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My Recovery and Healing Mainframe.
> life_of_every_party.ps1
> death_of_every_relationship.ps1
> recovery.ps1
> healing.ps1
> love.ps1
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"If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn’t sit for a month."-Theodore Roosevelt
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Two hundred days completely sober from every chemical, gotten in the hardest chapter of my life. Grief lodge, amends without asking forgiveness, being stalked and labeled by people I once trusted and loved, months of nervous system hell, a five year no contact order finally expiring, the manifesto that guided me, a peer support circle that never let me go it alone, and the word I didn’t have until June, autistic.
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I was not a bad partner in any of my past relationships. I was an unmanaged one, running on addiction, undiagnosed autism and PDA, and patterns that took years to intentify and kill. Understanding why does not excuse the damage. This is the difference between being a villain and being a system with the wrong map that still owns everything it broke.
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I’ve been performing again, not for other people this time, but for myself. Selfies, smiles, hand hearts, all real, all covering a grief I haven’t let myself feel. The mask is off.
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A 3,908.7 mile, thirteen day road trip through ten state crossings, two national parks, and one Ministry of Statistical Information Department worth of nerdy data. Also: astrophotography four years in the making, a photo recaptured after twenty two years, and the moment I chose to turn the car around 12 days earlier than originally intended.
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A month ago I found out I am autistic, and every pattern I spent this year naming suddenly had a different shape underneath it. I didn’t have language for any of it when I recorded this piece, so I let my body move through it instead. Kai Wachi said what I couldn’t, and I danced the grief because my mouth hadn’t caught up yet.
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There is no substance left standing between me and whatever I feel now. No drink, no chemical, nothing to soften the edges or buy me a night off. So when this song ripped open the way it does, quiet grief giving way to an explosive drop, I let my body do what it had to do. Weeks of stacked, unfinished grief moved out of my nervous system the only way it could. Not through numbing. Through movement.
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June 2026 was a month of exploration and wonder. Learning about being autistic while exploring dating with 3 different women. 176 days completely sober from drugs and alcohol. 161.4 miles walked on two feet that kept my nervous system regulated. I road tripped through 5 states and slept in 4 of them. I went no-contact with all but two people I am related to.
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