I Have a Date With Success—And I Can’t Crash Out and Miss It

By Malcolm Pannell | FaceThyFear.com | FTFNow.net

FaceThyFear: You can’t put a shark on a leash.

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871 days sober—and I almost threw it all away last Friday.

Not with a bottle. Not with a relapse.

But with rage. With a flash of the old me—still alive, still dangerous.

That version of me was quiet for a long time. But last week? He spoke up.

And I had to decide if I was still the man I used to be…

Or the one I’ve fought to become.

When the Wind Speaks Louder Than the Noise

Lately, I’ve been quiet.

Not because I’m slipping. Not because I’m hiding.

But because I’ve felt disconnected. From people. From peace. From the version of myself I’ve worked so hard to grow into.

So I’ve been going back to something I’ve always done—stepping outside.

Since I was a kid at my dad’s house, whenever the weight felt too heavy,

I’d walk into the yard and just look up. Watch the sky. Feel the wind.

Let the trees say nothing but still stand tall around me.

Even now—grown, sober, and busy—I still do that.

I water my plants. I close my eyes. I let the breeze kiss my face.

Because sometimes, the wind understands what no one else can.

The Company I Can’t Keep

One of the hardest parts of growth is realizing you can’t take everybody with you.

The more time I spend clean, the more clearly I see who I can’t be around.

Some people are still dancing with the darkness I ran from.

Some people are just addicted to chaos.

It’s not about ego. It’s about survival.

Peace is too expensive to keep giving it away.

And on Friday, I was reminded just how fast peace can be tested.

Friday: The Flashpoint

I was on a job. Doing what I’m supposed to do.

Focused. Calm. Present.

Then a yard worker came outta nowhere and tried to fight me.

Told me he was gonna “A-Town stomp me.”

I looked at him and said,

“I’m from Atlanta.”

And I laughed.

He didn’t know my hood is inked across my skin.

Didn’t know I had a 9mm on me.

Didn’t know the silence I carry comes from surviving things that nearly broke me.

He told me not to speak again.

Said if I did, he’d crush me.

My body tensed. My hands were steady.

And for a split second… the old me cracked his neck, stood up in the mirror,

and asked, “You want me to handle this?”

But I didn’t hand him the wheel.

I walked away.

Because I’ve Built a Life I Refuse to Lose

In that moment, I thought about everything that’s mine now:

• My career

• My HVAC program and how far I’ve come in school

• My family, even when the miles feel long

• My girlfriend who genuinely loves and believes in me

• My cat

• My house

• My garden—the one I planted with my own hands

• My friends—the real ones who want to see me win

The ones who stood by me at my worst

The ones I met in recovery

The ones whose bond feels like blood

The ones who remind me what it means to live to love

I thought about my story.

My name.

My mission.

And I thought about FaceThyFear.

The brand. The movement. The platform I created to tell the truth.

To give people something real when the world won’t.

I’m not just a man with a past.

I’m a man with a purpose.

And I’ve got a date with success.

I can’t crash out and miss it.

Depression Doesn’t Knock—It Creeps

If we’re keeping it real, my biggest battle lately isn’t rage—it’s depression.

It doesn’t always scream. It creeps.

Even when I’m doing “everything right.”

It still finds a way to whisper in my ear.

I’m on medication for it—but I hate the dependency.

Miss a dose and my body reminds me fast.

Today, that familiar fog rolled in again.

So I grabbed my keys, turned on music, and drove.

No big plan. Just movement.

Sometimes survival is that simple.

A Plate of Peace

I stopped at the store. Picked up something to cook.

Went home and made a real meal—chicken, yellow rice, black beans, and broccoli.

And when I sat down to eat, I realized something:

I didn’t crash out—I cooked.

I didn’t isolate—I created.

I didn’t fold—I fed myself.

Some people think healing looks like retreats, therapy journals, or motivational quotes.

Sometimes, it just looks like seasoning something real and feeding yourself with love.

That’s what I did.

That’s what I’ll keep doing.

Gratitude Is My Anchor

I’m just grateful.

That I’m alive.

That I survived.

That I built something I can be proud of.

That I can heal in my own space,

with someone who truly loves me.

That I have a voice. A platform. A mission.

A reason to wake up and do better.

Every day is a quiet, powerful testament—

To God.

To second chances.

To the beautiful, gritty, miraculous thing we call life.

Life is beautiful.

Final Words

This blog isn’t just for me. It’s for anybody out there who:

• Has almost blacked out in rage

• Feels the creep of depression

• Wants to connect but doesn’t know how

• Struggles with meds, pressure, shame, survival

• Wants peace but still feels pulled toward chaos

You’re not broken. You’re human.

You’re healing.

You’re growing.

You’re learning how to live in your own skin—and that takes more strength than most people will ever understand.

You belong here.

Not just clean.

Not just surviving.

But fully, unapologetically alive in your story.

— Malcolm Pannell

871 days sober. Still standing. Still healing. Still here.

FaceThyFear. Forever.