I remember relapsing on the floor of my mothers basement.
I still remember what it was like to feel my conscious
leave my body and
float into a complete world of
darkness.
There were no pretty patterns or
surreal hallucinations.
The bright light that everyone
spoke of
was not there
and I wondered
if I was to blame for it
being gone.

And at the same time,

I remember what it was like to wake up.
To see my mother, father,
brothers, sisters
and friends
standing over me.
Crying helplessly wondering if I would
ever be the same again.

I remember what it was like to look into their eyes.

And I remember what it was like to push every single one of them away.

I remember what it was like to argue and walk out on
the same people that said they would
always be there.

I remember because it was the only time in my life that I
truly didn’t care.

But here I am today.

Trying to find the words to make you believe
that I am a better man.

Here I am,
pulling truths from parts of me
that I have not visited in years.

But being transparent does not
******* me like it used to.

It motivates me more than
ever before.

This shaky,
raspy,
unattractive voice of mine
is all I have.

And by any means,

I am going to use it.

There’s only a few other things
I was put here to do.

And if speaking
even when I’m not
spoken to
somehow
saves my life,

then so be it.

Because I remember
what it was like to
keep everything bottled up
and how it got me
absolutely nowhere.

I remember being stepped on
and squashed
as if I did not matter.

I remember what it was like to have
no faith in myself
because that was what everybody
taught me to believe in.

That it was wrong to step out of line
if it meant losing friends or
loved ones.

And I believed them because I didn’t know
anything different.

I didn’t have any independence.
I didn’t have anything to stand for.
I was just a little kid,
four-foot-something,
trying to make it through
another day.

And for every night I prayed
for tomorrow not to come
to a God that I do not believe in,

it always came.

And even though this embodiment
of doubt,
that is my existence,
has never been a breeze-

I can only hope that it has been
worth fighting for.

That every day and every night
I spent hungover or
strung out on the floor
did not go in vain.

And all I can do now is work hard
every single day.

All I can do now is give every ounce
of energy that I have to
making a difference
on people that are going through
what I’ve been through;

to give someone a voice that is
comfortable and
familiar.

and despite the cliché,
maybe even some hope.

Because I remember what it was like
to figure it out

all on my own.