Still I Rise

Before the needle, before the streets, before the thirty-three trips to rehab, there was a three-year-old boy who was run over by a drunk driver. That boy was me. My story didn't start with a choice; it started with a lifetime of pain.*Still I Rise* is my unapologetic street sermon, preached from the pulpit of rock bottom. It's a story of how a doctor's prescription for pain became a decade-long descent into a hell fueled by pills, heroin, and every drug in between.
It's the story of becoming a ghost in my own life, losing my home, and sleeping on concrete where the days were a living hell and the nights were a monster. But this is not just a story about addiction. It's a story about the ghosts I carry. It's a love letter to Donnie, the childhood friend I lost to suicide; to Rob, the brother I chose who died by the needle; and to Courtney, my soulmate, who took her life on my birthday and gave my heart wings.
This is the story of surviving my own death, of facing the horrors that make the devil flinch, and of choosing to fight on the 34th attempt when all hope was lost. It's a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and proof that even after a life is burned to the ground, you can find a purpose in the ashes. This is a story of addiction, love, loss, and redemption. This is the story of how I learned to rise.