It’s not easy to write about the darkest moments. They’re heavy—a lead weight that drags you back, forcing you to feel the pain all over again. But these moments matter. They’re the turning points, the raw places where change is born. If you’re reading this and you feel stuck, like life has you in a chokehold, I’m here to tell you: you’re not alone. I’ve been there. And there is a way through.

Falling Apart, Piece by Piece

Looking back, I can see the moments when my life started to unravel. It wasn’t one catastrophic event but a series of small, sharp breaks. A label slapped on me when I was a kid. The expectations I couldn’t meet. The nights I drank to drown out the noise in my head. All of it added up to this unbearable pressure until, finally, I broke.

By the time I hit my late teens, I was running on empty. I’d been diagnosed with a slew of mental health conditions, given a pharmacy’s worth of pills, and told I was "difficult." Those labels became a script. And I played the part well. I got into fights, lost jobs, burned through relationships. I was angry at the world, but mostly, I was angry at myself.

The thing about anger is that it eats you alive. It’s a fire that consumes everything good, leaving behind nothing but ashes. I hated who I was, hated the choices I’d made, hated the fact that I didn’t have the tools to fix it. And the more I hated myself, the deeper I spiraled.

The Lowest Point

There was one night, in particular, that I’ll never forget. I was sitting in a closet with a syringe in my hand, tears streaming down my face. I’d read somewhere that injecting air into your veins could kill you. It seemed logical, clean—a way out. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the needle.

I can’t tell you why I stopped. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was love for my son. Maybe it was something bigger, a tiny, stubborn spark of hope that refused to go out. Whatever it was, it saved me that night. But it didn’t stop the spiral. The weeks and months that followed were filled with more drinking, more fighting, more self-destruction. I was alive, but I wasn’t living.

The Lie of “Unfixable”

Here’s what they don’t tell you about those moments of despair: they’re built on lies. The lie that you’re too broken to fix. The lie that no one cares. The lie that the world is better off without you. These lies are insidious, worming their way into your mind until they feel like truth. But they’re not. The truth is, those thoughts are just shadows. They’re loud, but they’re not real.

I didn’t know that at the time. I believed every word. And because I believed it, I acted like it. I withdrew from the people who cared about me. I doubled down on the behaviors that were killing me. I let the lies control me. It wasn’t until I started questioning those lies that I began to see things change.

A Crack of Light

The first crack in the darkness came unexpectedly. I was walking to work, my car repossessed, my pride shattered. On those walks, I started listening to motivational talks. Jim Rohn. Tony Robbins. Les Brown. Their words were a lifeline, planting seeds of possibility in the barren soil of my mind.

Six months later, I tried yoga for the first time. I’d heard about meditation but had written it off as "not my thing." But that first session was different. During a guided meditation, something shifted. For the first time, my mind was still. The noise stopped. In that quiet, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: peace.

That moment didn’t solve everything, but it was a beginning. It showed me that change was possible, even for someone like me. It was the first step in rewriting the story I’d been telling myself.

Breaking the Spiral

Climbing out of the spiral wasn’t easy. It wasn’t linear. There were setbacks, nights when I fell back into old patterns, days when the lies screamed louder than the truth. But piece by piece, I started rebuilding. I stopped numbing my pain and started listening to it. I let myself feel—really feel—for the first time in years.

I won’t tell you it was pretty. There were tears, screams, and moments of doubt so crushing they felt like they would swallow me whole. But with every small victory, I found strength. A walk instead of a drink. A deep breath instead of a fist through the wall. A conversation instead of silence. Those small choices added up, pulling me out of the pit one step at a time.

A Message to Those Spiraling

If you’re reading this and you’re in that dark place, I need you to hear me: you are not broken. You are not beyond saving. 

The thoughts in your head, the ones telling you it’s hopeless—they’re lying. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but there is a way out. It starts with a single step, no matter how small.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. 

You just have to keep going. Keep breathing. Keep fighting. You are stronger than you know. And I’m here, walking this road with you.