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Oct 06, 2025

Why Ravenmark?
The Weight Of An Addicts Soul

You wake up after another night of doing what you said you would never do again or that you would only use so much. The I could be normal approach and drink or use like a gentleman. For me it usually was the morning. Waking up feeling so foggy. My stomach tore up from the THC or booze and all the other shit I would put in my body in a drunken or high mindset. I don’t know how many times I told myself never again. That hopeless, soulless, hollow vow to myself that I knew I wasn’t strong enough to uphold.

I knew damn well that I couldn’t keep that vow. But it was all I could do because I wasn’t willing to out myself to anyone. I might have dropped hints occasionally to people I knew were safe and probably wouldn’t call me out on it because of distance or whatever. I could make it the 10 or 12 hours to get through work. That was never my problem but I was scheming on how to get more or the moment when I would be able to. I think hollow is the best word that describes how I felt. Like a tree that could no longer support itself and I didn’t have the guts to get help.
It’s a mother fucker man. How about that feeling when you walk in the door and your partner, your person, your soulmate who is supposed to know everything and help you no matter what has no idea. They have no idea because of me. Because I’m not being honest. I’m hiding, in the darkness of addiction. The chains that kept me in the shadows. It’s lonely. It’s a kind of tormenting pain that only an addict knows. We wish we could come clean but that would out our supposed friend. That feeling of when the world finally calmed down for a minute only to come roaring back in the middle of the night like a 50 mph gust of wind coming down the canyon during a winter time storm in the mountains.
No one to tell because I’m fucked if I do. I’m to far gone to not use and not be noticed. I’m fucked. That’s the only way to put it and if this is touching you in any way then you know what the fuck I’m talking about. I write this shit because it’s why Ravenmark is coming. It’s why I’m putting real money into something that is helping me right now. Only an addict can know an addict. Know the shit and lies we tell ourselves. The lies we portray to the world because we don’t think there is anyone or anything that can help. It sucks.
I’ve been there. I still struggle with cravings. I’m not a long ways down the road yet but I’ve got a start. But that’s why I’m building Ravenmark. Not to go viral. Not to preach. Not to make another fucking app that gives you a chip and a pat on the back. I’m building it because no one came for me. No one saw through the smile. No one heard the war inside my chest, the torture of my own mind and I let it silence me for to long.
And the people who tried to help? They didn’t know the weight. They hadn’t carried it. They hadn’t lied like I lied. They hadn’t used in silence, praying they wouldn’t get caught and praying someone would finally catch them — all at the same time.

Ravenmark is for the one who’s still hiding. The one who’s still saying “I’m fine” with a stash in their truck and a storm in their gut. The one who doesn’t fit the church crowd, doesn’t trust the system, and sure as hell doesn’t feel safe in a meeting full of strangers. If you can’t tell this isn’t recovery for polite people. This isn’t Sunday school. This isn’t some pastel colors that some person that doesn’t know the torture of an addict thinks gives hope. It’s resurrection for the soul on the edge. We don’t earn sobriety. At first we survive it. One check-in, one creed, one brutal fucking truth at a time. We earn it.

So why Ravenmark? Because if I don’t build this, somebody out there drowns with no one ever hearing their scream. And I’m done letting that happen. This is our battle. Stand up, let’s go.