The thought rings in my mind, “Stop writing someone else’s story.” For so many years my addict controlled the story of my life. He told me to be afraid; that I was going to fail, so don’t even try. I so deeply believed my addict’s lies, that I wouldn’t dare to dream of who I am and what I wanted. I resorted to living a life for everyone else but me. I walked a path of loneliness and dread, and settled for being a second-rate version of me. I wrote the story of someone else’s life.