The attorney was teaching me to freebase at 14 and be his toy. Some saw it. Others turned a blind eye. I was high on cocaine, riding that train - round and round and round I go. The pain I had, nobody knows. But God never left my side, even when I was where no one else could find me. God has never left me when flesh and blood left me to rot.

Imagine a classroom that feels more like a jail cell. The walls closing in. The air thick with tension. No room to breathe, no space to be yourself. Every day was a battle just to survive. The system wasn’t designed to help me heal. It was designed to break me down.

Let’s get real. Trauma isn’t just a mental story you tell yourself. It’s a physical imprint. Ever notice how your chest tightens when you’re anxious? Or how your stomach churns when you’re stressed? That’s your body reacting to your mind’s chaos. The mind and body link is this invisible thread that ties your emotions to your physical state. When trauma hits, it doesn’t just stay in your head—it embeds itself in your muscles, your organs, your very cells.

These were figures of authority, individuals who should have been protectors, but instead, they exploited my vulnerability

One moment, I was a boy with a father. The next, I was holding his lifeless body in my arms, watching the light leave his eyes. That moment didn’t just break me—it detonated something inside me. A fuse lit. A fire started. And from that day forward, nothing was ever the same.

At 19, an impulsive decision to get a tattoo in Mexico seemed like the perfect adventure. But what began as a journey to mark my skin with

I found myself beneath the sky's canopy at a KOA campground, nestled within the shell of a Buick Regal.

By the time I was eighteen, I had seen more darkness than most see in a lifetime. Each loss, each betrayal, added to the weight of shadows

Growing up on the Southside of Chicago in the 80s was no walk in the park, especially for a fist-fighting kid like me.