Twin Towers jail, twenty-three times. Astrid H. doesn't mince words about the wreckage. She describes a childhood of chaos and a "no good" label she wore like a garment, eventually crossing an invisible line into a disease that hijacked her plane to Cuba. Her story is a descent from a Harley and pitchers of beer to the grit of the streets, prostitution, and a psychosis where she tried to dig microchips out of her eyes with dollar-store tweezers.
She speaks of the "infantile ego"—the swing between being a queen and a baby—and the horror of being a "meat puppet" while her daughter watched. For Astrid, sobriety isn't a race with a finish line, but a daily reprieve from a "self-talking disease." She identifies as a "scrambled egg" who must surrender her warped thought life to a Higher Power, trading the "knuckle sandwich" for a spiritual blueprint to avoid the void.
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