The black box has been found.

I’ve been writing letters ostensibly explaining myself, but mostly in order that I might find some answers or at the very least a confirmation. And I’m targeting those who I figure are ill or have been ill like me in the past. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic – I’m not sure. It is much like picking through the debris of a plane crash and finding in the twisted fuselage the coveted black box, which houses the recording of what happened in the cockpit just prior to the crash. But then it’s a near impossibility to find the actual crash site. I’m being coy and I don’t mean to be… That might have been part of my illness in the first place.

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