Before I tell you why I'm starting The Milk Blood Project, I think it's important to tell you a little about myself and how I got here.
My story doesn't begin with drugs. It begins years earlier, with loss, family struggles, and a way of dealing with life that I didn't fully understand at the time.
1. The Years Before Addiction
My wife battled stage 4 cancer for 11 years. Losing her was one of the hardest things I've ever experienced. But I didn't turn to drugs immediately after she passed away. Years went by before addiction became part of my life.
During those years, I was dealing with serious family challenges. I was trying to support my son through some difficult times while also managing everything else life was throwing at me.
My daughter and her husband were there for me, and I leaned on them for support. Eventually, though, my daughter and I stopped talking. That was another difficult thing to deal with.
So what did I do?
I buried myself in work.
Work became the place where I could focus my attention and keep everything else out of my mind. I became very good at separating different parts of my life and keeping them in their own little compartments.
My boss once told me that I compartmentalized things like a fighter pilot. At the time, I probably took that as a compliment. I could handle pressure, keep moving forward, and get the job done. I didn't have to deal with everything I was feeling because I could put it away and concentrate on what was in front of me.
But eventually, those compartments started overflowing.
You can only push so much aside before everything you've been holding back starts catching up with you.
2. When Life Became Harder to Manage
As time went on, I found myself dealing with difficult relationships. Between those relationships, the challenges within my family, and the loss of contact with my daughter, the things I'd spent years trying to keep separated became harder to manage.
I had spent so much of my life pushing forward that I never really stopped to deal with what was happening inside me.
Eventually, depression became a major part of my life.
There was a period when I spent about a year sitting on the couch, waiting for my disability benefits to come through. I had gone from being a person who was constantly working, solving problems, and staying busy to someone who had very little direction.
I wasn't in a good place mentally.
Looking back, I can see how much I had lost—not just in terms of my daily routine, but in my sense of purpose.
I had always been someone who had something to do, something to accomplish, or somebody counting on me. Suddenly, I was struggling to figure out what came next.
And instead of finding healthy ways to deal with those feelings, I started making choices that would take me down a very different road.
3. Hitting Rock Bottom
Over time, I started burning through my 401(k).
Money that I had worked for years to save began disappearing. Some of it went toward relationships and trying to fill a void in my life. Eventually, drugs became a bigger part of that picture.
Looking back, I can see that several things were happening at once.
I was looking for attention. I was looking for connection. I was trying to escape how I felt about myself and my life.
Some of the women I became involved with were interested in the money and the drugs. I got attention from those relationships, and I used drugs to numb myself.
It became a cycle. I was trying to fill an emptiness inside me with things that could never really fill it.
But the truth is, I made those choices.
I had been through difficult experiences, but those experiences didn't force me to use drugs. They didn't force me to spend my money the way I did. They didn't force me to stop taking care of myself.
Those were my decisions, and I have to own them.
My lowest point came around March, when I developed MRSA. My health had deteriorated, and I hadn't been taking my medications properly. My blood sugar was dangerously out of control, and my A1C reached 17.
I was in bad shape.
By that point, I had reached a place where I honestly didn't care whether I lived or died.
I wasn't enjoying my life. I didn't feel like I had anything left to look forward to. I felt trapped in a situation that I had helped create, and I couldn't see a way out.
I had given up.
That's a hard thing to admit, but it's the truth.
4. Learning to Take Responsibility
After I started recovering from the infection, something began to change.
I realized that I wanted to live.
I didn't want to keep going the way I had been going. I didn't want to continue destroying my health, spending my money on things that weren't helping me, or waking up every day in a life that I didn't want.
But wanting things to change and actually changing them are two different things.
After I got out, I used again.
That was a difficult realization because I knew what was happening to me. I knew where I was headed, and I knew I couldn't keep doing the same things and expect a different outcome.
I needed to get away from the environment I had been living in. I needed to get healthy, get my head straight, and give myself a real opportunity to recover.
That's what led me to rehab.
Being here has given me a chance to step away from the life I was living and start looking at things differently.
I'm learning that recovery isn't just about stopping the drugs. It's about looking at the choices that brought you to that point, understanding the things you need to change, and learning how to live differently.
And for me, that means taking responsibility.
I can't blame my past, my relationships, my circumstances, or other people for the choices I made.
I can acknowledge the things I've been through without using them as an excuse.
My life got to where it was because of the choices I made. If I want a different life, I have to start making different choices.
That doesn't mean everything is suddenly easy. It doesn't mean I have all the answers. And it certainly doesn't mean that I'm finished with recovery.
It means I'm finally trying to do things differently.
5. Building a Different Life
One of the things I'm learning in recovery is that I need structure and purpose in my life.
For a long time, work provided that structure. When work was no longer part of my everyday life, I struggled to find something to replace it.
I need to build a life that gives me reasons to get up in the morning—something meaningful that helps me stay focused on where I'm going instead of where I've been.
That's part of why I'm working on The Milk Blood Project.
I want to give myself something constructive to work toward. I want to keep my mind engaged, learn new things, and put my energy into something that could help other people.
I'm also working on my physical health. Exercise, walking, and taking better care of myself are becoming parts of my routine.
I want to learn to play the piano. I want to take guitar lessons. I want to keep learning, keep growing, and discover things about myself that have nothing to do with addiction.
I'm trying to build a life that I actually want to live.
I also know I have to be patient with myself. I don't have to accomplish everything at once, and I don't have to fill every minute of every day.
Recovery takes work, but it also takes time.
I have a long road ahead of me, and I'm learning to take it one day at a time.
My faith is part of that journey, too. I believe my Creator has been watching over me through everything I've experienced, including the times when I wasn't taking care of myself.
I'm grateful to have another opportunity to get things right.
6. Why The Milk Blood Project?
The Milk Blood Project comes from a place that's personal to me.
I've experienced loss, depression, addiction, and what it feels like to reach a point where you don't know how to move forward.
I also know what it's like to keep things to yourself, to push through difficult times without really talking about what's going on, and to try to handle everything on your own.
I don't want other people to feel like they have to do that.
I want to create a community where people can talk honestly about addiction and recovery without feeling judged.
A place where people can share their experiences, ask questions, listen to others, and realize that they're not the only ones going through difficult things.
And this isn't just about people who struggle with addiction themselves.
Addiction affects families, friends, and loved ones, too. Sometimes the people standing beside someone who's struggling need a place to talk just as much as the person dealing with the addiction.
I want those people to have a voice, too.
The Milk Blood Project isn't about me pretending to be an expert or telling people how to live their lives. I'm not here because I have everything figured out.
I'm here because I'm working through my own recovery, and I believe there is value in people sharing what they've experienced and what they've learned.
I want to listen. I want to ask questions. I want to have honest conversations, even when those conversations are uncomfortable.
And I want people to know that they can be honest about where they are in life without having to pretend everything is okay.
7. What I Hope This Becomes
My hope is that The Milk Blood Project becomes a community of people who understand that recovery isn't always straightforward.
Some people are just beginning to recognize that they have a problem. Others may have been struggling for years. Some are trying to rebuild their lives, while others are supporting someone they love.
Everyone's circumstances are different.
I want us to be able to talk about all of it.
I want people to be able to call in, share their stories, ask questions, and suggest topics they want to discuss. I want us to hear different perspectives and learn from one another.
We won't always agree, and that's okay. We can disagree while still treating each other with respect.
I want this to be a place where people can speak openly, where their experiences matter, and where nobody has to feel that their struggles make them less worthy of respect.
I also want to be clear about something: The Milk Blood Project is intended to provide peer support and honest conversation. It isn't a replacement for professional addiction treatment, medical care, mental health services, or emergency help. Sometimes talking with others can make a difference, and sometimes we need professional support, too.
There's room for both.
As for me, I'm still in recovery. I'm still learning about myself, working on my health, and trying to make better decisions.
I know there will be difficult days. I know I have things to work through, and I know that building a different life is going to take continued effort.
But I'm here.
I have an opportunity to do something different with my life, and I want to use that opportunity to build something meaningful.
If sharing my experiences helps someone feel less alone, encourages someone to ask for help, or gives someone a reason to keep going on a difficult day, then this project will be doing something worthwhile.
I don't have all the answers, and I don't expect anyone else to have them either.
We're all trying to figure things out, one day at a time.
I'm not standing here as someone who has completed recovery or figured out life.
I'm standing here as someone who is learning to live differently, taking responsibility for his choices, and trying to build something meaningful from his experiences.
And I hope that by sharing my story, someone else might find a reason to keep going, too.
We're a community of survivors. And you're not alone.