I Died 6 times (almost). I’m Not Healed — I’m Healing

I’ve survived being hit by a train, overdosing three times, flatlining in a hospital bed, and being stabbed by someone I once loved. But survival isn’t the same as healing. And healing isn’t easy.

“You’re not weak for still struggling. You’re strong for still standing.”

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I’m Not Healed — I’m Healing

Let’s start with what’s real:
I still wake up some days and have to fight just to breathe.
Some days I’m strong. Other days I’m faking it.

But I’m still here.
And that alone means something.

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A Timeline of Survival — and What It Took From Me

Let me walk you through the fire — not just what I’ve survived, but what I’ve had to carry.

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🚂 2004 — Hit by a Train at 19

At 19 years old, I was hit by a train on the driver’s side of my car. I walked away with some scratches and a bottle of Percocets. That bottle lit the match.

What it did to me:
I didn’t just survive — I disappeared. That moment became the door into years of opioid addiction, theft, and prison. I thought I was invincible. Instead, I became invisible.

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💉 2007, 2009, 2011 — Overdoses

Three overdoses. Three moments I lost consciousness chasing silence and pain relief. I didn’t want to die — I just didn’t want to exist like that anymore.

What it did to me:
It stripped me of my self-worth. I stopped believing I mattered. I became a shadow of myself.

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🫀 2011 — Flatlined in the ICU

Endocarditis — an infection in my heart from a dirty needle. I flatlined. I came back. Then I spent three months in the hospital, completely broken.

What it did to me:
It made me want to live — and also showed me how far gone I was. I felt lost in my own body. Ashamed. But something inside me stirred.

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🔪 2019 — Stabbed in the Back by the Mother of My Child

I was trying. I had a daughter. A relationship. A fragile foundation. But one night, in a fit of rage, the woman I once loved stabbed me with a 5-inch blade in the lower back.

What it did to me:
It shattered the illusion. It showed me how trauma cycles repeat. It forced me to escape — for my life and for my daughter’s. It taught me to stop mistaking pain for love.

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What That All Did to Me

These weren’t just “bad events.” They rewired me.

• They taught me not to trust

• Not to feel

• Not to believe I was worth anything more than survival

But I’ve spent every day since then unlearning those lies.

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What Faith Means After All That

People throw the word around, but for me, faith isn’t a word — it’s proof.

Faith is knowing, like you know the sky is blue, that God’s got me.

Even when I feel alone.
Even when I don’t understand the pain.

He didn’t bring me through all that to drop me off here.

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I Still Struggle

I don’t write this as someone who’s “arrived.”
I still struggle. Still get triggered. Still feel shame try to claw its way back in.

But I don’t let it win.
I fight back.
And that’s what healing is.

Healing isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about refusing to give up on yourself — even when it hurts.

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What Healing Really Looks Like

Healing is...

• Crying in the car but still showing up for your family

• Reaching for breath instead of a bottle or a needle

• Loving kids who need you to be consistent

• Choosing peace when your whole body wants to explode

• Apologizing, growing, staying

It’s being the dad I never had.
It’s becoming the man my grandfather always hoped I’d be.
It’s raising my daughter and stepchildren with heart, protection, and purpose.
Even when their biological father isn’t around — I am. And that matters.

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Final Thoughts

I’m not healed.
I’m healing.

And that healing?
It’s holy. It’s sacred. It’s mine.

I shouldn’t be here — but I am.
And that means I’ve still got work to do.

If you’re still fighting… I see you.
If you’re still struggling… I honor you.
If you think it’s too late… let me be proof that it’s not.

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🖋️ And One More Thing…

I never in my life considered myself a writer.
I didn’t keep journals. Didn’t write poems. Barely posted on social media.

But I always had this gut feeling — like I had something to say.
Like someone needed to hear it.
I just never knew how… until now.

So now I sit at this keyboard, pouring it all out — not for attention, not for claps or clicks…

But to reach just one person.

To save one life.

To make one difference.

That’s all the recognition I’ll ever need.