Two years sober. Once, milestones felt like proof I could survive another day without going backwards. Now, they feel less like finish lines and more like quiet places to stop, look around, and realise just how much life has happened along the way.

When I’m manic, writing isn’t a hobby. It’s survival ink. The words don’t wait; they flood, they demand, they save me. Storytelling has been both my lifeline and my compass, helping me not only survive the storm but thrive because of it.