Pain is more than a feeling. For me, it’s a presence.
It’s the first thing I wake up to. The last thing I fall asleep with.
It lives in my bones—literally, from sickle cell.
It walks with me through the fog of meds that are meant to help but sometimes push my mind to the edge.
It shows up in betrayal, in hospital beds, in silence, in screams.
Pain and I? We’ve built a complicated friendship. A toxic one.
But one that’s taught me how to speak from the soul.
Truth is, pain has been both my worst enemy and my most honest teacher.
I’ve been close—too close—to checking out of life. Twice.
Moments where the pressure to be useful—to others, to myself, to this world—felt unbearable.
Like, if I wasn’t producing, delivering, or fixing things, what was the point of me being here?
I’ve lived with the type of pain that doesn’t just hurt…
…it convinces you you’re alone in it.
But I’m still here.
Still writing.
Still making music.
Still fighting.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I think maybe that’s enough.
In my upcoming single, “PAIN,” I ask:
“Have you ever felt the world’ll be better without you?
Felt the urge to quit this shit and give up all you do?
Wishing we never came to earth if only we had knew,
Cuz life’s no Cinderella story, way too many fit the shoe.”
Cinderella had a fairy godmother who made her whole world shift.
But what about us—the ones without magic wands or fairy-tale cures?
The ones trying to fix our own blood, our own minds, our own broken pieces?
We find healing in other ways.
In music.
In words.
In the quiet courage it takes to keep going.
So yeah, I smile a lot. I joke. I carry light in public.
But behind it all, there’s a war being fought.
And I know I’m not alone in that.
This post is for anyone—especially young men, kids growing up like me—
who feel the pressure to wear a mask of strength while dying inside.
I’m not here to preach. I don’t even have all the answers.
But I can tell you this:
Don’t fall for the hype.
Build a mind of your own.
Turn nothing into something.
And speak up—even if your voice shakes.
I’m speaking now.
That’s progress.
And maybe—just maybe—it’s a sign I’ve turned a corner.
If you’re out there fighting through the pain, know this:
You’re not weak.
You’re not broken.
You’re human.
And maybe even a superhero too.
One day at a time.