Dear Nobody™,

Dear Nobody,

I don't remember everything about the night I overdosed.
Just bits and pieces.

I remember laying in a hotel room, tired.
Not physically tired-something in me had been wearing down for years.

I had already lost so much by then.
Jobs. Relationships. Family. Myself.

Alcohol and drugs weren't even something I did for fun anymore.
They were just... normal.

An escape.

That night, nothing happened.
No big moment. No realization.

Just one more time trying to feel something-or nothing.

And then... I opened my eyes.

I don't even remember falling asleep.

He told me he thought I died.

Not metaphorically. Actually died.

And somehow... I came back.

I wish I could say that was the moment everything changed.
But it wasn't.

Addiction doesn't work like that.

Even death wasn't enough to stop me.

But something stayed with me after that.

Not fear.
Not clarity.

Just this quiet thought:

"How many times do I get to come back?"

I think about that a lot now.

Because somehow, after everything-
the streets, the addiction, the chaos-

I'm still here.

Sober.
Alive.

And trying to understand why