Hey, friend, I never pictured myself as that person, hiding in my office, wrestling a private demon while the world saw only my shiny success: sharp suit, steady career, that easy grin. But inside? I was chained to a sneaky addiction that was quietly unravelling me. In my twenties, I dismissed it as a silly slip-up. Fast-forward, and even as I nailed promotions, it tightened its grip. What began as late-night slips at home spilt into my days, daydreams during boardroom chats, and hurried locks on the door for “quick breaks” that never felt final.
The guilt? It crushed me like a weight I couldn’t shake. Dating? Forget it, I felt too broken to let anyone close. Trips for work turned into lonely traps, nights lost to the same old loop. And my job? Deadlines slipped, focus faded; I was a ghost in my life. Then, bam, one random knock from a coworker mid-crisis. My pulse raced, and my face burnt; his glance screamed he knew. That evening, parked in my driveway, hands clenched on the wheel, I faced the mess: self-loathing, exhaustion, and a life half-lived. Continue Reading.