Portfolio Review: I Should Be Dead — But I’m Not

And that reality shapes every part of who I am now.

I don’t talk about this part of my life often, and when I do, people usually look surprised. They see me now — the discipline, the routines, the markets, the work, the life I’ve built — and they assume I must have been a “light addict,” someone who just dabbled here and there and somehow pulled out clean.

I get why they think that, and honestly, I appreciate it. It means I’ve come a long way. It means I don’t look like what I survived.

But the truth is the truth:

I was a junkie. A heroin addict.
Not the romanticized version. Not the movie filter version.
I was the kind of addict you pass on the street and think, that’s sad.
I was the kind of addict people wouldn’t let in their house.
I was the kind of addict who hurt the people around him — not out of malice, but because addiction makes you blind to the damage you’re causing.

That was fifteen years ago last month.

Fifteen years. That number doesn’t even feel real sometimes. It’s long enough for an entire lifetime to grow where the damage used to be. It’s long enough for amends to not just be words, but a way of living — a living amends, the daily commitment to be the best version of myself I know how to be.

I try not to harm anyone. I try to stay aligned with natural law, to move with the current instead of against it, to live and let live. I’m not perfect at it. Nobody is. But if you saw who I used to be, you’d understand how far that shift really is. The gap between who I was and who I am now is not effort — it’s a miracle.

The truth is simple:

Everything in my life today is a blessing of recovery.
Every sunrise. Every conversation. Every trade. Every breath.
Because I shouldn’t be here.

I almost died three times that I know of during active addiction.

If I hadn’t gotten clean, there’s no version of reality where I’m alive today. No multi-decade arc. No growth. No wisdom. No work. No truth. Nothing. Just another name people would whisper about. Another life cut short by a needle.

I was inspired to write this today because I found out another addict I knew passed away. A good person. A human being with a whole world inside him that never got the chance to fully come out.

Addiction doesn’t discriminate — it just takes. It takes years, it takes potential, it takes breath, and when it’s done taking, it takes the body too.

When I share my past, it’s not for attention. It’s not for sympathy. It’s for hope.
Because people need to hear this from someone who lived deep inside the dark and somehow crawled out:

It can get better. It does get better. And no one is beyond saving.

If you’re struggling, or if someone you love is struggling, hear me clearly:

You are not hopeless.
You are not broken beyond repair.
You are not alone.

Reach out. Ask for help. Talk to someone who’s walked the path.
I promise you — the path exists. Even when it feels like there’s nothing left.

Fifteen years ago I was dying.
Today I am living.
And every day in between has been a gift I try to repay by being a better man than I was the day before.

If anyone reading this needs help, or needs someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to reach out.

There are people who understand you. There are people who won’t judge you.
I’m one of them.

You are not alone.