I know what it’s like to hit the bottom so hard you don’t think you’ll get back up. I was medicated at 5, addicted and diagnosed bipolar at 18. I was a father at 20, divorced at 23, and drowning in addiction again. I lost my wife to cancer just months after our daughter was born. I watched the second great love of my life slip away because of my own insecurities and mental instability. At my lowest, I ended up in the ER—twice—because I couldn’t trust myself to make it through the night. It was in that sterile room, staring at the ceiling, that I made a decision: I was done living half-alive. Something had to change. I had to change.