The Battle, Every Damn Day

It starts when I open my eyes. Before I even get out of bed, it’s there. There’s this weird tension that hangs over me like a weight. It’s not that I don’t want to get up. I’m not lazy. It’s that I know the day is going to come with its usual challenges. Not just the work stuff… Hah! that’s easy. The real battle starts inside my head.

There’s this part of me that still wants to grab a bottle. Some days, it’s a whisper; other days, it’s a full-on scream. The alcohol was my medicine, man. It took the edge off, made social situations easy, made me feel like I was somebody when I walked into a room. Now, I feel like I’m always ten steps behind. People look at me, and it’s like they see someone I don’t even recognize anymore.

It hit me the  today while I was driving back from Tulsa. Same stretch of highway I’ve driven a hundred times, but this time, something triggered in me. I started thinking about six years ago. It’s been six years since that trip where everything changed. It was the day my liver failed and forced me into sobriety. I remember pulling over, trying to choke down a cheeseburger, and feeling my body just give up on me. I made it home, but I knew I’d crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.

Six years. Six years without a drink. You’d think it’d get easier, but some days, it feels like I’m just as raw as I was back then. It’s a strange kind of reflection. Yeah, I’m proud that I made it this far but I’m haunted. 

Take last week. I was at this event, and yeah, I was leading it, handling the mic, putting on a show like I always do. In that moment, the old confidence was back. I felt sharp as ever. But as soon as I step off that stage, it’s gone. I’m in the crowd, just mingling, and I feel like I don’t belong. It’s like I’m playing a part in a movie I don’t remember signing up for.

I get home, and that’s when the real thoughts hit. Why am I still fighting this? Why not just give in, take a drink, and make it all easier again? Everyone else seems to relapse, right? Why am I holding the line when it feels like the world doesn’t give a damn?

But then, I think about Lincoln. I picture his face, and it’s like I can pull myself back from the edge. Because as much as I want to numb it all out again, I don’t want to fail him. It’s not about me anymore. It’s about showing him what it means to push through, even when every part of you is screaming to take the easy way out.

Social situations have always been weird for me, though. Even back in high school, I wasn’t the guy who fit into one crowd. I could lead, guide people, and somehow fit into a bunch of different scenes, but I always felt like an outsider. It’s the same now. I can lead the cannabis community, throw events, put on the face of confidence, but inside, there’s this gap. I don’t drink anymore, but the emptiness is still there, and no amount of socializing fills it.

So what’s left? Writing. Creating. Diving into documentaries, telling real stories, work… It’s where I’m at peace. I’m not chasing the “cool kid” status anymore. That part’s gone, and maybe that’s a good thing. I want to make things that matter, things that make people stop and think. If I can do that, maybe this whole messy journey will be worth it.

But damn, it’s a daily grind. I’ve got to remind myself to take the pause, let the chaos swirl around me, and not let it pull me under. Every day, I’m walking the line between slipping back and pushing forward. I guess that’s just where I am now. No easy answers, just one day at a time…