Browsing pics triggers nostalgia.

I stop and reminisce about the era I was going through in every picture, and I suck my teeth, if not grin a little.

I swear I went through it all.

I felt every emotion there was to feel: got hospitalised, got fired, got played, and eventually went numb.

My system suffered a critical failure. 

I needed a patch, and an update that required a restart.

Now my OS is secure and ready for whatever life throws my way.

I’m confident I’ll tennis it back with a smash so hard the racket will need to be replaced.

The whole experience made me realise there is no such thing as a bad person, only bad code, bad perspective, bad timing. I went through a whole cabinet of medication and Schedule 5 meds, trying my hardest to get to a version of myself I could relate to and gradually get back to operations post-recovery. 

But that crash was bound to happen. So I studied the logs, customised scripts, salted the security, future-proofed it, and wrote it in stone: I am not going back to that dark place.

I am at peace after collecting all the pieces, melting them, and creating an aesthetically pleasing canvas and moulding it.

I am not just a work of art.

I am the art and the artist.