Writing and work for every mind.
Honest pieces about addiction, recovery, and the quiet moments in between. Written for the person in it, and the person walking alongside.

Three Years, One Relapse, Still Here
I relapsed three years ago and I am in the third year since. A relapse does not zero the counter, whatever the counter says. This piece is about what I learned about my own dopamine, and what I put in the space the chaos used to take up.

They Sounded Exactly Like Me
I did not walk into that room because I thought I had a problem. I sat at the back and somebody I had never met described my own week back to me, in my own sentences, and the floor went out. This is the piece where the word finally arrived.

It Was Never The Money
I traded stocks and forex and made a lot of money doing it, and it proved nothing, because winning is the best camouflage an addiction can buy. Then I lost it. The losing did not feel like the opposite of the winning, and that is the sentence this piece is about.
























