s OK, mom. It’s over now.” as I have done with my mother on several occasions since finally getting well in 2007…but those words mean something so different for her than they do for my mom. For this sweet woman and her daughter, it really is over. All of it. No more memories, no more birthdays or holidays spent together. She is just gone, taken from this world by a glass of something.

I am so thankful that my mother does not have to cry on the shoulder of some other survivor to feel close to her dead child and I am grateful to have real love in my life where there used to be an empty space I filled with cocaine and vodka. I know how lucky that makes me and not a day goes by that I don’t wonder why I get to be one of the lucky ones. These days are cosmic gifts, extra moments bestowed upon me and my family by some unexpected twist of fate. I am 4 years into the bonus round and I try to make every minute count. I get to be here to kiss my boyfriend, play with my dog, watch my nieces grow up, help the community I care so deeply about, and enjoy all these beautiful years I almost didn’t get to have with you all.

Be well, friends. Live the life you are meant to live. Hug your mothers. Find something lovable about yourself and LOVE IT fearlessly. Then, share that love with the world…because the world needs you. If you are struggling with addiction, please tell someone. There are lots of different ways to get lots of different kinds of help and there has never been a better time to get your shit together than RIGHT NOW.

I wish you the happiest of all holidays, everybody.

xo
Logan


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