Recovery

Dear Delyara, Today marks two years since I last let a bottle decide who I was going to be. I remember the shaking hands and the cold sweats of that first week like it was yesterday, but now, those memories are just ghosts. I can finally look my mother in the eye without flinching, and I can keep a promise to myself. The world is so much sharper now—the colors are brighter, and the air actually tastes like something. It wasn't just about quitting a habit; it was about meeting myself for the first time. I’m not 'cured,' but I am finally, finally free.