Welcome to The Long Haul, a project that I’ve decided to pursue during a hiatus from my professional journalism career. It also happens to be something I’ve undertaken as I continue my journey of recovery.
I’m Logan Hullinger, a Pennsylvania-based journalist and recovering addict. I’m currently in a rehabilitation program near Philadelphia, although my work could most recently be seen in a publication near Pittsburgh.
Allow me to elaborate further. Just bear with me.
Throughout my life, I've loathed the subject of mathematics. I’ve instead excelled in writing, constructing love poems for my high school and college girlfriends. Maybe, I had thought to myself, I would become a novelist.
As a teenager, I decided to merge my affinity for writing with a newly found passion for politics. As a result, upon entering college at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, I proudly declared my major in journalism. I aspired to have my byline in big-city newspapers such as The New York Times, The Boston Globe or The Washington Post.
What I didn’t expect, however, was that the freedom I experienced in college would somehow lead to an obsession with math. How ironic.
Early on in my college experience, I found out my favorite percentage was 40%; my favorite fraction was one-fifth. On more ambitious days, I was more so fixated on the measurement of liters. To be specific, 1.75 liters was the sweet spot.
I never changed my major, as I still wanted to work my way up the ranks of the newspaper industry. As for math, though, it still remained on my mind — but for only one reason:
My addiction to alcohol.
Growing up, I hated even the smell of alcohol. I despised the taste when my father let me taste his light beer. In my younger years, as a rebellious, depressed teenager, I considered anyone who drank a degenerate.
But then, as a young man struggling with bipolar disorder, I became the guy at the party who drank until I slurred my words and numbed the suicidal thoughts that became increasingly prevalent. I wasn’t an alcoholic, I argued to myself, as I received good grades. In addition, I also formed an obsession with psychedelics, stimulants and opiates, so it was clear I was just a college kid who wanted to have a good time.
I was not an addict, I repeated to myself, as I buried any thoughts questioning the statement with substances. Waking up in cold sweats, my shirt soaked and my hands shaking, I never had a second thought. I just liked drinking. I just liked doing drugs. I’m a college kid, why wouldn’t I?
In fact, the substances seemed to improve my life. They helped me muster the courage to talk to women; they also silenced my depressive thoughts. I had everything under control. At least that’s what I told myself as I drank myself into oblivion, pairing the alcohol with cocaine, heroin and other substances.
It’s all OK, I told myself. That mindset continued into my professional life as I downplayed my addiction due to my ability to succeed as a journalist.
Of course, in reality, I simply prevented myself from reaching my full potential as a reporter over the years and hindered my ability to maintain a job because of my addiction.
Fast forward nearly a decade later since I first picked up a drink or drug, and I sit in front of my laptop in a recovery house. It’s at least the 10th treatment I’ve been in over the past five years or so. I’m unemployed, having quit a reporting gig for the second time in an attempt to focus on tackling addiction.
At times, I feel no different than I did during previous attempts, when I subconsciously knew I wouldn’t stay clean and sober. But a lot more is on the line now. It’s either that or death.
…
As I embark on what I can only hope is my final stint in an institution, I plan to update this publication with editorial-style news articles focusing on addiction, the working class and U.S. politics — areas of life that have become deeply important to me. I don’t plan on committing to a regular schedule, although I will do my best to post weekly. Either way, my recovery is the top priority at this time.
Thank you in advance for any support. Even if no one reads this, at least I’ll be doing something for myself — which is more than I have been able to say in the past.
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