2KVYOT3.L0VE
Tukayote Helianthus v2
Walking away from suffering.Walking towards love.With intention.
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A spontaneous tattoo on Bourbon Street nearly killed me. What started as a tired, impulsive “YOLO” decision during a solo road trip turned into a severe infection and a real brush with sepsis. Years later, that same tattoo has become a daily reminder that time is finite and choices matter. I don’t read “You Only Live Once” as recklessness anymore. I read it as responsibility. One life. One body. One shot to spend my hours on what actually brings meaning, joy, and integrity.
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I was diagnosed with Bipolar I in 2007, but the truth is my war with myself started long before that, shaped by childhood trauma, military exposure, toxic relationships, and years of survival-mode coping. I lost jobs, housing, stability, and nearly my sense of self. What changed wasn’t a miracle cure. It was ownership. I got sober. I faced my history head-on. I learned my brain, my trauma, my patterns, and my parts. Recovery, for me, isn’t a finish line. It’s a daily practice of honesty, responsibility, and refusing to disappear. I’m not just what happened to me. I’m who I…
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The last three weeks have exhausted me. I’m exhausted, restless, anxious, and juggling consequences from years of medications that keep me alive while quietly wrecking my body. Akathisia, brutal side effects, diabetes, sleep apnea, and yet another possible med change, all while quitting cannabis, nicotine, caffeine, energy drinks, and everything else I used to lean on. This is what recovery actually looks like sometimes: choosing the least dangerous path forward when every option sucks. I’m not giving up. I’m adapting. My body finally said enough, and now I’m listening. It’s heavy, but I’m still here, and I’m not done.
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Meet Roxy: my fiercest protector and most relentless firefighter. Her job is simple: keep me away from fear at any cost. Her weapon is dopamine. When alcohol and nicotine were taken off the table, she didn’t disappear; she adapted. Food became the new delivery system. What I’m learning is uncomfortable but crucial: addiction doesn’t vanish when you remove a substance, it shape-shifts. This year isn’t just about sobriety or blood sugar or weight. It’s about rebuilding trust with the part of me that learned to survive through stimulation. If I don’t understand why I chase dopamine, I’ll stay owned by…
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Today marks a powerful turning point in my recovery. One year sober from alcohol, 90 days free from kratom, and nearly a full year without cigarettes. Recovery isn’t about perfection, it’s about honesty, intention, and choosing health over numbness. I’m stepping away from substances that no longer serve me, using harm reduction where needed, and committing to clarity, stability, and a life lived fully awake. This is not the end of a struggle, it’s the beginning of a cleaner, truer baseline.
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2025 is the year I strip everything away to find my true mental health baseline. No alcohol. No cannabis. No kratom. No dopamine chasing. Just me, my brain, and the hard questions I’ve been avoiding for years. I want to know who I am without numbing, without escape, without outsourcing fear management to addiction. Alcohol nearly destroyed my life, my relationships, and my mind. Walking away from it wasn’t moral or virtuous. It was necessary for survival. This isn’t just sobriety. It’s a deep investigation into fear, trauma, chemistry, and healing, and an open invitation to anyone who’s tired of…
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Almost 8 days. Then anxiety won, Roxy showed up, and I burned one down. My body hated it. Pulse in the low 100s, miserable, high, and uncomfortable for hours. I also injured my ankle trying to walk the anxiety out beforehand. Cowboy talked me off the shame ledge and reminded me I’m doing my best. Today is a new day. Recovery was never about perfection.
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