Burden of Pain, Available May 16th

It’s almost Mother’s Day. On May 16^th, Burden of Pain will be available for sale. The book is the culmination of my journey through the opioid epidemic.

It began when I opened the first primary care practice in NW Indiana to offer telepsychiatry for patients struggling with behavioral health. It was supposed to end when I was sentenced to prison, the final salvo in the DEA’s onslaught against me. Only it didn’t.

I kept fighting when all was lost. Somehow I survived when I had nothing to live for. I lost everything: my clinical practice, my reputation, my family, and my freedom. But something inside of me wouldn’t quit – wouldn’t allow me to quit. I had to fight.

So when I went away – into the darkness, let’s call it – for eleven months, one week, and three days, I was determined to keep fight, no matter what. I just didn’t know how. At first, nothing came to mind. In those moments, I felt tempted to fall into self-despair. I had everything taken from me; at least that’s what I thought. But I kept at it, looking for ways to fight. In the darkness, I found two weapons that will forever remain with me – the truth and my voice.

It may not seem like much, especially when going against powerful federal agencies. But those two weapons have interesting properties. They’re as powerful as you believe them to be. If you believe what you say matters and it proves to be truthful, then people will listen. Maybe not at first, but eventually they will. Your story becomes your power.

It’s with this belief that I set out to write what had happened to me. When I put pen to paper, I realized my writing skills were severely lacking. Yes, I could write. I have written numerous essays, manuscripts, and clinical studies over my academic and professional career.

But that’s a type of different writing. It’s writing as a means to an end. What I was aiming for was different – I was looking at my words as the end itself. It’s a subtle cognitive shift, but it’s the essence of word crafting.

Anyone can memorize the rules of grammar, the appropriate verb tense, and the ways to structure sentences to emphasize the active verb. But writing, in its purest form, is self-expression. It’s a coordinated release between mind and hand, and thoughts and words. It’s a dance.

It’s hard to understand if you’ve never experienced it. But after reading 250 books, going through daily writing drills, and writing 75 short stories, I began to see glimpses of it. The darkness became my proving ground.

Darkness does funny things to you. It distorts your sense of time. You either become amazingly productive or you succumb to wallowing in languor. I chose the former. With few daily obligations, little to distract me, and a pervasive belief in the strength of my two weapons, I began writing.

I wrote despite realizing I need to improve my writing. I wrote until I enjoyed rewriting more than simply writing. Most original words are unfettered self-expression. It feels good coming out, but it’s more for you, the writer, than the reader. The revisions sculpt the thoughts – so the reader appreciates the words, making the expression ready to be shared.

True writers breathe the air given by their readers. It’s a visceral symbiosis. Once I saw this, my words changed. The sentences grew depth. Each word, sculpted by shame and humiliation, one after another, transformed into a flowing river of thoughts and emotions.

I wrote the first version by entirely by hand while in the darkness. When I returned, I typed out the entire manuscript, all 120,000 words. I thought it was good. I was wrong. It needed revisions and I needed tough love. Eventually, I appreciated the rewriting and smiled at the subtle points of clarity that make a sentence more readable and my voice my relatable. Revision after revision trimmed it to a manageable 72,000 words. Now it’s ready for public consumption.

I hope you appreciate the pain in my voice and the struggle in my words. It’s meant to evoke complex, uncomfortable emotions. The ones we hide – the secret burdens we carry. Hence the name, Burden of Pain.