A page for Jena.
I wonder what you’re doing now and if you’ve made your way out of bed yet to welcome another day. I hear you’re seeking rehab but have been turned down because insurance won’t cover it. Well, at least you tried. Your overdose scared me and I have to wonder how you lived through it. 40 Vicodin. Unreal. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital, but I didn’t find out until after you were released. Nobody contacted me but I wouldn’t have shown up anyway.
When I was in Yellowstone, I wanted you there with me and actually felt guilty for leaving you behind surrounded by towering asphalt and toxic air, but you were too far gone to notice. I hear you still dream about moving west all by yourself to chase a dying dream. The tired face of Hollywood still appeals to you, but I really do think you would hate it after a while. LA is not much different from Houston, but at least you still dream. I wouldn’t know what to say if we came face to face. Awkward. Strangers. Unreal. I miss you nonetheless.