one year sober

I’ve been so busy lately that I didn’t realize I’ve now been sober from alcohol for a year. My life has been nothing but looking up since I made the decision to quit.

Some introspection is due, though—it’s good to remember all the right reasons for quitting. So, let’s dive into the past.

I remember being a shy kid, and since I came from a poor family, I spent most of my teenage years working to help my mom with rent and bills. While my friends were hanging out, going to discos, drinking, and having fun, I spent many evenings plucking brass shards out of my feet and legs (I worked at a brass factory for a while). I also remember going to restaurants with them, and while they ordered pizza or other food, I would lie and say I wasn’t hungry, when in reality, I couldn’t afford it and was too ashamed to admit it. I could’ve stayed home, but I wanted to feel normal, like everyone else.

I really started “enjoying life” later, after my mom’s passing, but years of frustration pushed me toward excess drinking. The gauge needle was always either all the way to one side or the other.

I enjoyed drinking so much that later, in adulthood, I reached the point of relying on alcohol to feel happy—without realizing that alcohol itself was the cause of my depression. A snake biting its own tail.

One thing I didn’t understand at the time was that because of my heavy drinking, I suffered from ARP (Alcohol-Induced Psychosis). At times, I had the worst delusions of grandeur imaginable: I thought I was talking to a “higher power” that told me to go vegan (I’m still vegan today, but now for the right reasons). My perspective on things became completely twisted, leading me to sacrifice myself in service to others. I thought I was in love with people who were very clear that they weren’t in love with me. I felt extreme emotional highs, but each one was followed by an equally extreme low—and the lows kept getting worse. I was unbearably emotional, both for myself and for everyone around me.

It all reached its peak here in the States. A year ago, I remember being absolutely obliterated. One of my friends had to walk me home because I felt like I was about to pass out (likely from extreme dehydration). I had spent an incredible amount of money buying drinks for myself and others—so much that I had to sell all my music gear just to pay rent and bills. That version of myself decided to quit music, believing it was nothing but a life of chasing success at the cost of financial and emotional ruin.

On August 19th, 2024, I had my last drink. I told myself it would just be a break. But by then, I had already drained all the good chemicals from my brain, and what followed was months of crushing depression.

I was hopeless. I thought about my immigration process (still waiting for my 10-year Green Card), my failing health, my dried-up bank account, and my inability to pay rent and bills on time. Then came the suicidal thoughts.

I wanted to end it all. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about anything if I did. I was already planning the logistics: I didn’t want to hang myself in my room or bleed out in the bathtub, because I didn’t want to leave a mess for my roommates. It had to be outside. I got dangerously close—one night I was in an alley, looking for something sharp to slit my veins with. I even wrote a letter apologizing to everyone for not being able to cope with life.

A few nights later, I was in the alley behind my building with a knife I had sharpened at work. I held it in my right hand, the blade close to my left wrist. When I caught a glimpse of myself in its reflection, I realized: I was really doing it. I was about to end my life.

But I snapped out of it. And by that, I don’t just mean the act of suicide—I mean all of it. I thought, What am I doing?? It was the scariest moment of my life. I realized I was my own enemy, so I told myself, Just wait.

I picked up more shifts at the restaurant where I worked. I worked my ass off. By the end of the year, I found my way back to music, at first borrowing equipment from a friend.

I started playing gigs again, on top of working at the restaurant. Slowly, my finances improved. I bought a bass, then an amp, then one pedal, then another. Within 3–4 months, my rig was back together. And with alcohol out of my system, my brain finally began to heal from the depression. Hope started to return.

I never had those dark thoughts again. My life is far from perfect, but I found myself again—the strength to carry on and stand back on my feet. And I had a story: one of seeing light at the end of the tunnel. That’s when I began working on my song California Forever, which embodies this very journey. It tells my story not with words, but through bass and orchestra.

It’s been a healing journey. After a year of sobriety, I wanted to share this here, in the hope that others realize things can turn around—even when it feels like there’s no way out.

The light is there. You’re stronger than you think you are.