right now, my guitar is just a few steps away, but it might as well be 10,000 miles. there’s a distance between us that’s hard to explain — a space that feels impossible to cross.
depression (in my case, a co-occurring mental disorder) has a way of making everything feel slow, like the world keeps moving at its pace, but you’re stuck, frozen, while everyone else rushes past.
it’s like there’s this invisible weight pressing on your chest, something you can’t explain to anyone, but it’s there, heavy and constant. it’s the silence in your mind, that quiet ache that fills every inch of you. some days, it’s not about moving forward; it’s just about getting through the minutes, waiting for the fog to clear without knowing when — or if— it ever will.
that weight never quite lifts. I find myself wondering if I’ve failed the people I love, or worse, failed the person I wanted to be. and I wonder, will I ever forgive myself for it? I don’t have an answer right now.
skateboarding, making music, online, talking — all the things that once felt like second nature — now feel impossibly hard. getting out of bed most days feels like climbing a mountain with no summit in sight.
at the same time there’s something so grounding about the way my mom and abuela watch over me. their eyes are always on me, soft and steady, like stars guiding me through life’s haze. they’re never far—close enough to hear their quiet prayers, murmured like a protective shield around me.
they show their love in a million ways. abuela says, “simple things do the healing.” like food, for example. my favorite dishes appear on the table like magic, prepared with care, as if each bite holds the answers to all my worries. but these days, eating feels like the last thing on my mind. still, they never stop. their hands are tireless, their love unshakable, always reminding me that no matter how far I drift, their care will always bring me back home.
I miss being here with you. today, I just wanted to say hi to everyone who’s always been so kind and asking what’s happening with me. I’m so grateful for this space and all of you who listen and even look after me. that’s the way you make me feel.
recovery from substance use disorder and depression go hand in hand. sobriety breaks the cycle, but healing requires facing the emotions that fueled the addiction. with the right support, both can be overcome — and strength is found in the process.
I’m taking steps. I’ve started a special program, leaning on the help I need. healing isn’t linear, but I’m learning patience and grace, even when it’s messy and uncomfortable.
I hope to find my way back soon, and when I do, I’ll be ready to make music again. I don’t know when. I want to catch up on all the beautiful and thoughtful things everyone shares here, and I’m sorry that I’ve missed so much.
okay, xo.
cookie nieves 
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