Still Here: Notes from a Dizzy-Ass Life - Book¶
Overview¶
"Still Here: Notes from a Dizzy-Ass Life" is a memoir by Charlie Rivera, released when he was nearly forty years old. The book took nearly a decade to complete, written in bursts between crashes, nausea, panels, and the ongoing reality of chronic illness. Part essay collection, part confessional, part survival guide, the memoir became essential reading for disabled communities and was assigned in neuropsych seminars across the country.
The title itself was a battle—Charlie argued with the publisher over whether they could keep "ass" in there. He won.
Structure and Content¶
The book unfolds not as a traditional timeline but as a mixtape. Essays, vignettes, riffs, and dialogue are interspersed throughout. Some entries are one paragraph. Some are full chapters. Some are typed. Some are transcribed from voice notes because Charlie couldn't hold a pen that day.
Major themes include: - The first time he passed out during a performance - His first feeding tube - Falling in love with Logan in the middle of medical chaos - The day he got his diagnosis - The crash nap where he woke up shaking and swore he was done - The conference that changed him - The first standing ovation he got just for speaking
Practical sections include: - "Here's what I pack in my bag for a train trip when I might faint" - "Things I wish someone had told me about dating while chronically ill" - "The difference between fatigue and FATIGUE" - "How to puke with dignity in a Walgreens parking lot (you can't)" - "Love letters to my band" - "Letters I never sent to doctors who didn't believe me"
Chapter titles include: - "I'm Not Lazy, I'm Malfunctioning" - "I Didn't Know It Was Going to Be Like This" - "I Want to Be Brilliant Without Bleeding for It" - "Hot Husband, Cold Feet" - "Sometimes the Recovery Is Quieter Than the Collapse" - "No, I'm Not Better Today—You Just Got Used to Me Being Sick" - "We're Not Inspirational. We're Tired."
Writing Process¶
The memoir took over three years to complete—closer to a decade when accounting for the many months Charlie couldn't even look at a screen. He wrote in spurts, crashing halfway through key chapters and not returning for weeks. The book was composed primarily from the couch: hoodie up, ice pack on, laptop balanced on his knees.
Logan became his editor-by-default, reading chapters aloud when Charlie's hands wouldn't cooperate, highlighting drafts with quiet notes like "you don't have to be brave here—just honest." Riley helped format pages when the brain fog hit too hard.
Jacob wrote the foreword without telling Charlie he was doing it until it was already submitted.
Release Event¶
The release event took place in a small, warm theater in Brooklyn. The venue featured accessible seating throughout, dimmed lights for sensory friendliness, an ASL interpreter, and closed captions rolling across the backdrop.
By this point, Charlie was using his AAC—sometimes a sleek tablet, sometimes just his laminated board clipped to his chair—almost full-time in public. He wasn't the fiery twenty-something climbing onto conference stages anymore, but he was still showing up. Still creating. Still here.
There was a chair on stage. Not a podium. Not a spotlight. Just a chair. Charlie wheeled up to it slowly—not dramatically, just real. He wore black slacks, boots, and a soft draping jacket, with a Puerto Rican flag pin on his lapel. His tablet rested on a stand in front of him, already queued up.
Logan stepped to the side mic to read for Charlie because his voice was wrecked from fatigue. "Charlie asked me to read this tonight," Logan said. "He says his voice decided to go on vacation without notice."
The reading concluded with Charlie's words: "This book isn't for the ones who called me strong. It's for the ones who stayed when I wasn't."
Jacob sat beside Ava in the second row—both two years into their relationship, glowing, quiet, soft. The whole band was present.
Reception¶
The memoir became a touchstone for multiple communities: - Disabled teens called it their Bible - Musicians with invisible illnesses finally felt seen - Queer kids highlighted every sentence that started with "You're not broken, cariño" - Clinicians assigned it in neuropsych seminars, especially the chapter "We're Not Inspirational. We're Tired."
One reviewer wrote: "It's like getting slapped and hugged on the same page."
Significance¶
"Still Here" accomplished what Charlie had always done with his music: it made the invisible visible. The memoir gave language to experiences that often went unspoken—the complicated relationship between chronically ill people and their bodies, the exhaustion of being "inspiring," the love that shows up even when everything else falls apart.
The book proved that Charlie's voice extended beyond music. His words carried the same emotional truth as his saxophone, the same refusal to pretend everything was fine when it wasn't, the same insistence on being fully, messily, defiantly present.
Related Entries¶
Related Entries: Charlie Rivera – Biography; Charlie Rivera – Career and Legacy; Logan Weston and Charlie Rivera – Relationship; Jacob Keller – Biography; Still Here: Notes from a Dizzy-Ass Life Release Event – Event