The Flight, The Fall, and The Father Who Saved Me
- facethyfear
- Apr 7
- 4 min read
Dedicated to Dean Pannell
FaceThyFear: From Darkness to Light
June 21, 2022 — 5:25 AM.
I woke up sweating through my sheets, hands trembling, heart racing.
I was in a small rehab room at Boca Recovery Center in Florida — about to be discharged not because I had completed treatment, but because my insurance had run out.
I had flown into Miami thinking I was going to rehab for cocaine.
But during intake, they breathalyzed me.
I blew three times over the legal limit.
I was so deep in denial about my drinking that I didn’t even realize how far gone I was. That moment exposed everything I hadn’t faced.
That morning, before anyone else was awake, I picked up a pen and wrote this in my journal:
Journal Entry – 6/21/22 @ 5:25 AM:
“Woke up in a sweat again in the middle of the night.
Have to be discharged today because my insurance ran out.
I’m going to see my pops and family in Jersey.
My anxiety is pretty bad. It’s hard to write because my hands are shaky.
I plan to purchase a new silver chain and journal in Princeton.
Hopefully, I don’t slip fast.
Breakfast again. I wonder why my mom rejects me so easily and my dad does not.
Maybe because she had to raise me and she is tired of me.
All I ever wanted was her love.
We have had disconnect since I was very young.
I want to cry, but I try my best not to.
*I’m a grown ass man with no direction in life and constant feelings of hopelessness.
I don’t have a stable family.
Fuck…
Sometimes I wish I was never born. I suck.”*
– Me
That page still hits me. It wasn’t a recovery victory post.
It was a man completely broken — afraid of who he was, and even more afraid of who he wasn’t.
The Fall
I left Boca and went straight to the bar — inside the airport before my flight to New Jersey.
Not even 24 hours after writing those words, I was already numbing again.
I had over $1,000 in my bag and a full tank of denial.
From the moment I landed, I started drinking like a whale.
Liquor. Mushrooms. Chaos.
I passed out everywhere. I even fell flat on my face trying to get to the liquor store — scraped up, bleeding, but still went in and bought the bottle.
I was embarrassing myself, hurting myself, and trying to drown every memory of pain in whatever I could pour down my throat.
The Father Who Saved Me
Then one night, some friends pulled out cocaine — and I was ready to say yes.
I was seconds away from fully relapsing, fully disappearing.
But my father, Dean Pannell, stepped in.
He talked to me like I was still in there somewhere.
He reminded me who I was. What I had just come through.
And he talked me out of it.
That night, he saved my life.
From that moment on, I never touched coke again.
Today, I’m 1,040 days sober from blow.
The Body Breaks Before the Breakthrough
But my drinking didn’t stop there.
On September 22, 2022, I was in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, working on a canning line.
I took my usual shots of whiskey before driving to work. I didn’t feel right, so I made a couple of cocktails too, hoping it’d settle me.
But this time… it didn’t work.
I felt like I was about to pass out — my body was screaming for help.
I went to urgent care, and they refused to even see me.
They sent me straight to the emergency room.
That was my wake-up call.
That was the moment my body quit before I did.
And that’s when I began to (sorta) surrender — to life, to healing, to the long road of recovery.
The Artist in Me Was Reborn Too
Later, during outpatient treatment in Pennsylvania, I met a guy who could draw.
I paid him for a design and the rights to use it. Kept his logo on it and gave him credit.
A year later, I hit him up again and told him how much people loved the piece.
Suddenly, he wanted more money — and a cut of everything I sold with it.
I’ve been burned like that before. And that’s when I made a decision:
I’ll create my own art.
Even if it’s shaky. Even if I have to teach myself from scratch.
Because now? I’m telling my story, and no one can hold that hostage again.
Back in Boca, I wrote about wanting to buy a silver chain.
Now I wear one that says FTF — FaceThyFear.
Not for the look.
But because it means something.
Because I made it.
Because I faced everything I was once running from — and lived.
To Anyone Reading This…
If you’re sitting in silence, sweating through another night, trying to hold your thoughts together —
I’ve been there.
And I’m telling you:
You’re not weak.
You’re not worthless.
You’re not alone.
Your lowest point can still become your beginning.
Even if your hands are shaking.
Even if you’re scared.
Even if no one believes in you yet —
I do.
To my father, Dean Pannell — thank you for loving me when I couldn’t love myself. This one’s for you.
Take it 24 hours at a time.
FaceThyFear — Quit walking the plank.
— Malcolm, Founder of FTF
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