Million Little Pieces Essay

Million Little Pieces Essay-56
Oprah might feel a bit foolish, and presumably at least some of the 3 million-plus people who bought Frey’s book will feel ripped off, but that in itself is not cause for any serious outcry.—one of the best-selling books about drug addiction ever written—has been trumpeted as an unflinching, real-life look into the world of a drug addict, it has helped to shape people’s notions about drug abuse.

Oprah might feel a bit foolish, and presumably at least some of the 3 million-plus people who bought Frey’s book will feel ripped off, but that in itself is not cause for any serious outcry.—one of the best-selling books about drug addiction ever written—has been trumpeted as an unflinching, real-life look into the world of a drug addict, it has helped to shape people’s notions about drug abuse.

Ironically, the very abundance of its clichés has likely helped make it a runaway best seller: People, after all, like having their suspicions confirmed.

For nonaddicts, reinforces the still dangerously prevalent notion that it’s easy to spot a drug addict or an alcoholic—they’re the ones bleeding from holes in their cheeks or getting beaten down by the police or doing hard time with killers and rapists.

For those struggling with their own substance-abuse issues, sends the message that unless you’ve reached the depths Frey describes, you don’t have anything to worry about—you’re a Fraud.

And if you do have a problem, you don’t need to necessarily get treatment or look to others for support; all you need to do is “hold on.” In building up a false bogeyman—the American recovery movement’s supposed reliance on the notion of “victimhood”—Frey has set himself up as the one, truth-telling savior.

But why should we care that Frey seems incapable of this?

In A Formal Essay Explain Lymon'S Character - Million Little Pieces Essay

Beyond being slightly infuriating—Frey has made millions of dollars off of —what’s the real-world impact of Frey’s fakery?Were I in my normal frame of mind, after I gave him his beating, I would make him come back here and apologize to everyone for wasting their precious time.After the apology, I would tell him that if I ever heard of him spewing his bullshit fantasies in Public again, I would cut off his precious hair, scar his precious lips, and take all of his goddamn gold records and shove them straight up his ass.He drank too much, did some drugs, got nailed for a couple of DUIs and ended up, at age 23, in one of the country’s most prestigious drug-and-alcohol treatment centers.When Frey writes that, after one of his fictitious arrests, he hated himself, saw no future, and wanted to die, I believe him.Improperly diagnosed, Frey writes that he spent the first years of his life in pain, literally screaming, until at age 2, a new doctor realized what was wrong, thereby beginning a round of operations that eventually fixed the problem. I call it the acceptance of my own problems and my own weaknesses with honor and dignity. into one of Winfrey’s most popular book-club selections ever.As a Hazelden counselor tells Frey, “If those screams went unheeded, whether consciously or unconsciously, they might have ignited a fairly profound sense of rage within you.” People in here, people everywhere, they all want to take their own problems, usually created by themselves, and try to pass them off on someone or something else. I’m a victim of nothing but myself, just as I believe that most people with this so-called disease aren’t victims of anything other than themselves. He even boiled down his philosophy into a pithy, two-word motto—”Hold on”—which his acolytes have made into T-shirts and had tattooed on their bodies.Both of these stock characters—the narcissistic, pretty-boy rock star suffering from a laughable lack of self-awareness and the world-weary anti-hero who is choking on the crap society is shoving down his throat—are typical of the kind of cliché-ridden portraits that populate Frey’s book.There’s Frey’s one true love, a woman who was, naturally, “tall and thin and long and blond like the thickest silk her eyes blue eyes Arctic eyes.” There are the small-minded, small-town cops, “fat stupid Assholes with mustaches and beer guts and badges.” There’s the book-smart, life-dumb drug counselor, a “grown-up version of a kid who spent his childhood sitting behind a computer hiding from bullies.” If a novelist wrote a book run through with these kind of straight-from-Central-Casting chestnuts, he’d be politely told to try again …One counselor at an in-patient facility I attended used to publicly humiliate new patients on their first day in the program by first making them tell the group what brought them there and then quizzing them on the specifics—how many CC’s does a standard syringe hold?—until they crumbled and started telling the truth.

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