Celebrities who go in and out of rehab may be struggling privately, but the message the public receives in those cases -- enough details to know that a celebrity is back in a program, but not enough to know why -- is too often that rehab is a place to go whenever you feel the need to get away for a bit.
My nightstand served as a holding tank for the turquoise kidney shaped throw-up trays I'd need over five years of chemo. It converted to a trashcan for all of the Kleenex used to wipe the vomit off my face. It displayed fish tanks, terrariums and cool lamps. It housed the first love letter I ever received. When I moved away from home, my nightstand naturally came with me.
I laugh a little, because I always laugh when someone talks about farting or peeing and she just mentioned both. And also because Ally, the physical therapist who I just met, is staring at my lady parts. I tense my pelvic floor muscles while she watches. I feel like I am winking at a stranger. With my vagina.
Miley Cyrus didn't kill them. The Zoo Festival didn't kill them. But our society, which glorifies the use of drugs and alcohol and stigmatizes addiction and even recovery -- that expends outrageous amounts of energy on shaming Miley Cyrus while ignoring many of the issues worth getting upset about -- does play a part