A friend once told me how he carried a pistol around in his car for six weeks, planning to kill himself. In his book, Out of Confusion, he writes, “I was broken and hurting badly. I had failed in everything. There was nothing to look forward to and nothing to comfort me. I remember the time, it was nine o’clock…
I’ve been asked this question many times, in many places—hospitals, trains, cafes, homes, clinics, kitchens ——by people like Marie, a twenty-year old alcoholic, who captured my heart in a clinic in Bavaria. Emotionally scarred from severe early abuse and deprivation, Marie never let anyone hold her. Until one day…when she sat in my arms while I’m on the floor talking…