Paul Sutton still teaches at San Diego State and still runs the prison tour program. He remains a close friend and confidant. Every time I see him I thank him for convincing me to slay "Marcia Brady" and tell my real story.

I haven't seen the asshole/sperm donor since the day he gave me to Diane, and I haven't spoken to him since cussing him out when I turned eighteen.

I've never seen any of my foster parents (or their children) since moving to San Diego and getting emancipated, although I did talk to Connie once more. You'd've thought she would have gotten the hint when, at one year sober, I told her I never wanted to speak to her again. She didn't. Fourteen years later she tracked me down yet again. This time I wasn't so polite (though I never yelled). I asked her why she kept calling me. She said she didn't know. In an attempt to get through to her one last time, I brought up the painful memory of losing my baby as a result of her and the other girls jumping on me. She chuckled. She chuckled! That was the last straw. I firmly told her I didn't want to be her friend, I didn't give a damn about what she was up to, and to never, ever call me again-for any reason-then I slammed down the phone. I haven't heard from her since.

Through my faith in God, the process of recovery, and with the support of family and good friends, I can now close the door to this part of my life. I have completely forgiven everyone who's ever hurt, harmed, failed, or doubted me, starting with-and especially-me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

There's an old saying: "it takes a village to raise a child." That is so true. Unfortunately, by the time I'd decided to try and turn my life around, I was no longer a child. I was an adult. It takes a community to change an adult. Luckily for me, my "community" has been filled with wonderfully supportive and loving people. I always say that when God knows you're going to battle, He sends his best warriors. I'd like to thank some of my warriors: God: The commanding officer of this army. Thank you for loving me enough to position such a crazy bunch of warriors on the battlefield.

My daddy, Tim Long (whom everybody calls "Pops"): Daddy, first executive officer of the battalion, you led and fought for me with such force and determination, and I thank you immensely for it. I remember when I was at my worst, someone told you that I was hopeless, useless, and worthless, that you should quit wasting time and just give up on me. You turned on that person like fire and sternly replied, "As long as there's breath in her body, there's hope for her." Thank you, Daddy, for never giving up on me. You're the only daddy I've ever had, the only one I've ever known, the only one I've ever needed or wanted. Love, your baby girl, Punkin.

My uncle, Ray Stearns (Jr.): June, second executive officer of the battalion-actually, during my younger years, you were the battalion because you alone were the glue that God used to hold my crazy ass together when I was runnin' wild. You stood fast for me; you stood firm for me. Society labels us uncle and niece, we fight like brother and sister, but I love you like a father. Thanks for always being there for me. And thanks for being my "other" daddy. I love you.

To the remaining platoon leaders and dedicated soldiers who joined in the battle for my life:.

To my brother: Simply I love you.

Venita Ray: V, where do I begin? You've believed in me every step of the way, even when you had to push, shove, and/or drag me to (and through) the next step, level, challenge, and/or lesson. Yet you've always refused to take any credit and instead insisted that you were simply the vessel God used. Well, thanks for allowing Him to use you. Thanks for never turning on me, judging me, or hating me. You are an example of a real friend. A true friend. I love you, girl.

My mom and dad, Gail and LeRoy Westwood: Thank you both for allowing me to be the daughter you never had. (Ron and Bill, thanks for sharing your parents with me.) Mom, thank you for stepping in for the mother I lost so long ago. You've stood by me through some of the most difficult times in recovery. And you were truly my rock during the writing of this book. (You always knew the right thing to say.) You've persistently been a remarkable friend and confidante. Dad, thanks for being my "third" dad. I love you both.

Ken Rose: Thank you for your love, support, and friendship throughout the years. You allowed me into your family (thanks Nancy, Robert, and Jordy), and willingly joined mine. Most important, thank you for helping me demonstrate that genuine love transcends any and all differences. I love you.

Khoi Nguyen (my best male friend): Thanks for the "translation" help during our externship (and a special thanks for never throwing it in my face). Your idea for the website intro was brilliant (as are you), and the picture you took for the book jacket is beautiful. Most of all, thanks for always accepting me just as I am. You da bomb, bay-bee!

Paul Sutton: You know you started all of this-convincing me to assassinate "Marcia Brady" and get honest about my past-and I thank you tremendously for it. You always insisted that my story needed to be told. Here it is! Thanks for the continuous laughter, friendship, and guidance. And please keep up those prison tours. It is truly a tremendously enlightening experience.

Larry Burns and Frank Brown: My zany, but solid, rocks of steel. Thank you for your (sometimes) mind-blowing confidence in me. You guys have made me laugh and let me cry. But you've never let me quit. I love y'all.

The Honorable Martin Jenkins: Thank you for the wonderful experience of externing for you. But that was just the beginning. You have become a true friend and a regular source of inspiration. Most important, thank you for always reminding me whose I am and that He will carry me through anything.

The Honorable Joyce Kennard: Thank you for the incredible experience that you provided me when I was just a fresh-faced law student. It was an honor to extern for you. And a special thanks for swearing me into the California bar.

To all my past, future, and present "gurls" and sista-friends: Thanks for the love, encouragement, laughter, and tears. Thanks for helping me learn to accept myself, know myself, and love myself-just the way I am.

University of San Francisco School of Law: I'm so grateful that the school had (and continues to have) the good sense to look at a person as a whole, and not just LSAT numbers or grades when determining eligibility. And thanks for outstanding faculty, namely: Carol Wilson-Although you initially thought I was a nut, once you saw my dedication and determination, you never wavered in your confidence in me and my ability to succeed. Thank you for being a friend. Brian Mikulak-Thanks for helping me love legal research and writing. (And a special thanks for refusing to allow me to quit your class.) Peter Honisberg and Richard Sakai-Thank you for being my "bar" angels. I have no doubt that your wisdom, suggestions, and guidance helped me pass that hellacious exam. Thank you, thank you, thank you! The professors who donated money for the suit-I still don't know who you are (don't you think it's time I do?), but I'm no less grateful. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Bill Logue-Thanks for reaching out to me when I was in need-without even being asked! God bless you.

Samuel Autman: Who knew that your writing a newspaper article about me would result in such a friendship? Thanks for the words of encouragement, the bomb book proposal, and your constant belief in me and this book.

To the lawyers I've had the honor of working with: David Balabanian-you could have easily demanded that I choose between being a lawyer or an author but encouraged me to be both. I am also grateful to the other lawyers who taught me how to practice law and who continually showed support for this book: Dale Barnes, Geoff Howard, Karen Kennard, and John Pernick.

To Momma Chaney: You were the backbone and foundation for countless women, and men, in recovery-for those who didn't have mothers of their own, and even those who did. Most of my recovery was rooted in something you taught me or something someone else shared with me that you'd taught them. As you always told me, we have a responsibility to pass it on: Someone taught it to you. You taught it to us. The circle continues.

To the "old-timer" women in recovery who were extremely instrumental in my recovery (names are followed by years of sobriety as of the publication of this book): Chaney Allen, 32 years (at death); Carol K., 31 years; Carolyn S., 26 years; Ms. Francis, 26 years (at death); Venita R., 20 years.

To Chris Jackson, editor extraordinaire: I'm sure there were times when I worked yo' last nerve. But you always responded with kindness and patience. You made me comfortable and you made me laugh. It was truly a pleasure working with you because you didn't just read my story, you felt what I was saying, as well. It showed in your editing. You're not just a good editor, you're a g-r-e-a-t one! Boo-ya!

Thanks to the Crown family for all your dedication and hard work on this project.

To the countless names and faces that God sent to help me along this journey, the numerous people who have come and gone throughout the years but nevertheless contributed in some way to me turning my life around-some were present in 12-step meetings, many were not-those who might have extended a hand, offered me a smile, given me a hug, or just shared your experience, strength, and hope with me: although you remain nameless in this book, you are in no way insignificant in my life. I thank you all.

Finally, to everyone who ever said I'd never turn out to be shit, thank you for allowing me to prove you wrong. And to those who believed in me and knew I could turn my life around if only I had the willingness, thank you for allowing me to prove you right.

-Cup.

All names in the text have been changed except the following: Chaney Allen, Frank Brown, Tommy Brown, Larry Burns, David Curnow, Martin Jenkins, Joyce Kennard, Bill Logue, Tim Long, Khoi Nguyen, Venita Ray, Ken Rose, Robert Rose, Ray Stearns (Jr.), Paul Sutton, University of San Francisco School of Law, Gail and LeRoy Westwood, Carol Wilson.

Copyright 2006 by Cupcake Brown.

end.