Whispering Wyrd

The Healing Web

recent posts

  • You Are Not Your Worst Moment

    Like many people in recovery, there are things I have said and done that I regret. Words I wish I had never spoken. Choices I wish I had made differently. Years I wish I could re-do with the clarity I have now.

    But I can’t. And neither can you. What we can do is refuse to let yesterday steal today.

    Regret may visit. It may knock on the door and remind us of who we were. But it does not get to move in and rearrange the furniture.

    We are not who we were then. We are who we are now. And now is still alive with possibility!

    The sun still rises. Breath still comes and goes. There is still time to choose kindness. Still time to love well. Still time to live well.

    Regret can be both a teacher and a tyrant.

    Healthy regret teaches. It helps us recognize where our actions were out of alignment with our values. In that sense, regret actually reveals something beautiful… it proves we have values. Many of us who survived addiction or trauma forget that. But regret is evidence of a conscience still alive and active.

    The trouble begins when regret becomes chronic.

    Psychological research shows that persistent regret is closely tied to depression and anxiety. When regret turns into rumination, replaying the same scene over and over with no resolution, it keeps the brain focused on failure. Reflection asks, “What can I learn?” Rumination says, “Let me punish myself again.”

    Regret isn’t the same as reflection. Reflection is honest and constructive. Rumination is repetitive and self-punishing.

    Unresolved regret also affects the body. Chronic stress elevates cortisol, the stress hormone, and over time that can disrupt sleep, raise blood pressure, and strain the cardiovascular and metabolic systems (diabetes anyone??). The body keeps score. Many of us in recovery know that firsthand.

    But there is a crucial difference between saying, “I did something I wish I hadn’t” and saying, “I am something I can’t forgive.”

    The first is wisdom. The second is shame.

    Regret says, “I wish I had chosen differently.” Shame says, “I am the mistake” And that simply isn’t true. We made the mistake, we are not the mistake.

    Spiritual traditions across the world refuse to trap us in our worst moment. In Christianity, repentance is met with forgiveness and a clean slate. In Buddhism, impermanence teaches that the past is no longer occurring. Karma is dynamic, not fixed. What we do now matters. Compassion applies to ourselves as much as it does to others.

    There is no path of genuine healing that requires a human being to remain imprisoned in yesterday. We cannot change who we were. But we can choose who we are becoming.

    And that choice, made today and every day, is more powerful than anything we did before!

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Three Feet From The Bed

    Some mornings, the path isn’t a windy mountain trail. It’s the distance between your bed and the bathroom. It’s the weight of your tired arms and legs, the fog in your brain, and the familiar ache of a tired body.

    Today is one of those days for me.

    I’m writing this on very little sleep, after another night spent wrestling with the shadows that PTSD can still summon, even after all this time. My body is weary, still recalibrating after a years long journey to freedom from high-dose benzos. A journey that took over a year of tapering and has left me with waves of exhaustion even now, a year clean.

    And my mind wants to tell me that because I’m tired, because I’m struggling, that I’m failing. It whispers that I can’t show up for my readers today, that I have nothing to offer because I can barely think straight.

    But here’s the thing about this path of recovery and about the spiritual practice that has become my anchor. I had a realization recently, not in my head, but in the very core of my being. It was unsettling at first, but now it feels like a most profound truth.

    Everything is the path.

    I practice Chinese Pure Land Buddhism and Chan (Zen). For a long time, I thought the path was the formal meditation, the sitting, and the chanting. And it is. But I’ve come to understand that it’s also everything else.

    “Just sitting” in meditation is the path. It’s the practice of being present.

    Cooking a simple meal when you’d rather hide is the path. It’s the practice of taking care of this body and this life.

    Lying down to rest, even when the guilt whispers you “should” be doing more, is the path. It’s the practice of compassion and listening to what you truly need.

    And making it through a day like today… exhausted, mentally fried, and a little bit afraid is absolutely the path.

    The Nianfo, the practice of reciting “Namo Amituofo,” isn’t just something I do on a cushion. Today, that gentle name is the rhythm of my breath as I try to stay upright. It’s the silent prayer for strength with every step. It’s the reminder that I am not alone, even in this mental fog.

    For decades I used alcohol and then prescription meds to try to outrun these kind of feelings. Now, clean and sober for the first time in decades and approaching my 60th birthday next month, I’m learning to just walk through them. And I’m learning that walking through them is the practice. The nightmares, the exhaustion, and the fear… it’s all part of the very same path as the joy, the peace, and the moments of clarity.

    So if you’re reading this and you’re having a “three feet from the bed” kind of day, please hear me, you are not failing. You are on the path.

    If all you do today is brush your teeth. If all you do is drink a glass of water. If all you do is simply endure one more minute than you thought you could, you have practiced. You have walked the path.

    There is no special outfit, no special mindset required. Just you, in your tiredness, in your fear, in your hope. Just showing up for your own life, as it is in this very moment.

    That is the practice. That is the path. And it is enough.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • The 2 a.m. Reader

    Some people seem to find their path early in life. I didn’t.

    But I’ve found it now.

    “Better late than never” isn’t just a saying, it’s definitely a truth. I’ve known people who never found their purpose. I’ve known others who never got the chance because addiction, prison, or death took that chance from them. I understand deeply that I am fortunate simply to still be here.

    I’m approaching my sixtieth year of life. And for the first time, I don’t feel lost. I don’t feel like I’m wandering around without direction. That feeling, after decades of confusion and survival mode, is hard to describe to someone who has never felt it.

    There was a time I didn’t think I’d make it to thirty. My wife still teases me about that. “Look at you now,” she says. “You’re already twice as old as you thought you’d ever be!” And she’s right.

    Recently, a lifelong friend and I were reminiscing when he stopped and said, “Where did the time go, Buck? Seems like only a year ago we were young. Now we’re sixty!” Time does fly. People we knew are already gone. Others are actively dying. Time waits for no one. But what we do with the time we have, this moment right here and now, that is still ours. Our choice.

    Somewhere along the way, without me even really realizing it, a mission formed.

    When I was getting clean, I was helped more than I can ever properly express. Not by lectures. Not by statistics. By stories. People told the truth about what they had lived through and how they survived. Their honesty gave me something priceless… hope.

    Hope is like oxygen in recovery. So now I tell my story.

    When I shared my clean date, the length of time I was on the drug, and the taper process on a recovery group’s website, the response shocked me. Over sixteen thousand people read that post. Sixteen thousand people searching for relief. Searching for reassurance. Searching for someone who made it through.

    Only 53 commented.

    And that’s something a lot of people who’ve never been addicted to a controlled substance don’t understand.

    When someone is struggling with addiction, especially involving a prescribed controlled substance, speaking or commenting publicly can feel terrifying. It can feel exposing. Vulnerable. Risky. Silence doesn’t mean no one is listening. It often means someone is reading quietly at two in the morning, holding onto hope. I know that because I was once that person!

    So if my blog doesn’t explode with comments, that’s okay. I know people are reading. I receive the private messages. The private “thank you” messages. The “I needed this today” messages.

    That is why I write.

    I didn’t survive what I survived just to coast through the rest of my life. I didn’t walk through fire just to sit comfortably on the sidelines. Others once extended their hands to me when I was burning in that fire.

    Now I extend mine.

    If I can help even one person feel less alone, less afraid, less ashamed, then every word I share of my own story is worth it.

    I may have found my purpose late, but I have found it.

    And I intend to use the time I have well.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Disagreements Don’t Have to Be Disasters

    Here’s another thing I’ve noticed since getting clean… disagreements don’t have to be disasters.

    That probably sounds obvious to a lot of people. But for those of us who have trauma or lived through addiction, disagreements can feel very different. They don’t just feel like differences of opinion, they feel like personal rejection. Like being attacked and abandoned at the same time.

    For most of my life, that’s how it felt to me.

    Now that I’m clean and my mind is clear, I now see disagreements for what they really are, just disagreements. Nothing more. And I can’t even describe how freeing that is! It’s like this huge weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying has finally been set down.

    People aren’t cookie cutters. We all come with our own experiences, beliefs, and opinions. Everything from favorite ice cream flavors to politics and religion. These days, my outlook is pretty simple, as long as someone isn’t hurting me or my family, I don’t care what they believe.

    That wasn’t always true.

    When I was younger, I lived inside a very insular world. Everyone around me believed the same things, thought the same way, and reinforced the same viewpoints. I honestly didn’t even know people existed outside that bubble, much less know how to talk with them.

    Looking back, I realize I wasn’t really thinking for myself. That kind of environment doesn’t encourage curiosity or reflection, it rewards conformity. And that’s how disagreements become dangerous. When a group or community depends on or demands sameness to survive, anything different feels like a threat.

    So of course disagreements felt personal. Of course they turned ugly fast.

    But recovery has changed that for me.

    Now, if someone wants to talk honestly and respectfully about something we disagree on, I’m open to that. I don’t mind listening and I don’t mind learning. But if a conversation turns into gaslighting, insults, or one sided lecturing, I simply walk away. No arguing. No proving. Just stepping back and walking away.

    That’s new for me.

    I’m clean and sober for the first time in decades, and for the first time in my life, I’m genuinely happy. And part of that happiness comes from realizing I don’t have to “win” conversations anymore.

    One thing I’ve learned in recovery is that getting clean isn’t just about stopping substances. It’s about building a new life. A life with healthier thoughts, healthier habits, and healthier relationships. The old ways that kept me stuck just aren’t compatible with healing.

    So these days, I choose peace.

    I choose the things that support my recovery like good food, gentle movement, meditation, and kind interactions. Disagreements will always be part of life. But destructive arguments don’t have to be.

    We get to choose what we engage with.

    And for me, choosing peace has been one of the wisest choices I’ve ever made in my life.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Live Now

    Actor Eric Dane recently died at 53. I didn’t know much about him beyond the fact that he had ALS, but I saw part of a video he recorded for his family. In it he told them something simple but very powerful…

    “Live now.”

    Don’t wait. Don’t assume you’ll have time later. Live now. That message hit me hard.

    Life has a way of keeping us busy. Responsibilities, fatigue, stress, doctor appointments, bills, errands, the endless “I’ll get to it when things slow down.” We tell ourselves things like, When I have more time, when I feel better, when I’m not so tired or when things calm down. But things rarely calm down on their own that much.

    None of us are guaranteed another minute. That’s not meant to be morbid, it’s meant to be clarifying. We all know people who went to bed expecting tomorrow and didn’t wake up to see it. We know people whose health changed in a single visit to a doctor. It doesn’t even have to be death, sometimes it’s a diagnosis that rearranges everything.

    When I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was shocked. I’m not overweight. No first degree relatives have it. But there it was. I remember the fear and the anger. The “Why?”

    Then came getting clean. I knew it would be hard. But I didn’t know it would nearly break me. Benzo withdrawal changed my nervous system. Multifocal PVCs became part of my daily life. My body feels different than it used to. Some days are harder than others.

    And yet… Here I am. Alive. Breathing. Walking under New Mexico skies and watching ravens ride the wind.

    Laughing with my wife. Video chatting with my granddaughter. Writing these words.

    That’s the shift.

    Living isn’t about waiting until everything is perfect. If I waited until my body felt 25 again, I might never start. If I waited until anxiety was completely gone, I might never step outside. If I waited until life felt predictable, I might never do anything at all.

    Living is doing the thing anyway, within reason, within wisdom, but without postponing joy indefinitely.

    So whatever that thing is for you… What have you been putting off?

    Is it a trip? A conversation? A creative project? Starting over in some small way? Taking a class? Calling someone? Watching a sunrise instead of scrolling your phone?

    If you can’t do the whole thing today, can you take one small step toward it? Make the plan. Buy the ticket. Start the outline. Take the walk. Say the words.

    We don’t need a terminal diagnosis like Eric Dane to gain clarity. We don’t need a catastrophe to wake up. We can choose to live now.

    Not recklessly, not fearfully. But intentionally.

    I’m heading out now to chase one of my dreams, not because everything in my life is perfect, but because it isn’t. And that’s exactly why now matters.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Walking Through The Noise

    It was cold and windy yesterday as I took my daily walk. Very cold. But unless the weather is utterly unbearable, I walk. I even walk in the rain here. For me, there’s just something about being in and surrounded by the mountains that heals me and clears my mind.

    After I complete my rounds of Niànzhū (Buddhist prayer beads), I use the rest of my walk to simply contemplate. I look at the beauty around me and feel how fortunate I am to be here, still alive after benzo withdrawal and everything else I’ve survived. I feel blessed to have my family. The walks also give me a chance to work through anything that might be going on in my life. I simply don’t feel as well on days I miss a walk, so I go pretty much regardless of the weather.

    Something that I’ve been thinking a lot about in recent days is how divided people seem right now. Religion, politics, culture, even families. It feels intense and it feels overwhelming. And sometimes it feels like everyone is yelling and no one is listening.

    But honestly? I don’t think division itself is anything new.

    History is full of it. Wars have been fought over beliefs. Families have been split apart over differences. Entire civilizations rose and fell while arguing over who was right and who was wrong. All throughout history.

    What is new is the way we experience it. We literally carry it around in our pockets now.

    Social media and news feeds don’t just show us what’s happening, they show us carefully selected versions of reality, tailored to confirm whatever side we already lean toward. Add anonymity to that mix, and suddenly people say things online they would never say face to face.

    Someone a little older than me recently said during a conversation, “We didn’t talk to people like that back in the day because they’d get punched in the face.”

    Crude maybe, but true.

    There used to be an immediate human consequence for cruelty. Today, there’s just a screen. And when there’s a screen between us, it becomes easier to forget there’s a real person on the other side. Someone with fears. Someone with wounds. Someone with a story we know nothing about.

    I’ll be honest, all of this gets to me sometimes. Especially on days when my heart is messing up and my nervous system feels raw. But that’s exactly when I come back to my daily walks. To my beads. To the mountains. To breathing. To remembering what actually matters.

    Out there, surrounded by wind and sky and quiet, none of the shouting exists. There’s just life. A raven calling from overhead. Clouds drifting over the mountain peaks. My own footsteps on the trail.

    And in those moments, something softens inside me. I can feel it, I can feel tension leaving my body.

    I remember that every person I might be frustrated with is also trying to survive something. I remember that everyone is carrying something heavy we don’t see. I think about how showing  kindness is not weakness, it’s courage.

    Spirituality, for me, isn’t about having the “right” beliefs or winning arguments. It’s about remembering our shared humanity. It’s about choosing compassion even when it would be easier to harden. It’s about listening more than speaking. It’s about noticing beauty even when the world gets loud. It’s about doing no harm, to others or to ourselves.

    Some days, just getting through the day is the practice. Some days, choosing not to lash out at someone is the practice. Some days, putting one foot in front of the other on a cold, windy trail is the practice.

    And sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is simply stay open-hearted in a world that keeps trying to close us down and divide us.

    If you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed by everything going on, please know you’re not alone.

    Take a breath.
    Go outside if you can.
    Look at something alive.
    Be kind to your nervous system.
    Be kind to yourself.

    The world doesn’t need any more outrage. It needs more gentleness. More listening. More remembering that we are all human after all.

    That’s what I try to concentrate on during my walks. And today, I’m offering it to you too.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Choosing The Good Stuff

    Today I’m getting to exercise my ability to choose the good.

    I remember a long time ago a man I had a lot of respect for told me that when things are rough is when we really get to see that we have choices in how we react to unpleasant situations. I was telling him about something that had been bothering me, and he said, “That’s the perfect opportunity to practice patience!”

    The operative word was practice.

    It really doesn’t do much good to say we’re working on patience when everything is going fine, only to fall apart or fly off the handle when things aren’t going so well. I can honestly say I’m doing much better in that area these days than I was back then. Withdrawals forced patience upon me. Now when things get annoying I tell myself, “This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through before.”

    I also draw inspiration from people I love. Two people especially come to mind. One deals with chronic abdominal pain from a medical condition, and the other deals with chronic joint pain from another condition. Chronic pain is no joke. It doesn’t just hurt physically, it takes a toll emotionally too. Yet they keep going, and their positive outlooks inspire me to keep my own outlook positive.

    I used to not believe it when people told me I had a choice in how I reacted to things. Now, I absolutely believe it. Yes, we can condition ourselves through habit to react badly. But we can also slowly rewire those patterns and learn to respond in healthier ways. That doesn’t happen overnight, it happens through repetition, through small choices, through practice.

    That’s what I’m getting the opportunity to do today.

    I didn’t sleep well again last night because of the nightmares. They’ve been happening more often lately. I suppose it’s because my brain isn’t drowning in alcohol or dulled by benzos anymore, so memories that were once buried are now finding their way to the surface. On top of that, I don’t feel well today.

    So I’m choosing to focus on the good things in my life instead of how bad I feel in this moment.

    The good things are still here, my family, quiet evenings, kind messages from readers, fresh air, hot tea, the miracle of simply being alive. It’s just harder to notice them when you’re tired and hurting. But they’re still there.

    And choosing the good doesn’t mean pretending everything is perfect. It doesn’t mean denying pain or forcing positivity. It just means deciding, again and again, to place your attention on what nourishes you instead of what drains you.

    Some days that choice seems big. Other days it’s tiny, like getting out of bed, taking a few slow breaths, being gentle with yourself, sending love to someone else who might be struggling too.

    Today, for me, it looks like appreciating what’s still beautiful even while I’m not feeling my best.

    If you’re having a rough day too, maybe this can be your invitation to choose one small good thing. Just one. And let it be enough for now.

    We’re all practicing.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Why I Am The Way I Am

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  • The People Who Try To Silence You Are Not Your People

    I wrote recently about how much I love good conversations. Since then, I’ve had a couple of conversations that have stayed with me in a pretty deep way.

    One was with someone in recovery, and one was with someone who’s never had to navigate recovery at all, but like everyone else, has still had their share of hardship. At first glance their lives look very different. But underneath, the same theme kept coming up.

    Judgment.

    Not loud or obvious judgment, but the quiet kind. The kind that leaves you feeling small and drained. Second-guessing yourself.

    Most of us know at least one person like this. Sometimes it’s a coworker. Sometimes it’s someone in a support group. Sometimes it’s family. You know the type:

    “Well, if you hadn’t chosen drugs or alcohol.”
    “If you hadn’t gotten mixed up with that crowd.”
    “If you just believed what I believe.”
    “If you did things my way.”

    Yeah. Those people.

    For too long I let voices like that live rent free in my head. It’s only since getting clean that I’ve been able to see something more clearly… people who lead with judgment rarely, if ever, have anything helpful to offer those who are trying to heal, grow, or move forward.

    What struck me in these recent conversations is how universal this experience is. No matter what path you’re on, someone will judge it. They’ll judge how you recover. They’ll judge what you believe. They’ll judge the car you drive, the way you earn money, the way you speak, the way you use your voice.

    Here’s the part I sometimes have to remind myself of, over and over again… Their opinions don’t matter.

    It’s not your job to manage other people’s emotions. Or, as I’ve heard it said in my group, other people’s opinions of you aren’t your business. People are free to think what they want. What is your responsibility is protecting your own healing and not letting someone else’s disapproval derail your progress.

    Keep being you, keep recovering. Keep bringing your own light and voice into the world because you never know who might need it.

    Most people, sane people anyway, want to live in peace. And in my experience, the ones who are constantly trying to make others feel “less than” are usually people whose own inner world is in turmoil. I’ve never met a person who was truly at peace with themselves who felt the need to make someone feel small. Not once.

    A lot of us, especially those in recovery, are just learning how to speak our own truths. And it can feel risky. We worry about offending someone or about losing approval. We worry about being met with silence or disapproval instead of understanding. So we water down our words. We edit ourselves. We leave important pieces of our story out.

    But here’s the hard truth, the people who try to silence you are not the people you need in your life.

    Others don’t have to agree with you, but they also don’t have the right to argue you down, dismiss your lived experience, or make you feel ashamed for being honest. Disagreement is part of being human. Silencing is something else entirely.

    Healing means learning to accept ourselves as we really are, what we believe, what we’ve lived through, and who we’re becoming. If someone consistently tries to make you feel small, muted, or unsafe for being yourself, they aren’t for you.

    And if this resonates with you, if you’ve ever held your tongue to keep the peace, or edited your truth out of fear, you’re not alone. You’re not wrong. And you’re not too much.

    Your voice matters. Especially now, so keep sharing it. You never know who might need to hear it.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Things I Miss About Texas

    Those who’ve followed this blog (and my previous one) know I moved to New Mexico from Texas six years ago. But if you’re new here, welcome, and here are some thoughts that popped into my head today.

    One of my sons and his wife are currently visiting Texas. Next month, my wife, our youngest son, and I will head there ourselves for a visit. That got me thinking about making a list of all the things I miss about Texas.

    Here’s what I have so far…

    1. Nothing.

    Okay, that was a joke. My attempt at humor.

    Seriously though, after living in New Mexico for six years now, here’s my completely honest, no-holds-barred comparison between the two. These are just my own experiences and opinions, of course. Your mileage may vary.

    Let’s start with the two biggest differences I’ve noticed… weather and culture.

    It’s hard to say which one comes first.

    The Weather

    I can say with certainty that I never liked Texas weather for more than about a week at a time. Texas gets brutally hot and humid. Winters are usually mild, until suddenly they’re not.

    New Mexico gets hot too, but where we live, it doesn’t hit those Texas triple digits. And there’s no humidity. That alone makes a lot of difference.

    Don’t get me wrong, the sun here at over 7,000 feet can be intense. The UV index is no joke. Five minutes in the direct summer sun will leave you wondering what just happened to your skin. We’ve all learned that lesson the hard way. Still, I’ll take dry heat over sticky heat any day.

    Then there’s rain.

    Where we lived in Texas, rain in the forecast meant flooding and a washed-out road. That area can get more rain in a single storm than we get here in Santa Fe in months. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.

    We do have a “monsoon season” here. I always laugh at that name, because in six years I’ve only seen Texas-style rain twice. Most of the time it’s gentle showers. Sometimes just enough to dampen the sidewalk. It is dry here. I admit, I miss rain.

    Before we moved here, people who’d already relocated here from Texas told us the same thing, they missed water. Not Texas, just water. Turns out they were right.

    In Texas, oil is king. In New Mexico, it’s water.

    Mosquitoes (or Lack Thereof)

    I hate mosquitoes. I really hate mosquitoes. Where we lived in Texas, going outside meant being instantly devoured. Opening the door for thirty seconds invited a small airborne invasion into the house. There are bugs everywhere there, not just mosquitoes.

    Here in Santa Fe though? Maybe a few show up a day or two after a heavy rain. But since heavy rain is so rare, mosquitoes are blessedly scarce. This alone improves quality of life dramatically. There really aren’t many bugs here at all. That’s something that I always notice when we visit Texas, how many bugs there are there.

    Shade That Actually Works

    Here’s something that’s a really stark difference… standing in the shade during summer here actually cools you off. In Texas, shade just meant you weren’t actively being cooked by the sun, but it was still just as hot as not in the shade.

    And at night? New Mexico cools down! Even on the hottest days, once the sun sets, the temperature drops.

    In Texas, it stays hot all night. I vividly remember walking out to my vehicle before sunrise for work and it being in the 90s. That’s just ridiculous. I do not miss that at all.

    The Culture

    It amazes me how different neighboring states can be. Southeastern New Mexico might as well be Texas, same landscape, same vibe.

    But central and northern New Mexico? Especially Santa Fe and north? To me, it feels like an entirely different country. And I don’t just mean politics (though those really are polar opposites). I’m talking about culture. There’s so much diversity here. It just naturally changes everything.

    Santa Fe’s nickname is “The City Different,” and it absolutely lives up to that name. I love it!

    There’s art everywhere. History everywhere. Spirituality everywhere. You don’t feel like you have to fit into any single mold. You can just… be yourself. I know some will say they can be themselves in Texas, and that’s great, I’m just saying I never felt like I could there.

    What I Actually Miss

    If I’m being completely honest, there’s only one thing I truly miss about Texas…

    Family.

    My wife and I have two of our sons, a daughter-in-law, and soon a grandson here in New Mexico. But our oldest son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter are still in Texas. So are my parents and extended family. My wife’s family are in Texas and North Carolina.

    Trips back to visit are getting harder as we get older, no doubt about that. So yes, proximity to family is the only thing I really, truly miss.

    Home

    Life is finite. None of us knows how much of it we really have. So I think it’s important, crucial even, to love where you live. I have family who genuinely love Texas, and I’m glad they’re happy there.

    I never was.

    Even enduring the hell that was benzo withdrawal, I can honestly say I’ve never been happier in my life than I am here in New Mexico. I know what joy feels like now. I only wish we had come here sooner, but I don’t waste time regretting that. I’m just grateful we are here now.

    Wherever you call home, I sincerely hope you’re happy there. It’s important.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck