SOON

I didn’t plan to write a book. 

I had just come out of rehab when the world shut down.

COVID trapped me indoors — alone with my thoughts, my memories, and my cravings.

Rehab had taught me structure. Lockdown forced me to test it.

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Each day, I mirrored the routines I learned in rehab. 

I taught myself touch typing just to keep my hands busy — and my mind honest.

Writing became more than therapy. It became a mirror.

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The pages didn’t just tell my story — they exposed it. 

Childhood wounds I had buried. Pain I had numbed with addiction.
Patterns I didn’t know were shaping my life. 

Staying clean meant staying uncomfortable. Writing forced me to do both.

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