I really thought I was on the way out. My husband Blake saved my life. Often I don't know what I do, then the next day the memory returns. And then I am engulfed in shame.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I make such big efforts to forget things and I can't tell the story of my life because, thank God, I'm still living it.
I think the saddest moment in my life just happened two months ago. My old nightclub partner passed away, Phil Erickson down in Atlanta. He - I owe him everything. He put me in the business and taught me about everything I know.
It's sad to know I'm done. But looking back, I've got a lot of great memories.
The only thing I've settled in my mind is that I want to forgive, and forgiveness comes with forgetting.
When I left prison, I had to figure out how to embrace my past.
I was left to painstakingly deal with the aftermath of my avoidance later in life, in therapy or through the lyrics of my songs.
I have a very bad memory. I can't remember my own life very well.
I was too ashamed and afraid to confide in friends, and wanted to convince others and myself that my marriage was a success. I lost myself in my writing. Finding ways for my characters to overcome their problems and make their relationships work helped plaster over the wound caused by my inability to make things right at home.
I've forgotten what it's like to remember. I've lost the mindless confidence that a moment, an idea, a thought will be there for me later, the bravado of breezing through experience in the certainty that it will become part of my self, part of my story.
I went into rehab to save my marriage, but I wound up saving myself.