This is not a book about perfection.

It's a book about rebuilding.

I didn't set out to write a story about mental illness, recovery, or resilience.

In fact, there were long stretches of my life where I couldn't have imagined telling this story at all — where surviving each day was enough of a task.

But somewhere along the way, through all the falls and all the climbs, I realised something:

The struggles we face are not the end of us.

They can be the beginning of something stronger — if we are willing to keep walking.

This book isn't about overnight transformations or easy victories.

It's about small lights flickering in the darkness.

It's about the long, often invisible work of rebuilding your life from the ground up.

It's about falling — hard — and standing up again, even when your legs are shaking.

I wrote this because when I was at my lowest, I needed stories like this.

Not polished fairytales.

Not empty positivity.

I needed to hear that recovery is messy, slow, confusing — but possible.

That setbacks don't mean you've failed.

That discipline can be a lifeline.

That hope can be rebuilt, piece by piece.

If you are struggling — if you are walking through your own wilderness right now — I want you to know this:

You are not alone.

You are not broken beyond repair.

And you are far stronger than you think.

This is my story.

But in many ways, it's not just mine.

It belongs to anyone who has ever fought their way out of the dark.

I hope it reminds you that your story isn't finished yet.

And that there is so much life, strength, and meaning still ahead of you.