“I woke up this morning, with a bottle next to me and my head upon an old wooden floor.” That’s a line I would come to write years later, trying to make sense of the last days of my drinking. But before it was a song lyric, it was a moment I lived through—one that took place in New York,

I was born a first-generation American to parents who came to the United States from India in 1995 through an arranged marriage, carrying sacrifice, faith, and tradition with them. I grew up in Maryland in a multigenerational home, my parents, grandparents, aunt, and uncle all under one roof. I was surrounded by family and love, yet from an early age

My turning point came in a jail cell at Hartford County Jail. I had been arrested again, sitting in that cold, concrete cell, staring at the walls, replaying every decision that led me right back there. This time felt different. It wasn’t just about me anymore. For the first time, I really saw the impact of my choice on my

It was as if my heart woke me up before the sound of my baby crying out to me. It was around 2:30am and I quickly picked him up, held him close, and swayed back and forth as I felt him collapse into my arms. I started to sing to him and felt him slowly find calmness. My arms were

Some call it a white-light moment. I choose to frame it as a moment of clarity. As I sat there at the end of my childhood bed with my younger brother, scared and begging me to be honest, I had that moment of clarity. Eight years of my substance use history and the patterned behavior that came with it washed

My sobriety began on May 5th, 2016, a day I don’t actually remember. The night before,I overdosed at my parents’ home, on what I thought was heroin. The overdose left meunable to form new memories for several days. I remember waking up confused, aclipboard beside me explaining what had happened, and friends and family visiting.What I remember most, though, was

It was September 2020, and the fluorescent lights of Norwalk Hospital’s ER were giving me a splitting headache. I lay on a gurney, cold despite the thin blanket, back again for what felt like the millionth time. My dad sat quietly in the corner, looking both worried and disappointed. I was at the hospital to detox from pills and alcohol.

In the spring of 2019 one town over from here, I slid my family’s car in between a tree and a telephone pole with less than an inch on either side of the car, crashing into a stone wall, and totaling the car. I was not conscious for this. I was drunk within 48 hours of this event. This did not get me

My friend handed me a bottle of bourbon, and I drank it. I didn’t want to drink it. I didn’t want to drink at all. Yet, I still couldn’t stop myself from bringing the bottle to my lips. I had no defenseagainst it; I was powerless against that drink. I had woken up that morning and realized I had no memory of the three days before. I barely remembered

I remember lying awake in my bedroom at my stepmother’s house on Christmas Eve 2015, thinking not about the usual festivities with Rudolph and Santa, but about whether I’d make it another year to witness my nephew Wyatt’s first birthday. He had been born just hours before that evening.  Given the direction I was going, I wasn’t entirely sure I