I WAS TIRED OF DYING

I lived like nothing had consequences.

For a long time, I lived life however I wanted. Ate whatever. Drank whatever. Did whatever. And honestly? I loved every minute of it. I was a wild boy. I did literally whatever I wanted, and I felt invincible.

But over time, the things that once made me feel free — the indulgence, the partying, the chaos — started turning into habits that caged me. That numbed me. That slowly pulled me away from actually *living*.

I stopped caring. I stopped trying. I stopped believing there was a future worth fighting for. I gave up all sense of self-worth.

Deep down, I knew the truth:

MY HABITS WERE GOING TO KILL ME.

There were nights I was shocked I even woke up. I’d lie there, heart racing, drenched in regret and whatever I had poisoned myself with the night before. And still, I’d do it again. It was a slow, quiet suicide — and somehow, I was still surviving.

I gave in to the idea that this was just how it would end.

The new year rolls around. This was my cliched opportunity at a clean slate. I tell myself I’m going to do Dry January. I make it two, maybe three days — then I’m back at the bar. Partying, hanging out all night, waking up with regret all over again.

A day or two sober here, another there. Nothing consistent. Just more of the same cycle I’d been stuck in for years.

Then something happened: a friend of mine — another regular at the bar — ended up in the hospital. It was serious.

That shook me.

It finally started to sink in that we weren’t invincible — even if we acted like we were. That moment opened my eyes. It scared me.

But I still didn’t stop. Not right away. The cracks were forming though. The lies I told myself were getting harder to believe. Dry January was slipping through my fingers — and I knew it.

Something had to change. I just didn’t know how soon it would.