An Addict for Life


An Addict for Life

Illustration: Namaah/ Arré


’ve been an addict all my life. At 15, I was dependent on blue eyeliner and boys for approval. At 28, I was obsessed with my job as a television writer, and having to prove to the entertainment industry that I’m the voice of my generation. At 32, I would consume four books a week and take infinite notes for a novel that I would write one day.

Somewhere between 35 and 39 lies my half-decade of lost time, my customised female pre-midlife crisis, a shadowy blur of people and events that I cannot recall, thanks to my drug of choice at that point: Riviera White. A bottle a day. Maybe another at night.