If I’m being honest—and I don’t always like to be—I’d tell you I’m Lydia, and I’m an alcoholic. This is the part where you say, “Hi Lydia.”

I grew up in Vidalia, Georgia. Loved it. Lost everything in it. I left, but it never really let me go.

Harrison was my brother. My anchor. I tried to protect him like he protected me, but I didn’t do a great job of it. And now he’s not here.

Steve and I tried to love each other. Some days we did. Most days we didn’t. He cheated, I drank. That’s the story, more or less.

If I’m anything, I’m a survivor. Except I’m not doing great at that either, seeing as I’m dying.

I don’t talk about most of it. But if you’ve been there too… well. Maybe you’ll understand why I kept quiet.