A hundred days, a hundred nights, since I let go of endless fights— fights with powder, fights with pain, fights that led me back again. The first days shook me to the core, sweat-soaked sheets, curled on the floor. My hands would tremble, skin would burn, my mind screamed out for one more turn. The shadows whispered, "Just one taste, why let it all just go to waste?" But I stayed strong, I clenched my teeth, refused to sink beneath the grief. The shame still lingers, raw and real, a wound so deep, it starts to heal— but scars don’t lie, they hold the past, reminders of what couldn’t last. I face the mirror, meet my eyes, no longer drowning in disguise. Each breath I take, each step I tread, is life returning where it fled. A hundred days, and I still fight, but I can stand, I see the light. No more chains, no more decay, just me, still here—one more day.