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I didn’t come to recovery to be saved—I came because I was dying. This is how I stopped running and finally got rooted in the truth.

From relapse to raised beds—how I turned depression, addiction, and brokenness into growth, purpose, and edible hope.

“That night should’ve killed me. But it didn’t. Now I speak for the ones still lost in the fog.”

Cascade folded in silence. People froze mid-prayer, mid-breath. Shinkuro didn’t attack. He remembered—and dragged us in with him.

03:17 AM — the sky peeled. Shinkuro rose from Zone 4. No roar. No mercy. Just memory, cracked bone, and silence that screamed.

Shinkuro has emerged from the Rift. This is only his second form. The mask is cracking. The truth is waking up.

I stopped running from life. I started building it. 893 days sober. 1,061 days free. Face Thy Fear. GraveBoyz forever.

“You can fake it or you can face it. I chose to face it — even when it hurts. Still shaking. Still standing. Still free. #FTF”

The old me is dead. I am the proof. Face the truth. Trust the process. Forgive yourself. FTF style: raw healing, no fear.

I pulled basil and cilantro from my garden and made a spinach salad dressing that tasted like growth—real, raw, and healing.

Mr. 7 sent me a message before sunrise. I read it at 8. Recovery spoke in silence—and I listened. Let your light shine.

My first time fishing sober reminded me what peace really feels like. I didn’t run from the pain—I cast into it and made it home.

A bold marinade made from freezer finds and real love. This London Broil recipe is survival, hustle, and flavor in every bite.

From a bar in the airport to a hospital bed in Tennessee — this is how I survived my addiction and learned to FaceThyFear.

I used to love coke and booze, now I wear silver for God. The past can watch, but it don’t ride shotgun no more. #FaceThyFear

871 days sober. Still healing. Almost lost it all—but I chose peace. I’ve got a date with success, and I won’t miss it.

866 days sober. Still healing. Still fighting. Addiction never sleeps—so neither can I. #FaceThyFear

They never gave me the tools—but I’m still building. Breaking cycles, setting boundaries, and choosing healing over silence

I claimed a 30-day chip with liquor still on my breath. That lie haunted me—until I faced it and found real sobriety.

A silent warrior rises in 1931 Savannah. Calen Shroud answers violence with steel, forging legend in the rain-soaked alleyways of the South.