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Translation of Patrick Kennedy’s Statement
Over my 15 years in public life, I’ve felt a responsibility to speak honestly and openly about my challenges with addiction and depression (particularly when confronted with staggeringly undeniable evidence that I’m on a bender). I’ve been fighting this chronic disease since I was a young man (when Dad used to let me finish off his empties), and have aggressively and periodically sought treatment so that I can live a full and productive life (full and productive here being relative terms).
I struggle every day (someone catches me) with this disease, as do millions of Americans (I’m not that different, once you get past the whole Camelot thing). I’ve dedicated my public service to raising awareness about the chronic disease of addiction and have fought to increase access to care and recovery supports for the too many Americans forced to struggle on their own (so you see, it’s really the government’s fault).
This past Christmas (after Dad and I got so hammered at the compound that we prank-called the Kopechnes pretending to be lifeguards), I realized that I had to seek help again so checked myself into the Mayo Clinic (where they have a special Kennedy room separate from the riff raff who are real addicts and alcoholics) for addiction to prescription pain medication (not alcohol, mind you, but the sinister wares of the all-too-strong and irresponsible U.S. drug cartel). I was there over the holiday and during the House recess getting well (a.k.a., detoxing for another run), and I returned to the House of Representatives and to Rhode Island reinvigorated and healthy (yet very angry I missed the Congressional Christmas Party).
Of course, in every recovery, each day has its ups and downs (life’s a bitch and don’t I know it), but I have been strong, focused and productive since my return (so I was clean, as far as you know, until the other night’s unfortunate incident). But in all candor, the incident on Wednesday evening concerns me greatly (not to mention millions of Washington pedestrians).
I simply do not remember getting out of bed (cause I was never there, really), being pulled over by the police, or being cited for three driving infractions. That’s not how I want to live my life (in public, anyway), and that’s not how I want to represent the (12) people of Rhode Island.
The recurrence of an addiction problem can be triggered by things that happen in everyday life, such as taking a common treatment for a stomach flu (IT’S NOT MY FAULT! IT’S NOT MY FAULT! IT’S NOT MY FAULT!). That’s not an excuse for what happened Wednesday evening (but draw your own conclusions), but its a reality of fighting a chronic condition for which I’m taking full (er, ah, some) responsibility.
I am deeply concerned about my reaction to the medication (not to mention the 12 Jack and Cokes) and my lack of knowledge (read: complete blackout) of the accident that evening. But I do know enough to know that I need to seek expert help. This afternoon, I’m traveling to Minnesota to seek treatment at the Mayo Clinic (if they can get my cousin out of the Kennedy room in time for check in) to ensure I can continue on my road to recovery (and to elicit enough sympathy that I have a shot of keeping this gig).
The greatest honor of my public life is to serve the people of Rhode Island, and I’m determined to address this issue so that I can (get you all off my back) continue to fight for the families of Rhode Island (otherwise known as the Smiths, Caplans, and Johnsons) with the same dedication and rigor that I have exemplified over the last decade (or, at least during the three weeks I was really kicking it in February, 1992).
I hope that my openness today and in the past (except for yesterday when I still felt I had a shot at ducking this mess) and my acknowledgment that I need help, will give others the courage to get help if they need it (Please remember me as a courageous trailblazer for others, if you could). I am blessed to have a loving and supportive (read: filthy rich) family who is in my corner, and I am grateful to my friends, especially those (Sam at O’Neill’s Tavern) in Rhode Island, who have reached out to me (and told me just how utterly ridiculous I am). Thank you for you prayers and your support.
Editor’s Note: This post was written by TNOYF’s Senior Correspondent Robert Potfry. Be sure to visit Robert’s own site for more of his outstanding work.
Technorati tags: humor, satire, Patrick Kennedy, drunk, DWI
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You can bet ‘daddy’ pulled him aside, along with all his adviors, and said, “Get the hell out of Dodge” before the press jumps your bones.
He ‘can’t remember a thing’, … ooops, ‘Oh, I remember taking these medicines, … I remember getting in the car, … I remember having to vote (not) … I remember HAVING A WOMAN WITNESS that I was not drinking, … but I can’t tell you who she is …
Oh brother. Does he and daddy think we are fools? I guess so. At least the woman, if she exists, is ALIVE.
This acorn hasen’t fallen far from that drunken tree,as amatter of fact he’s hanging on to the fibbing branch with both hands.
I thought it very decent of you to take out the occasional belches during the Kennedy speech.
“Ask not, what you can do for the Capitol police, —-ask what THEY can do for you!”
“Officer, would you mind stopping at this liquor store so I don’t have to get in my other car tonight?”
Like father like son both with their brains pickled